“If he knows of such things, what convinces you he would respond to anything you tell him?” This question was quick and clipped, the words staccato. But there was also interest; for the first time I sensed he was willing to grant me a hearing.
“Well, I would, if I were challenged as I could challenge him, given the chance. If I wrap myself up in the Union Jack, your Scotsman may decide that in spite of my appearance and ... all the rest of it, I would be a suitable substitute for his missing valet. Otherwise, him being the cove you say he is, he might just go and look for a valet among the servants here. In Bavaria.” Just the mention of the man brought back a brief, hideous recollection of the previous night and I steeled myself against it.
“Mister Jeffries,” said Herr Dortmunder, “I may not have appreciated you until now. Venal you may be, but venality has its uses.” He smiled in that grim way of his, for all the world as if he were going to bite an arm or a head off of someone who displeased him.
“You hired me to do your work,” I said, doing my best not to be offended. “Here I am, trying to do it.”
“So we did.” He looked over at Madame Isolde, who had the manner of one seeking to escape from a room with no doors. “What do you say, dear lady?”
“If it would suit your purposes, I will order one of the servants to wake the Turk.” She laughed unconvincingly and waved her hand to conceal how much she was shaking. “He will have risen before now, in any case, to pray. They all do, you know.”
“So they do,” said Herr Dortmunder, as if prayer was a disgusting habit. “And several more times during the day.”
“Yes,” I chimed in, recalling that Jeffries ought to know something of this, having, according to his story, spent time in Egypt. “They have a cove in a tower who sets up a holler when the time’s right. They all drop everything they’re doing and bow to Mecca. Except for the Jews. And the women. And the Christians, of course.”
“So they do,” said Herr Dortmunder, his smile still in place.
I could feel his sudden wrath as keenly as if a cold wind had cut through the stuffy room. What was it about the rites of the followers of Mohammed that made Herr Dortmunder so furious, I asked myself. Was it his own dislike, or the notion of the Brotherhood? I did not know how to ask, and decided it best not to think about it just now. Better to think of what I would tell Elizabeth about this stage of my mission, if I told her anything at all.
“So, you bring yourself to the attention of the—” He broke off as a sudden, hard knocking was heard from the front of the house. “Are you expecting anyone?” he demanded of Madame Isolde.
She shook her head. “The butcher brings his wares to the back of the house. I don’t—”
He motioned her to silence as the door swung open and a few hurried words were exchanged with her major domo. The three of us stood very still, as if eluding a hunter.
“Madame Isolde,” said her major domo—the fellow in the Moorish tunic—as he came into the room. “There is a man at the door. He is in an official carriage, judging by the device on the panel. He claims he must speak to Herr McMillian at once.”
“Herr McMillian is still abed,” said Madame Isolde in an apparent rush of relief
“I don’t think that will be a sufficient answer,” said her major domo. “He is most insistent.”
“Tell him to leave a message,” said Madame Isolde. “He should know better than to come here at this hour. No one comes here at this hour but tradesmen.” She realized her mistake and did her best to cover it. “This has no bearing on you, mein Herr. Your invitation is without condition. You are welcome at any hour. Any hour.” She was becoming flustered again, and kept glancing uneasily in the direction of Herr Dortmunder. “What shall I do if he will not go away?”
“You will have to admit him eventually,” said Herr Dortmunder in a fatalistic way. “Make it worth his while to wait.”
She nodded and fussed with the feathers on her robe. “Tell him I do not like to disturb my guests. If there is something he wishes to impart to the Scotsman, he may leave word with me. I will have it carried to Herr McMillian when he rises. That will be as soon as he will be of use to anyone in any case.” She waved the major domo away as if driving off a pesky mosquito.
“I will give him your answer,” said the major domo in a voice that suggested he doubted that this ploy would succeed.
“Tell him to present himself at noon. He can have a buffet with Herr McMillian then, if he wishes.” This last offer had a breathless quality to it that struck me as an indication of dread, though I did not venture this opinion.
