Treacherous Is the Night

by Anna Lee Huber

  “Why, yes. Yes, we are.”

  “Is that the Michelin Guide to Ypres?” I asked.

  “Well, no.” She closed the book so that I could see the cover. “But I do have it.”

  “You do? Might I look at it for just a moment?”

  She exchanged a glance with her friend. “Of course.”

  The friend’s eyes scrutinized my matted hair and lack of a hat, for I’d raced out without donning it. I could only imagine what they thought of my ramshackle appearance, but truthfully, I didn’t care so long as I could see their book.

  The woman removed it from her shoulder satchel and I thumbed it open to the index page, searching for Boeschèpe. Finding the page with a picture of the cemetery, I flipped backward, discovering it was included in the second day of the itinerary. Max and his aunt would not be visiting it until tomorrow.

  I nearly wept in relief. “Thank you,” I replied, passing it back to them.

  Ignoring their looks of intense curiosity, I swiveled about to find Sidney. It took me a moment to locate his dark head among the crowd, but I soon spotted him near the cathedral entrance. I hurried over to him, my steps lighter than they had been moments before.

  “Tomorrow,” I gasped. “They won’t reach Boeschèpe until tomorrow.”

  “Then we’d best reach it first.”

  My eyes dipped to the book in his hands. “Did you buy that man’s guidebook? Why?”

  “I noticed it has maps and describes the most passable roads. If we’re to navigate our way through that mire without getting stuck, we’re going to need it.”

  I studied his wan face and the dark circles around his eyes, realizing that of all of us, he would know best what we were headed into. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, hating that it had come to this. That I had to ask him to step into that hell again. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. That the memories would undoubtedly be thick around him.

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. His gaze strayed toward the brick of the church, following it up the edifice toward the roof line. A thin strip of dark stubble he must have missed during this morning’s makeshift ablutions bristled on the underside of his jaw. “It will not be pleasant.”

  I reached for his hand, and his eyes lowered to meet mine, stark with shadows.

  “Let’s go tell the others what we’ve discovered,” he said.

  We returned to the room to find Rose waiting for us.

  “Where’s Captain Xavier?” I asked. I didn’t think he’d followed us from the building.

  “He asked to use the telephone,” she replied.

  Perhaps he was informing the War Office. Maybe there were men they could send to assist us. Or perhaps the Belgian government could be counted on to lend their aid since the cemetery rested on their soil.

  Whatever the case, we filled Rose in and then set down to study the guidebook and make our plans. Alec returned some minutes later.

  “Lord Ryde was, indeed, staying at a hotel in Lille,” he informed us. “But he left this morning. They expect him back tomorrow night after the tour is complete. He’ll be staying somewhere along the route tonight. Likely in Poperinghe.”

  “How did you discover that?” I inquired as he joined us at the table.

  “By telephoning the most notable hotels still standing in Lille. There are not many, so he wasn’t difficult to find.”

  “That certainly fits this timeline.” I nodded at the guidebook laid open before Sidney.

  Alec’s brow furrowed. “Unfortunately, the War Office is not proving so amenable. They found our evidence less than compelling, and without definitive proof that Moilien either has those bombs in his possession or intends to use them at Boeschèpe, they don’t wish to create an incident.”

  “Don’t they understand the ramifications if we are correct?” I demanded.

  “The most they’ll do is inform the gendarmes in Poperinghe to be on the lookout for a man bearing Moilien’s description.”

  “And if he’s wearing his mask?”

  Alec shrugged, his expression thunderous.

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled, forcing calm through my body. It wasn’t his fault the War Office was being so intractable. “I’ll telephone Landau. Perhaps he has some resources or connections that can help us.” After all, C had told him to help me in whatever way he could.

