Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

“It depends,” said the landlord; “for Turinsk no special permission is necessary, but in the case of foreigners I should think your tickets would require endorsement; however, it is of no great moment; the Tchinovinks hate to be bothered. They sleep all day; if there is trouble, give a few roubles, and all will be well.”

“Thank you, my friend. In that case I think we will go to Turinsk on the midday train, and, if we may, we will remain under your hospitable roof until then. We shall require another meal before we go.”

“Welcome, and again welcome,” said the landlord, with all the inherent politeness of the peasant.

“All is well.” The Duke turned to Simon as he spoke, for the latter had not understood one word of this conversation. “There is a train at midday which will take us as far as Turinsk; after that the forbidden territory begins, and we shall have to use our wits.”

“How about tickets?” asked Simon, doubtfully.

“Bluff, my friend. I gather that the officials here are lazy and careless, and open to bribes, very different to those in Moscow.”

“Better say we left the other tickets in the train!”

“Yes, that is an excellent idea.”

“I’ve been wondering about that Shulimoff treasure,” said Simon, in a low voice. “Do you think Rex got it before they got him?”

“How can we say?” De Richleau raised his slanting eyebrows. “We know that Shulimoff had estates near Tobolsk. Evidently the treasure must be buried there, or Rex would never have ventured into this dangerous area.”

“Fun if we could take a few souvenirs out of this rotten country!” Simon chuckled into his hand.

“Let us not think of that. We shall have our work cut out to get Rex out of the clutch of these devils!”

At eleven o’clock the landlord produced two wooden bowls containing a kind of stew, mainly composed of skinny mutton and barley. With it was the inevitable rye bread and bitter tea.

In spite of the unappetizing nature of the fare they both ate heartily, since they realized that it might well be the last food they would touch for many hours.

When they had finished they paid the landlord handsomely, and crossed the road to the station. At the booking office there were difficulties. The Duke explained that through some misunderstanding their baggage, and with it their tickets, had been carried on that morning by the main-line train, and that they were merchants from the great fur market of Lemberg, anxious to trade. There was much argument, but De Richleau had been clever in that he had not allowed much time before the train was due to depart. It was too late for them to return into the town for an examination by senior officials — their passports were in order — only the tickets were missing.

At the sight of the Duke’s wallet stuffed with money, the man gave way. “It could be managed, perhaps,” he said. “It was irregular, of course — also the tickets were expensive! The fares, in fact, had more than doubled since the tickets were printed. They were old stock!”

So the affair was settled, and the Duke and Simon took their seats in the train for Turinsk. In this branch-line train there was none of the comfort they had found on the Trans-Continental. Hard seats, and a foul wash-place — a crowded compartment where the mingled odours of unwashed humanity fought with that of the smaller birds and beasts, which seemed to be the principal impedimenta of their travelling companions.

“Well, this is another stage on our journey as good as accomplished,” said De Richleau, as the train drew out of Sverdlovsk, only twenty minutes late in starting.

“Um,” said Simon. “But we’re going to be in a muddle when we get to Turinsk!”

“On the contrary —” De Richleau disagreed. “There we shall be able to show our tickets and get accommodation, which we could not do here.”

“You’ve forgotten one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“We were counting on a sleigh service to get us where we want to go, weren’t we?”

“Yes.”

“Well — if you’re right about the railway line being finished, there won’t be any sleigh service — and it’s quite certain that the people at Turinsk won’t let us go on in the train.”

“That’s true,” said the Duke, thoughtfully. “Mon Dieu , how these people stink!”

“Pretty awful,” Simon agreed, and then both he and the Duke lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

The scenery was completely different from that which they had seen the day before; the train puffed and snorted excitedly as it wound its way, at a fair speed, in and out along the snow-covered valleys; they had passed the tops of the Urals during the night, and were now descending through the foothills on the eastern side.

The snow had ceased falling, and the sun came out at midday, but now, in the early afternoon, it was sinking rapidly, and dusk was upon them when they reached Turinsk just before five.

Turinsk seemed little more than a long, straggling village. The train actually ran through the high street, in the most populous part of which it came to a jerky halt.

Nobody asked for or examined their tickets, but Simon noticed that several men with lanterns went carefully along the train, searching each compartment to see that it was empty, and the soldiers and officials, who remained seated in the coach nearest to the engine, had their papers inspected before the train moved on. •

The two fur traders from Lemberg made their way to the hotel, a rambling, wooden building, and ordered the best meal that the place could provide. They had decided, at all costs, to get hold of a sleigh that night and continue their journey. All too soon Soviet officials would be on their track; every moment of their precious start must be utilized. De Richleau asked the landlord if it were possible to obtain a sleigh.

“At this hour?” He seemed amazed and hurt. “Where did they wish to go? Was not his hotel good enough?”

The Duke, on this occasion, told a completely different story. He said that he had just come in on the train from Sverdlovsk, and that on his arrival he had been handed a telegram to say that his wife had had a serious accident. He must return at once.

“You can get the train back at three o’clock tomorrow —” the landlord suggested. “It leaves Tobolsk at an hour before midday, and arrives in Sverdlovsk at eight o’clock.”

“I must go tonight!” The Duke seemed distraught with anxiety. “Please help me, and get a sleigh — then tomorrow I can be beside my poor wife.”

“I cannot.” The man shook his head. “Tomorrow — yes, you shall have my cousin’s troika — a fine affair. He will drive you himself, but he lives six versts from here. I cannot send for him tonight”

“In that case I might as well wait for the train,” the Duke protested. “It would be quicker in the end!”

“You speak truly,” the landlord nodded. “It is sad about your wife, but there is nothing I can do.”

At that they had to leave it “Come,” said the Duke to Simon. “Let’s walk down the village street. It is possible that there may be another inn at which we may have better luck.”

They shouldered their knapsacks, and left the hotel under the landlord’s disapproving eye. He looked as though he guessed their purpose.

Outside the darkness of the long Siberian night had already fallen, lights glimmered from the narrow windows of the houses casting a beam here and there on the crisp, frozen snow. The air was cold, but invigorating like wine, the night fine, cloudless and startlit.

Not many people were about, and to their disappointment they failed to find an inn of any size. As they were walking back to the hotel, a fine sleigh passed them at a trot, and pulled up in front of a small brick building, which had an official air.