Herr Dortmunder held up his hand for quiet while he listened intently to the discussion at the front door. “The man is from Chancellor von Bismarck’s office. He claims to know nothing about any documents. He was, I think, in fact sent by the Krupps. At least he asked if Cameron McMillian of the ships’ engines McMillians might be here. He was to extend an offer for such a man to meet with those who might wish to purchase machinery; he could ensure himself of a great profit if he could make such an arrangement.” He heard the hinges creak. “It was not a clever deception. To seek to bribe a fool without any skill and no subterfuge.” He shook his head in patronizing condemnation. “He deserved to be sent away.”
“But—” Madame Isolde looked more distressed than ever.
“Be quiet,” said Herr Dortmunder; she complied at once.
The front door had just closed when the major domo uttered an exclamation of surprise. A moment later he stepped into the parlor. “The Turk is just emerging from his room.”
Madame Isolde sighed. “He must be fed. He expects his food promptly, or so he told me. Have the cook prepare those lamb chops he ordered last night, and make sure the pastry is hot.” She had lost that bewildered look and replaced it with an exasperated one. “I had best tend to it.”
“And you, Mister Jeffries, may want to see your ... opponent up close before you undertake your little scenario.” He nudged my arm.
“Right you are,” I said, and stepped into the entry hall, glancing up the elaborate staircase to the landing where the Turk had paused in his majestic descent from the rooms above.
I stopped at the foot of the stairs and prepared to accost the man in the splendid Turkish robes. I folded my arms, the better to show my determination, and glared upward.
Into the profound gray eyes of Mycroft Holmes.
FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:
There has been a note delivered from Inspector Cornell, asking for information about Vickers. M.H. left permission for me to release the basic report he keeps on the man, and to advise the Inspector to use caution when dealing with the Brotherhood. For what good it may do, I have followed these orders.
Mother has once again sunk into complete lethargy. The end is very near.
HE SALAAMED GRACEFULLY, amusement giving his mouth a wry twist. “Good morning, good sir,” he said in terrible German as he came the rest of the way down the stairs, the robe whispering around his ankles. Where, I wondered, had Edmund Sutton come up with it, and on such short notice? Mycroft Holmes’ face was slightly darkened and his brows had been blackened; his turban successfully concealed his graying hair.
With Herr Dortmunder standing in the parlor, I had to bluster my way through. “To you it may be,” I declared in English, and then repeated it in German far better than his had been.
“You are not German?” asked Mycroft Holmes, still using his ludicrous accent.
“English,” I declared, feeling at once very foolish and in extreme danger. I must make no slip now, I realized, for it would put us both into the hands of the Brotherhood, and I had firsthand knowledge of the consequences of such a calamity.
“And you are in Bavaria? You are a traveler, as I am.” He beamed at me, as if delighted to find a commonality between us. “I have come from Bursa to see the wo
nderful castle of King Ludwig. Perhaps these buildings he is making are of interest to you, as well?”
“No, I am not here to see castles. We have castles aplenty, and better, in England,” I said, with all the bravado I could summon up in myself, suspecting that we were being closely observed by Herr Dortmunder.
“A pity,” said Mycroft Holmes in his Turkish guise. “To see a castle with gaslight, done in the modern way, not as we Turks have done it for centuries, now that is an accomplishment, one I have not encountered before. His Neuschwanstein is heated and lit by gas. A marvel.” He favored me with a distant-but-affable smile. “I did not see you last night. Did you arrive very late? I did not stay up much beyond midnight.”
“I have only arrived this morning,” I said, wishing I could say more.
“Ah. You were detained, possibly, on the road? Some mischance or another? Perhaps the weather? How unfortunate.” He turned away from me toward the parlor. “Madame Isolde, would it be possible for me to request breakfast? You had my instructions last night, I recall. I have no wish to impose on your staff, but I have been awake for some time, reading.” He paused in the entrance to the parlor, and then salaamed to Herr Dortmunder. “Forgive me. I did not realize you were entertaining. And so early in the morning.”