  “Whatever our plan is, whatever our resources, we need to be on the road to Poperinghe within the hour.” Sidney glanced out the window. “We still have plenty of daylight, but it will take hours to reach on these blasted roads.” He smacked the map on the page of the book open to him. “Though we’re going to bypass some of this, and take the road up to Menin, and through Gheluwe before detouring—as they’ve recommended since part of the main road to Ypres remains unpassable.” He glanced at Alec. “Unless you know a better way.”

  Alec’s eyes narrowed as if suspecting Sidney of making a dig at him because he hadn’t spent his war in the trenches. “I know next to nothing about it.”

  But Sidney did not take the bait. “Then this is our plan of approach. What we do when we get there remains to be seen. I suppose we attempt to locate Moilien and his bombs before he can place them.”

  I nodded and turned to Rose. “Do you intend to come with us?”

  She glared at me as if in scolding. “I don’t intend to stay behind.”

  “Then let’s gather what supplies we need and prepare to leave,” Sidney instructed as he closed the guidebook and rose to his feet.

  “I’ll bring the motorcar around,” Alec growled, as if happy to be free of us, at least for a few minutes.

  Rose began issuing instructions to the woman who had initially let us into the alley door while I waited for her to lead me to the telephone. She had just turned to address me when suddenly a shot rang out. It had come from the direction of the alley.

  I dashed down the steps with Sidney close on my heels, only to stumble to a stop to find Alec lying in the open doorway.

  “Son of a . . .” he cursed, grimacing in pain.

  I dropped to my knees and crawled toward him. “Where are you hit?” I asked, even as he lifted his hand away from his arm to reveal blood before clasping it back again.

  Another bullet struck the wooden doorframe, sending splinters flying.

  “Pull him back out of the doorway,” Sidney ordered, as he kneeled and grasped Alec’s legs.

  Alec grunted in pain as we unceremoniously hauled him back inside. “I’m not helpless,” he groused as he struggled to sit up.

  Sidney pushed him down again, making him utter another foul curse. “Wait until you’re clear of his line of fire.”

  Once Alec was safely inside, I expected Sidney to let the door close, but instead he reached for a piece of wood tossed in the corner they must have used as a prop. He jammed the piece between the door and frame, leaving a small gap.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded as Rose and an older lad who had come down the stairs after us helped Alec to his feet.

  Sidney withdrew his pistol. “I’m not going to give whoever this is the chance to come after us again.” He peered cautiously through the gap, before withdrawing his head again. “I suspect I’m a better shot than he is if the chap was aiming for Alec’s head or heart.” He nodded at the man with blood pouring from his shoulder.

  “Looks like he got close enough to me,” I snapped and then cringed as a shot struck the stone of the building outside.

  But Sidney was not even fazed, and I realized I was seeing him as he had been in the trenches. Focused, determined. As much as I wanted to yank him away from that gap in the door, I knew he was correct. Better to face this man now than have him shoot us in the back later.

  “We need a diversion,” he declared.

  I hurried to follow the others up the stairs to wherever they were leading Alec. “Rose, where are those boys you hired to run interference?”

  She glanced down at me in surprise. “Some of them are in the kitchen. Or the
y were.” She nodded down the passage to the left as we came to the top of the steps.

  I strode swiftly down it, listening for the sound of voices. Through the door at the end, I found four boys greedily stuffing their faces as an older woman clucked around them, dishing out more food.

  “We need your help,” I declared without preamble.

  They all turned as one to stare up at me, their cheeks bulging with food as they chewed, but none of them seemed the least interested in moving from their chairs. Having grown up with three brothers and an innumerable number of their friends, I knew how to get their attention.

  “It’s dangerous. I’m quite certain I shouldn’t be asking you.”

  The tallest one swallowed quickly, his dark eyes avid with interest. “We’ll help, madame.”

  The others nodded eagerly and I bit back a smile of triumph. “Excellent. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Where on earth the boys had scrounged up the whizzbangs they set to lighting with such relish, I didn’t know, but after hearing my initial plan, they were having none of it. They insisted instead on using these contraband explosives. Time being of the essence, I was hardly in the position to argue. At least the poppers would be used in a constructive way.

