The Adventure of Anna the Great

Chapter III - The Mission of the Gentleman in Black

  I was terrifically tired. A part of me said that there was no reason why this woman should not be here, and that I should simply nod and continue on my way to bed. After all, she was probably not really the same woman, just a figment of my over-taxed imagination. All sorts of images from the day were swimming in my head.

  Foremost among these visions was the look of shock on that man’s face when he saw me. Again and again it played in my mind, like a rhythm, a drumbeat, a heart beat. It began to exaggerate itself and I feared I was forgetting something. Then a recollection surged in on the rhythm, imposing itself upon the first. The woman’s face in the livery stable that morning when she looked at those lazy men. It had been quick, but it reflected the same emotions.

  I withdrew further into the shadow, rather than come forth. I was awake again now, though it was the dazed wakefulness of over-fatigue. My mind was clear enough and I remembered all the trivial oddities about the woman, the livery stable, and the group in the inn. Something was up and I wanted to know about it.

  She was a tall woman, of powerful build, with fair hair and pale skin. Her face was not nearly so beautiful as I remembered it. The strain of the day had stripped all youth and elegance from it. Her clothing, a rich blue travelling dress with black lace, was of the highest quality, but it was badly rumpled.

  She did not enter the inn immediately. Instead she paused to look cautiously around. She walked back to the road, looking carefully in each direction. She seemed to be watching for something in particular.

  While she was so occupied I heard the door of the inn open. The gentleman in black crept out quietly. He had a pistol in his hand and he was followed by his companions. I could see they meant the woman no good, which disappointed me for I had begun to like that gentleman, though I did not care for his friends.

  The woman had begun to sidle back toward the inn, her head turned, eyes still on the road. I opened my mouth to shout a warning, but by then they were on her. She tried to run. Two of the ruffians pinned her arms, while the leader thrust his pistol in her face.

  “No use in struggling, madame,” he said, his voice as mellifluous as earlier. “It’s not ladylike.”

  “I’ll pay you to let me go,” she replied, almost in a whisper, but her voice had carrying quality and I could hear her plainly. “I can pay you as much as he does.”

  “Oh, but he so very badly wants to see you!”

  “He’ll kill me.”

  “Nonsense. Well, he might. But if he wanted you dead, you’d be long dead by now.” He wagged the gun in her face.

  They started to drag her toward the road, but from the end of the street sounded a clatter of hooves and wheels, and the murmur of two or three voices. The kidnappers halted and listened. The sound was coming nearer.

  I saw the leader gesture to his men, and the majority of them congregated beside the road, like a drunken group deciding which tavern to head for next, while a few disappeared altogether.

  The leader and one other took the woman back into the shadows. I withdrew behind a rain barrel. They came to a stop quite close to me, within easy lunging distance of my sword. I began to draw the weapon ever so slowly.

  The leader’s face was turned away from me, his attention focused on the approaching carriage. All I could see was his slender silhouette, poised like an alley cat, with simultaneous ease and tautness. The gun wavered, and now it pointed at nothing.

  My sword was out and I sprang, jabbing the hand that held the gun. The man let out a yell of surprise and dropped the pistol. He wheeled around, wringing his bleeding hand, and looked for what had stung him. His cohort jumped in surprise too, and the woman wriggled loose and fled, screaming, for the carriage. He went after her, calling to the others and trying to stop the scream, but it grew and carried, as if the woman had had some practice.

  The gentleman in black remained where he was. His startled look had become a handsome scowl, a look that played right into my fuzzy, romantic state of mind. I moved out of the shadow cautiously and deliberately, and around toward the road to cut off his escape, but he showed no signs of attempting an escape.

  “Ah, the pipsqueak,” he said as he got a better look at me. He was angry, but entirely at ease. He glanced once, calmly, toward the road and the commotion. I dared not look for fear of a trick. “Well,” he said, “ it’s time you learned something.”