Madame Isolde’s face went scarlet under her paint and she looked uneasily from Herr Dortmunder to Mycroft Holmes, then back again, as if one man or the other would provide her response for her. When neither did, she said, “Herr Dortmunder is an old ... associate.”
“How fortunate to renew your acquaintance,” said Mycroft Holmes, and pointed toward the arch opposite the parlor. “Would you plan to serve breakfast there? The morning sun would be pleasant.”
“I’ll have Felix tend to it at once,” said Madame Isolde, glad that someone had given her something she could do at last. She called out for her major domo. “Set the table by the window. Give Herr Kamir his breakfast there.”
“Herr Kamir,” said Herr Dortmunder, “did I hear you say you were from Bursa?”
Mycroft Holmes bowed slightly. “Yes, that is where I currently reside. My family, however, is from Izmir, which you and the Infidel Greeks call Smyrna.” He stopped, continuing in a conciliating manner which changed again as he became more heated in his sentiments. “I do not mean to offend any Christians, for you are People of the Book, as are we, and the Jews, but the Greeks take advantage of the tolerance and respect we show to the People of the Book, and they seek to intrude into our country. It is a distressing state of affairs. They claim it is theirs by historical right. If we had taken Vienna, matters would be different now.” His German was now nearly unintelligible, as if Herr Kamir were being overcome with emotion. I could not but admire his performance and his great composure, for surely he was aware that we were in danger.
Herr Dortmunder showed a little interest in this outpouring. “Is there any danger of actual fighting, do you think?”
“With Allah’s help there will be peace,” said Mycroft Holmes. “It will be as Allah wills.”
I saw a smirk pass over Herr Dortmunder’s face as he said, “I suppose that’s true enough.”
Madame Isolde was becoming nervous again; she approached Mycroft Holmes uncertainly. “Your breakfast will be ready shortly, Herr Kamir.”
“Excellent,” he approved, and nodded in my direction. “Perhaps you, English, will come and tell me about the castles in the island of Queen Victoria?”
I glanced at Herr Dortmunder and saw him signal his consent. “All right. But I warn you, I will not be impressed by any of the accomplishments of King Ludwig. He has all the modern machinery and other things to aid him. The men who built the castles in England did it with sweat and muscle and will.”
“So it is with most castles,” said Mycroft Holmes as he salaamed again and turned away toward the room opposite the parlor, asking as I fell in behind him, “And what is your name, English?”
“August Jeffries,” I said at once, trying to keep up the pugnacious character I had assumed. We passed into the drawing room in time to see the major domo Felix supervising the setting up of a table by the window.
“Jeffries,” said Mycroft Holmes, as if tasting the name. “Not as hard to say as some I have encountered,” he went on in his execrable German, making a quick sign to me to do the same. “Sit down with me, Herr Jeffries, and tell me of the English castles while I have breakfast.” He clapped his hands, and when Felix turned toward him, said, “Set a place for Herr Jeffries. He will join me.”
“Very well, sir,” said Felix resentfully as he left the two servants to tend to it.
“I have a passion for castles,” went on Mycroft Holmes, speaking as “Herr Kamir” of Bursa. “Ever since I saw the ruins of the Crusaders’ forts, I have been eager to see those that are still occupied.”
I smiled, the effort greater than I had anticipated. “You Turks learned something of us English then,” I said, hoping my boast did not ring false.
“Yes,” said Mycroft Holmes. “We learned that you put on metal clothing to fight in the desert, and that you weighed too much to use our horses in battle, and so had to ship your own from great distances.” He bowed to me, and looked toward the table. “Shortly we will eat.” He added very softly, and in English. “They are listening.”