  I stood at the corner of the building, watching as they lit their fuses and then lobbed them into the entrance to the alley. A few seconds later, a series of loud pops and bangs echoed out of the narrow passage, startling passersby in the street as the boys cheered and slapped each other on the back. When one of them would have darted around me to see the damage, I yanked him back by the shoulder.

  I only hoped Sidney had realized what we were doing and taken advantage of any wavering in the shooter’s attention. Moments later, I had my answer.

  “I should have shot you in Liège,” I heard Sidney snarl.

  I risked peering around the corner to see him leveling his pistol at a man on the ground howling in pain.

  He flicked his gaze up at me briefly as I stepped into view. “Grab his gun.”

  I hurried forward, the boys at my heels, and knelt to pick up the Webley.

  “Nice job, boys,” Sidney told them, speaking in French as I had. His gaze remained leveled at the man who I could now see was Peter Smythe. “I’m guessing I have you to thank for that stroke of brilliance.”

  “Oui, monsieur,” they declared, and then proceeded to ask a dozen questions in their curious street patois.

  Sidney ignored them all. “You shall be handsomely rewarded. But first I need you to fetch a gendarme. Can you do that?”

  “You’re not going to kill him?” one particularly blood-thirsty lad asked.

  “No. Not today,” he replied. The anger he was keeping banked flared in his eyes. “Though that doesn’t mean I won’t shoot you in your leg if you don’t talk,” he snapped at the fellow.

  The boys would have stood there avidly staring if I hadn’t shooed them toward the street to do as Sidney had asked.

  “Where is Moilien? Where are the bombs?” he demanded of Smythe.

  He whimpered and cursed, clutching his bloodied hand before him.

  Sidney kicked him in the leg. “Where is Moilien? Where are the bombs?”

  I silently begged Smythe to answer. We needed that information, desperately, but I didn’t want to watch my husband have to shoot him again. I didn’t want Sidney to be forced to do it. But he simply kept muttering, “my hand, my hand, my hand.” I wondered if he was in shock.

  Then Sidney lowered the aim of his pistol. “Your leg then,” he threatened.

  This galvanized Smythe to speak. “Wait! Wait! I’ll tell you. Wait!”

  Sidney dropped his gun to his side, giving him a reprieve. “Then talk!”

  “He’s in Pops,” he bit out through clenched teeth, using the soldiers’ popular nickname for Poperinghe, and confirming what we already knew.

  “And the bombs?” Sidney pressed.

  When Smythe hesitated, he lifted his gun again.

  “He’s burying them in the road somewhere,” he snarled.

  Sidney lifted his gaze to meet mine. I think we were both astonished to discover what we’d feared was true. Moilien did have the bombs. And he intended to use them.

  “Where?” he pressed.

  “I don’t know where. Somewhere near Ypres. I think.”

  “You think?” Sidney’s glare turned deadly again.

  “He didn’t share his plans with me,” he snapped before whimpering again. “I need a doctor.”

  “Not yet. How did you know we’d be here?”

  “I didn’t. You were supposed to be dead.” He glowered at us as if we were somehow to be blamed. “But you told that mechanic you were headed toward Tourcoing, so we figured Madame Moreau must be nearby. And then lo and behold, you two come striding into the church square. I thought at first you were ghosts, but you’re flesh and blood all right.”

  The gendarme arrived then, cutting off our interrogation. We told them Smythe was a wanted fugitive from Britain and how he had shot our friend when he recognized him, leaving him in their charge.

  I hurried inside to find Alec sitting upright as Rose bandaged his upper arm.

  “The man refuses to lie down,” Rose groused.

  “It’s merely a flesh wound,” he snapped back.

  “One that took a sizable furrow out of your flesh. You’ll have a nasty scar. And if you’re not careful, it will become infected.”

  “So give me another one of those shots. And give me a shot of morphine while you’re at it. We need to get to Poperinghe.” He glanced up at me. “Did Sidney disarm him?”