  Before I could so much as blink his sword was out and he was attacking me. I had injured his right hand, but now I discovered he was left handed, like me. I jumped back as his sabre flashed by, an inch from taking my nose off. I was not used to fighting a left handed attack, and I barely parried his next cut, which I felt against my shoulder even as I stopped it. I was an excellent fencer, or at least it had always seemed so. Now it occurred to me that my past successes may have been a big joke by the men who had taught me. His blade came so fast, I could barely see it in time to parry. I had to manage by dodging, and still each cut seemed to snag me here, or just graze me there. His blade swept by my ear, singing with vibrations. I scrambled backwards, out of his range, my feet slipping on the gravel. His reach was long; I could not hope to develop my own attack without coming inside it.

  His face no longer looked becoming. It was murderous, and frightening in the poor light of the lamp. I began to feel like a very small boat, while he raged at me like a typhoon.

  You wanted adventure, I said to myself, here you are, full into it, and not likely to survive the night.

  I lost my balance, only for an instant, but that was enough for him. He made a wild leap at me. My feet could not move fast enough, so I stumbled. As I fell, I thought that there was nothing for it but to run, if it was not already too late. I let go of my sword and when I hit the ground I rolled and began scrambling on all fours.

  He grabbed my belt with his left had, still holding his sabre too, and hauled me back. He kicked me over on my back, pinning me to the ground with his foot on my stomach. He raised his sword high with both hands, point down, and waited a second, sneering at me. Suddenly he jerked it higher and plunged it downward. I let out a scream, not like the lady had, but a pretty good one. The sword never hit. He stopped it an inch from my chest, and started chuckling.

  “A bit of advice, lad,” he said quickly. “When fighting a taller opponent, it’s useless to stay outside his distance. Get in there, boy, where it’s harder for him to maneuver.” He dashed away, scooping up his fallen pistol as he went.

  The fight had not lasted long. I sat up and found myself in a ditch along the road, about fifty yards from the carriage, which had come to a stop. It was a closed coach with four horsemen in attendance. The woman had not reached it, and I caught a glimpse of her as the leader helped one of his men drag her into the shadows. The others were occupying the horsemen with a convincing simulation of a drunken riot. In a moment, however, a whistle signaled them and they scattered, chased ineffectually by two of the horsemen.

  I pulled myself to my hands and knees. During the fight I had not noticed the hurts I received, but now they made themselves known. I felt as if I had had a bad fall from a tall horse. The palms of my hands were skinned. I had a bruise across my left hip and buttock from my opponent’s kick. A muscle was stiff and sore in my back, though I could not remember from what. On top of all this my elbow decided to sting again from its morning injury.

  I stood and limped toward the carriage and its two remaining attendants, which I could see now were wearing green uniforms. One of them trotted over to me.

  “Are you all right, lad?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” I answered, stooping to pick up my sword. He dismounted and looked me over. He was a tall, broad man, an officer I thought from the braid and decoration on his uniform. I was not good at telling one rank from another.

  “What happened here?” he said. “Are you a friend of that lady?”

 
“No sir. I just tried to help,” I said. “They kidnapped her.”

  “That is what I thought. I couldn’t see for certain.” He shook his head with regret. “We were hoping you may know why or who.”

  “No, sir,” I said, “but I know they’d been tracking her all day.”

  “Come with me, son,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders. “I want the colonel to hear this.”

  He lead me to the carriage where the other man, the colonel, was leaning down from his horse and speaking with the occupant of the coach.

  “George,” said my companion. The colonel looked up and rode to us. He was a smaller man than my companion, though just as broad. He was older, around the half century mark by my estimate. He had the most luxurious mustache I have ever seen and his graying hair, which curled from under his cap, was slightly longer than I would expect from a military man.

  “Well, Johan?” he asked eagerly. Johan shook his head.

  “He’s only a bystander,” he said, “but I think he knows something.”

  The colonel dismounted and patted me on the shoulder. “I saw you out there,” he said. “Brave lad.”

  “Stupid lad,” I said. I was beginning to feel the sting of embarrassment at having been so soundly and easily beaten.

  “Oh a bit outmatched,” granted the colonel, “but you showed spunk, boy. What is your name?”

  I very nearly said Anna, but I caught myself. “Albert,” I said.

