Simon Green - Property of a Lady Faire

He glared at me, and considered the question for a long moment. He actually thought about it, before slowly shaking his head.

“You’re right, Eddie Drood. You’re not worth fighting a war over. I’ll wait till you’ve done all the hard work and claimed the Lazarus Stone, and then I’ll take it away from you.”

He bowed stiffly, to me and Molly and the Doormouse, and then he turned and walked away, disappearing between the long lines of Doors.

“Damn,” said Molly. “Damn! Eddie, you just faced down the Detective Inspectre! I am seriously impressed!”

I armoured down so I could smile at her. “When in doubt, go for brute strength and ignorance, and baffle them with bullshit. And a little applied psychology.”

“Did you know your armour could protect you from the Detective Inspectre?” said the Doormouse.

“Of course,” I lied.

He shook his furry head slowly.

“Will your family really go up against him for you?”

I shrugged. “Probably. Once I’ve got them back on my side. But for that I need the Winter Palace, the Lady Faire, and the Lazarus Stone. In that order.”

“Then the sooner you’re out of my establishment, the better,” said the Doormouse. “You are bad for business, Eddie Drood. My nerves may never recover. Now, off you go. The Trans-Siberian Express is waiting for you. No charge for the service, best of luck, why aren’t you two moving?”

The Doormouse’s Door dropped us off in a long wooden carriage, full of crates and boxes, suitcases and other luggage, and lots of shadows and shifting light. Molly and I had to cling to each other as the speeding carriage lurched back and forth, throwing us this way and that. The air was thick with dust and the smell of unvarnished wood, and freezing cold. I looked back at the Door, but it was already gone, as though to make sure we couldn’t change our minds.

“Well,” I said, as lightly as I could manage, “welcome to what appears to be the baggage compartment of the renowned Trans-Siberian Express.”

Molly laughed and clung to my jacket lapels with both hands so she could grin right into my face. “You just faced down the Detective Inspectre, Eddie! I am so proud of you! But if you ever scare me like that again, I will slap your head right off. What do you mean, baggage compartment ?”

“I have never known anyone who could change direction so often, and so fast, in the same conversation,” I said. “So, in order, thank you, understood, and take a look around.”

We finally got our balance and let go of each other, so we could properly investigate our new surroundings. We’d arrived in a narrow railway carriage, constructed almost entirely from wooden slats, an unpolished wooden floor thickly covered in sawdust, and a rough, curving wooden ceiling. Two bare bulbs swung in the gloom overhead, unlit, but bright light punched through slits and holes in the carriage walls, filling the long open space with great blasts of flaring light, more than enough to push back the constantly shifting shadows. Crates and boxes and expensive leather luggage were piled up everywhere, and crammed tightly into shelves that ran the whole length of the carriage. Much of it had the look of expensive designer brands, while the carriage itself was deliberately old-fashioned. A blast from the past, in the service of tradition and nostalgia.

Molly staggered up and down the rattling carriage, looking closely at anything that seemed expensive or interesting and getting into everything. She didn’t seem particularly impressed by our new surroundings. I said as much.

“You don’t seem too impressed by our new surroundings, Molly.”

“Oh, come on!” she said, not even glancing back at me. “It’s a dump! Whoever put this place together had never even heard of style or comfort, except as something other people did. Look at all this unfinished wood, I’ll get splinters, I know I will.”

“It’s traditional,” I said. “It’s supposed to be . . . basic. The whole journey is a throwback to the grand old days of steam travel. This kind of in-depth historical re-creation is very popular these days. And extremely expensive. It costs a lot of money to look as authentically crap as this. I’m sure the passenger carriages are much more stylish, and comfortable. In a determinedly old-fashioned way, of course. Steam trains are considered very romantic, mostly by people who’ve never actually travelled on one. You have at least heard of the Trans-Siberian Express, Molly, haven’t you?”

“No,” Molly said shortly, idly testing the locks on a suitcase. “Sounds very much a boy thing, steam trains.”

“The journey starts off in Eastern Europe,” I said patiently. “Runs from one side of Russia to the other, including Siberia, and then down through China, to its farthest coast. The height of old-time luxury, I’m told, for those who can afford it.”

“Then what are we doing in the baggage car?” said Molly.

“Hiding out,” I said. “We don’t want to be noticed, remember?”

Molly sniffed loudly, giving all her attention to a pile of designer luggage with entirely insufficient defences. Given that this was the luggage of very rich and important people, I have to say most of it was painfully badly protected. The bigger crates and boxes were just held together with elastic cables, leather straps, and the odd length of baling wire. And the locks weren’t anything I couldn’t have opened in a moment, if I’d been so inclined. I looked thoughtfully at one long rectangular box, pushed up against the far wall . . . which gave every appearance of being a coffin. Wrapped in heavy iron chains. I drew Molly’s attention to the coffin, and we stood together, to consider it.

“Are those chains there to keep thieves out, or whatever’s inside in?” wondered Molly.

“Let sleeping mysteries lie,” I said. “And since there aren’t any seats or chairs in here . . .”

We sat down on the coffin lid, side by side. The baggage car continued to throw itself violently back and forth, as the train hammered along the tracks. The air was close, and the cold was starting to bite, but for the first time it felt like I could relax and feel safe. Or at least not immediately threatened by anything. It felt good, to be somewhere no one was looking for us. Molly stared unblinkingly at the expensive suitcases piled up opposite us, and I sighed inwardly as I recognised a familiar mercenary gleam in her eye. Molly was considering going shopping, and not in a good way.

“I will bet you there are all kinds of serious valuables in those cases,” said Molly.

“Could we think about that later?” I said, even though I knew a lost cause when I saw one right in front of me.

“No time like the present,” Molly said cheerfully. “You’re the one who didn’t inherit any money from his grandmother. One of us has to be the provider.”

“I’m really not going to like this month’s bills, am I?”

“Oh, hush, you big baby. It’s only money.” Molly looked around her speculatively. “There’s got to be a safe in here somewhere, where they lock up the really tasty stuff.”

“We don’t want to set off any alarms,” I said sternly. “Or alert people on the train that we’re here. We need to be quiet.”

“What’s all this we shit, kemo sabe?” said Molly. “A girl has to look out for her best interests . . .”

“We are on our way to a place that doesn’t officially exist, to steal something that almost certainly doesn’t do what it says on the tin, from a person who isn’t even a person, to buy my parents back from someone we don’t even have a name for!” I said. “While every secret organisation in the world, very definitely including my own family, wants us dead! We don’t need any more complications, Molly!”