“I know,” I said in German, and straightened up. “Your soldiers might have thought ours unwise to fight in armor, but—”
“And they provided a red or black cross on their chests. Most archers yearn for such targets,” he went on in his Kamir-German. “It made our work so much easier for us.”
“And our knights were martyrs to their faith,” I blustered.
“So they were. They lost.” He nodded approval as the servants brought chairs to the table. As we approached to sit down, he murmured in English, his lips hardly moving. “Your last message was most alarming. I regret circumstances detained me for two days. I had planned to intervene before the situation became so fraught. Say something in German.”
“I wouldn’t call it lost,” I proclaimed.
He answered as Kamir. “No—it is not the way of the West, is it?” and went on again softly, “This has become difficult. More than I guessed it would.”
I kept up my German. “It was a glorious war, the Crusades.”
“All were lost,” said Mycroft Holmes again, with the good humor of a curious scholar with an appreciative student. “And it is not fitting to remark on the losses, not here.” He added in an undervoice. “How much danger are you in?”
My answer was for his private question, though I offered it as if responding to the public one. “The risk seemed worth the reward.”
“Truly?” asked Mycroft Holmes in his Kamir manner. “My dear Guthrie,” he went on quietly, “you alarm me.”
“Yes,” I insisted; the sound of my own name had taken me aback, and I tried to cover my confusion with indignation. “And no wonder. Germany is a most unexpected place, I have found.”
“Assuredly.” He looked to be unflappable, the master very much in control of his craft. We were given strong coffee; the bitter scent rose from our cups. I noticed that Mycroft Holmes had taken a packet from his robes, saying in a deferential way, “It is sugar, good sir. I find that sugar is not the same away from my own country, and it is a taste I miss. Thus” —he added in an undervoice— “it can so easily contain poison.”
I suppressed a shudder and said, “Just so.”
“There will be lamb and bread soon. Have some with me,” he offered in his terrible German. “It is good of Madame Isolde to do this for me, for it is not often she must cater to one of my compatriots.” He coughed, brought his napkin to his face and while apparently striving to stop the spasm, said quickly and softly, “Is there any immediate danger for you here? Is that man with the Brotherhood?” He set his napkin aside, and remark
ed, “It is often thus on a chill morning. The fog gets into the throat.”
“So it does,” I agreed, and said, “Yes, your observation is correct.”
“About Madame Isolde, you mean?” His strange accent seemed to be growing stronger.
“Your most recent remark, indeed,” I answered, feeling my vitals tighten. “I have rarely encountered such a reception as I have had in this country.” It was audacious to say this, but I knew Herr Dortmunder would expect something of the sort from Jeffries.
“Truly, it is a most gracious and remarkable place,” said Mycroft Holmes in the cadences of Kamir. “I stepped out earlier this morning before you arrived, I think, for a walk, and had a chance to admire the city, as well. It is a pity the weather was not better. Truly Munich is a jewel.”
I decided to follow his lead. “How could anyone suppose otherwise?”
He nodded, and gestured to the approaching servant to put silver and napkin before me. “Your coffee will grow cold,” he warned me.
“So it might,” I said, and obediently lifted the cup, hesitating at my lips while I tested its heat.
The window shattered, and the cup, at seemingly the same instant.
I was too shocked to do more than freeze in place until I realized that Mycroft Holmes had dropped down under the cover of the table and was pulling at my coat from underneath. Belatedly I responded, all but oversetting my chair in my haste to protect myself.
I could hear shouts in the house, and Herr Dortmunder came rushing into the dining room, a pistol drawn, and his face a mask of ire. Behind him Madame Isolde cowered. Throughout the house was the sound of hurrying footsteps as the servants came to discover the reason for all this upset.
“Good sir, good sir,” cried out Mycroft Holmes in his Kamir-German. “Someone is shooting at you. You must get away from the window.”
A second shot came, and I felt a hot crease along my forehead. I jerked away from the pain of it and my chair toppled over backward. I could feel blood on my face, hot and wet.
Against the Brotherhood Page 17