  “Well, Albert, do you know the lady those fellows just carried off?”

  “No, sir. . . .”

  “Damn. Do you know any of the villains?”

  “No, sir, I had only just seen them in the inn while I ate my dinner. The innkeeper may know them. I have seen the lady before though, sir, and one of the men.”

  “When?”

  “This morning . . . .”

  Here I was interrupted by the return of the other two soldiers. They reported that they had been unable to catch the miscreants. The colonel ordered one of them to the inn to question its inhabitants.

  “Colonel Bartleby,” a woman’s voice called from the coach before I could restart my tale. The colonel went and spoke a moment to her. I wondered at the English name. The colonel had no trace of accent.

  “Is he English?” I asked.

  “English grandfather,” whispered Johan curtly, as if there were some shame in it, but he had a trace of amusement in his voice.

  “We’re to head back,” said Bartleby on returning to us. “Where do you live, boy?”

  “I have a room here for the night, sir.”

  “In that case, save your money. You’re coming with us.” Colonel Bartleby began to turn away, as if the conversation were done.

  “Pardon me, sir, but you haven’t asked if I wanted to come.”

  “Nonsense, lad. This is important, and I haven’t time to finish questioning you here.” He mounted his horse again, and Johan reached down to help me up on his.

  “But sir,” I insisted. “I have my own horse to worry about, and I couldn’t make him go another step. And I still have to pay for the dinner I’ve eaten.”

  Bartleby shook his head impatiently and turned to the other soldier. “Kraus, go settle the boy’s account, and see to his pony, will you?” The soldier saluted and trotted off to join his companion in the inn.

  That was the end of any objection I could have, and with that I climbed up behind Johan. We rode through the town for over a half an hour, while I wondered about my companions. The carriage had no crest or mark upon it, but the passenger must have been someone important to give orders to a colonel and to have four horsemen in attendance. Lifbau, since it was so small, was a very familiar nation. Attendants were few, even to the royal family. Perhaps she was out in secret.

  Presently we arrived at the palace, which confirmed my thoughts on her stature, and came in through the stable entrance, which strengthened my suspicions about secrecy. I did not catch enough sight of her when she left her carriage to learn anything else, for Johan’s broad expanse obscured my view.

  I was also falling asleep, which did nothing for my thoughts. My mind could not settle on anything, except the fact that I was puzzled and my seat was numb from too much riding.

  Johan reached back and pulled me from my perch, for which I felt extremely grateful. I was limp as a rag doll, and he grabbed my elbow, the sore elbow, to keep me from falling. I let out a moan and wiggled free, falling sharply to the ground on my rear, which was also bruised. The double pain brought me awake and my thoughts and memories sharpened quickly.

  “If this is the cost of adventure, better that I’d have stayed home,” I groaned, climbing to my feet. Johan laughed.

  A few moments later I was seated in a room in the palace. It was a nice room, but obviously not one of the royal salons. It was a businesslike room, with a desk, chairs, and a fireplace, but still fitting in grandeur to the palace. There was fine carving on the fireplace, and the draperies were sumptuous. It was rather small, though, and on the floor above the guard rooms.

  In the room with me were the colonel and Johan. Both stood before me, looking appraisingly at me as I sat on a little stool.

  “Do you know who we are?” asked the colonel at last, fussing at his mustache with his right index finger.

  “You are Colonel Bartleby, and he is Johan,” I said, adding a shrug to indicate I knew nothing more.

  “I am Colonel George Bartleby, Master of the Royal Guard,” he said.

  “Oh,” I said, in a tone to show surprise and enlightenment.

  “And this,” he added, turning to Johan, “is the Marquis von Furlenhaur.”

  I had heard of the Marquis of Furlenhaur. He had the double advantage of being one of the wealthiest men in Lifbau, and of being well known and liked for his good nature and courage. He was often spoken of in the same breath as the queen.

  “Your grace,” I said, wishing I had paid closer attention to my lessons in manners. Just how did you address a marquis?

