Simon Green - Property of a Lady Faire

“You know such charming anecdotes,” said Molly. “Better not try that trick here; I don’t think it would make a good impression.”

“Of course not,” I said cheerfully. “Only the very best for us, because we’re worth it.”

“I love to hear you talk,” said Molly. “You’ve lived, haven’t you, Eddie?”

“Not as much as you,” I said generously.

Her earthy laughter filled the air, and well-manicured heads came up all around us. I don’t think they were used to hearing the real thing. Perhaps fortunately, a train conductor came bustling into the carriage just then. Wearing a sharp and severe black uniform, with lots and lots of gold buttons down the front, and a stiff-peaked cap. He looked quickly round the restaurant car, fixed his gaze on Molly and me, and headed straight for us. He had that look, of a small man with a little power, determined to abuse it for all it was worth. And make everyone else’s life as difficult as possible, just on general principles. It was clear from his expression that he didn’t like the look of Molly and me. We weren’t dressed well enough, didn’t look rich or powerful enough, to be eating in his restaurant car, on his train. The likes of us had no place in such a salubrious setting.

He walked right up to us, ignoring all the other diners seated at their tables, and everyone else sensed trouble coming and determinedly minded their own business. Molly studied the conductor lazily as he approached, and smiled a quietly disturbing smile.

“Want me to turn him into something squelchy?”

“Not in front of the passengers,” I said quickly. “We’re trying not to draw attention to ourselves, remember?”

“All right,” said Molly. “I’ll try something subtle.”

“Oh good,” I said, wincing. “You always do so much more damage when you’re trying to be subtle.”

The conductor slammed to a halt at our table and drew himself up to his full height, the better to puff out his chest and sneer down his nose at us.

“Yes?” I said, drawing the word out in my best aristocratic English, so that it sounded like an insult. “Is there something you need, fellow?”

He’d clearly heard that kind of English before, and it threw him a little off balance, but one look at our clothes reassured him that we were definitely not the right sort. He glared at me unblinkingly, ignoring Molly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that going down really badly with Molly.

“Pardon me, sir and madam,” he said, in only lightly accented English. “I am afraid I must insist you show me all your tickets and passes. Including your reservations for dinner at this serving. If you cannot, you must explain yourselves immediately! I hope it will not be necessary for me to summon the security guards. They can be . . . most unpleasant.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” I said. “Molly dearest . . . ?”

“Of course, darling,” said Molly. She snapped her fingers imperiously, to draw the conductor’s attention, and then fixed his gaze with hers. His face went blank, and his jaw dropped, just a little. Molly held out an empty hand to him. “There. See? We have first-class tickets. And reservations. And everything else we need. So you don’t need to bother us ever again. Do you?”

The conductor started to say something, and then his mouth snapped shut as Molly frowned. The conductor looked at her empty hand, and then smiled meaninglessly at Molly and at me.

“Of course . . . madam and sir. Everything is in order. You will not be troubled again.”

“We’re not the diners you’re looking for,” I said.

“Quite so, sir . . .”

He turned abruptly away and marched off, looking completely convinced and terribly confused. He rubbed at his forehead with one hand, as though bothered by something he couldn’t quite place, or something in his head that shouldn’t be there. He glared at everyone he passed as he hurried back down the aisle, looking for someone to take out his unease on, but everyone had the good sense to keep their heads down and say nothing. Molly looked around for the nearest waiter and caught his eye, and the young man immediately snapped to attention and hurried forward to take our order.

In the end, Molly ordered one whole page of the menu, and not to be outdone, I ordered everything on the opposite page. Just to increase the odds of ending up with something worth having. The waiter actually lowered himself to look seriously impressed. The bill for that much food was probably more than he and his fellow waiters on the train earned in a week. I then raised myself even further in his estimation by blithely ordering him to bring us a bottle of the best Champagne the Trans-Siberian Express could offer. The waiter smiled and bowed quickly, several times, and then hurried off to place our order and tell his fellows all about it. Obviously anticipating a really good tip, because clearly money meant nothing to such wealthy patrons as us.

Molly and I threw aside the menus, sat back in our comfortable seats, and looked about us. It was all very calm, very civilised. Very peaceful. Not a hint of piped music. Though if they sent a gypsy violinist in to serenade us, I was fully prepared to punch him in the head repeatedly until he gave up and went away again.

“We should do this more often,” said Molly. “We never seem to find the time to just kick back and enjoy ourselves. Pamper the inner person . . . Though I have to ask, are you actually planning to pay for all this, or are we just going to have to break a window and jump for it? I mean, I never pay for anything on principle, on the unanswerable grounds that the world owes me. But I have to say, confusing a conductor is one thing, but confusing a credit card reader could prove problematic . . .”

“Not to worry,” I said. “I have a whole bunch of credit cards, courtesy of the Armourer. All part of an agent’s legend, once he’s out in the field. I was supposed to hand them back in, but after the way my family treated me, somehow it just slipped my mind . . .”

“Won’t they have shut those cards down, now you’re disowned?” Molly said carefully.

“They can’t,” I said cheerfully. “They’re not real cards. They’re good enough to fool any machine, anywhere in the world, but the best of luck to anyone actually trying to get money out of them . . .”

Molly looked at me accusingly. “Why haven’t I heard about these cards before?”

“Because you’d only have abused them,” I said.

“Of course!” said Molly. “That’s what credit cards are for!”

“It’s people like you that undermine economies,” I said. “Now then, I can only use each card once, and then they self-destruct so they can’t be traced. And since I can’t go back to the Armourer to ask for more, we’re going to have to make them last.” I stopped for a moment to consider the matter. “I still believe I can go home again, eventually. That I can put things right with them. When I explain about my parents, and the Voice, and the Lazarus Stone.”

“After everything your family has put you through, you still want to go back?” said Molly. “After all the terrible ways they’ve treated and mistreated you, you still think you have to explain yourself to them? You let your family walk all over you, Eddie.”

“Of course,” I said. “That’s what families are for.”

I looked out the window again. Snow. I looked up and down the restaurant car, studying the other passengers. They all seemed very prosperous, very comfortable, and happy enough with the food in front of them, if not necessarily with each other’s company. There was barely a murmur of conversation going on in the whole carriage. Most of the diners had the look of couples who’d been together for some time and had said everything to each other that was worth saying. So they sat, and ate, and didn’t look at each other. I hoped Molly and I would never get to that stage.