  Before I could answer, Rose yanked the bandage tight. “You were just shot. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “As I said before, it’s no cause for concern,” he retorted through gritted teeth. His face was pale with pain. “Just give me the morphine.”

  Sidney returned to stand behind me, sizing up the situation quickly. “We can’t make accommodations for you,” he told Alec. “The roads between here and Pops are going to be pockmarked and uneven. It will not be a comfortable ride.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “And how exactly are you going to help?” Rose huffed. “You can’t even lift this arm.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he reiterated, glaring up at her.

  Rose looked to me for assistance, but I shrugged. Alec was as stubborn as they came, and he certainly wasn’t going to listen to me. Let him suffer if that’s what he wished to do.

  “Give him the morphine,” Sidney told her grimly. “I’ll get the motorcar.” His arm touched mine. “You call Landau.”

  * * *

  To say the drive to Poperinghe was hellish would be an understatement. It wasn’t far outside of Tourcoing that the trappings of modern civilization seemed to completely drop away, replaced by the devastation of war. First, it was only the shelled wreckage of buildings crumbling between the homes that were pockmarked but had still been spared. But those buildings still standing became fewer and fewer—until all that was left were piles of rubble lining the dirt roads, and the cement bunkers and machine gun nests of the enemy.

  Nothing of any height stood from horizon to horizon in the failing light. All the trees had been shorn and splintered to pieces, so all that was left were the severed trunks pointing straight up at the sky, though none reached far. The fading daylight made the churned and scarred landscape appear all the more desolate and mournful. It sent chills up my spine to think of the untold number of lives destroyed on this soil. In some sense, it seemed as if they were still there, hovering at the corner of my eye. That if I turned my head fast enough, I might see them.

  However, the fall of darkness, while increasing the hazards—particularly in the sections which required us to drive over temporary bridges and boards rigged over streams and shell holes—brought its own reprieve. The stomach-churning smells released by the heat of the day lessened in the chill of evening as a blessed breez
e of fresh air blew in from the west.

  Rose and Alec sat in the rear seat, where he struggled in vain to hide his discomfort. But it was Sidney I felt most worried for. With each mile we drove into the devastated lands, the darker the shadows seemed to gather around him. His hands gripped the steering wheel as his eyes glared fiercely ahead, and I wasn’t quite sure whether he was seeing the present or staring into the past.

  Sometime an hour after sunset we reached Ypres. Or rather, what was left of it. This was somewhat familiar country to me now, for I had been here once during the war. I had witnessed the utter destruction. I didn’t need to see it again. In any case, it required all my concentration to flip between the pages of the guidebook, reading by the light of my torch, to direct Sidney on the swiftest route through the ruined city.

  Once we were on the much-traveled road between Ypres and Poperinghe, where troops and supplies were constantly moving up and down to the front and back, Sidney seemed to settle within himself. Perhaps he realized we were through the worst and headed to the rear, so to speak. Perhaps he was reliving the sensation that he had survived yet another rotation in the trenches. Or perhaps he was merely tired. Whatever the case, he relaxed into his seat.

  “Are you all right?” I asked softly. “Can I get you anything?”

  He risked a glance at me before refocusing on the road. “No. I just . . . I can’t stop thinking how deranged it feels to be racing across this benighted country to stop a madman.”

  “War makes the irrational rational,” I replied simply and then sighed. “I know this isn’t war anymore, but . . .”

  “But it sure bloody feels like it.” His gaze met mine again briefly, and the warmth of our solidarity wrapped itself around me like a cozy blanket. We might be hurtling toward an unknown danger, but at least we would be facing it together.

  A short distance past the partially demolished village of Vlamertinghe, everything changed. It was almost startling in its abruptness. Here the heavy shelling and artillery barrage had stopped, and so large shade trees lined the road. Beyond them lay the wavering, glistening tips of hops in the moonlight.