  The marquis laughed and patted me on the shoulder. “By God, it looks like we’ve properly impressed him, George,” he said. He turned to me and added, in a conspiratorial whisper, “Johan is fine with me, in private, but you’d best keep calling him Colonel Bartleby.”

  I liked the marquis, and it was gratifying to see that he liked me in return. Perhaps he would be my key to adventure, if he would allow me to tag along behind him. His great stature made me think of the lady in the carriage.

  “Sirs?” I said. “Pardon me, but was that lady in the carriage the queen?”

  They looked at one another and the marquis said, “Yes,” while the colonel said, adamantly, “No.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I won’t say anything.”

  “It’s not that it’s a secret, lad,” the colonel hurried to say. “It is simply that . . . .”

  “I understand. The queen has enemies.” I did not know what possible use what I saw could be to her enemies, but I wanted to sound at least a little sophisticated. “I only want to know what happened.”

  “You know more than we do, Albert,” said Bartleby. I doubted that. “We appreciate your loyalty. Now, tell us your story, particularly where you have seen that poor woman before.”

  “Well, this morning I had just left from Halzig,” I began.

  “Halzig?” said the marquis. “You must have left very early.”

  “Oh, I did. Anyway, in a very small hamlet at the edge of Halzig, I’m not sure of the name but it’s on the main road, I saw the lady. Something was wrong with her carriage and she had to buy a coach ticket to get to Lifbau. I helped her with her bags.”

  I told them about the loafers in the doorway, and I described both the lady and the fellow whom I had encountered again that evening. My listeners gave no sign of recognition to my descriptions. They seemed to grow more puzzled as I spoke, and they asked me a thousand questions I could never answer about names a
nd destinations.

  I turned to a description of the events at the inn. The two men before me seemed to sink further and further into an agitated depression. The colonel sat down quite close to me and stared with an unpleasant intensity that made me feel like a criminal rather than a witness. The marquis took to pacing the room with his hands clasped behind him. He did not look at me, and he gave no sign that he was even listening.

  “Describe the leader again,” ordered Bartleby.

  “He was tall.”

  “How tall?”

  “Not quite so tall as the marquis, but nearly so. He had black, thick hair . . . .”

  “A mustache?”

  “No. He was dressed all in black, and like a gentleman. He was very slender.”

  “How slender? What did he weigh?”

  “I’m not very good as guessing weights,” I said. “He was slender enough so that no one would argue that he wasn’t, but he wasn’t skin and bones. He was slender like a sapling. Or perhaps he was more like a spider. . . .”

  “Damn it, lad, comparing the man to an insect doesn’t help me. Describe him properly.”

  “Take it easy, George,” said the marquis, stopping his pacing. “Can’t you see the boy is tired? He’s nearly falling off his chair.”

  “I’m sorry, Albert, but the description you’ve given me could fit a dozen men.”

  “Yes,” said the marquis. “But I think we could narrow it down through elimination. How many of them would be kidnappers? And of a woman with a message for the queen?”

  “A good many of them,” said Bartleby angrily. I let my head droop down in weariness, not listening to what they were saying. “He might not even be someone we know. That may not have even been the same woman!”

  I let out a yawn. “I’m sure the innkeeper knows more than I do. And the cook.”

  Bartleby looked at Furlenhaur, but the marquis shook his head. “Fritz told me the innkeeper hadn’t seen them before. The cook knew even less.”

  “She told the serving girl that he was a viper,” I said. “She must have known him.”

  “You’re sure of this?” asked Bartleby, as the marquis stepped out the door and hollered for Fritz. I nodded my head and dropped my chin to my hands, eyes closed, while the marquis’ raised voice mingled with the subdued sounds of the guard. After a moment he reentered.

  “Fritz now thinks the cook may have been evasive. He’ll talk to her again tomorrow,” said Furlenhaur. They then spent some time arguing about the situation. Their voices faded to a hum, which drifted across my mind. My body began to drift too, as I slipped to the floor with a thump.

  The marquis lifted me to my feet, saying, “Sorry, Albert, we got involved.”

  Bartleby said something about a room in the stable. I wondered if I were going to be forced to sleep on my feet, like a horse, in one of those narrow little standing stalls.