Post by Lorpius Prime on Feb 27, 2009 4:14:45 GMT -5
Colonel McGuire didn't want to let Martin leave again, but that was just too damn bad. Not that Martin had anything personal against the infantry officer—he was clearly an outstandingly competent man to have survived the last two nights with most of his brigade intact. But since regaining consciousness, Martin had been feeling even less patient than usual, and he just was not going to tolerate anyone or anything else standing in his way.
Some local citizens had helped Margaret carry Martin back to the air station after their fight in the palace. Martin still thought that story seemed unlikely, but he couldn't dispute it because he had been unconscious at the time. Back at the station, one of the brigade's field surgeons had done his best to fix Martin up. Apparently his wrist had required actual surgery to repair, and he had dislocated his shoulder as well, so now his left arm was double-bandaged with a cast and sling. A nasty cut on the back of his head had been Martin's only other serious external injury, and the surgeon had fixed that with some simple stitches. Only time and rest would really relieve his concussion-induced headache, however. That was another reason he had not felt too charitable towards the brigade commander, Colonel McGuire had ordered that he be resuscitated with smelling salts. Martin's nose was still itching.
The Colonel had wanted to debrief Martin in the hopes that he could shed some light on just what the hell had happened. But Martin—who even under normal circumstances would not have considered sharing his story with a regular Army officer—turned him down. He had gotten to his feet, wobbled once, and asked to see Margaret Blake so that they could board the first train leaving for the southeast.
It wasn't until they were actually on the train that Martin realized just how dramatically the situation must have changed in the few hours he was unconscious for trains to be running at all. Whatever it was that had happened in Munich, it had passed even faster than it started. Martin would be interested to read the final account after this was all over. He just hoped he wouldn't have to do that from inside of a prison.
"Oy, are you all right over there?" Margaret asked.
Martin sat up and blinked a few times while his eyes refocused. He had been slumped against the window of the train car, staring out of it but without really looking at anything. At least he hadn't been drooling. He was going to have to watch is behavior for a few days, lest he make a habit of dozing off every time he sat down.
"Yes," Martin said. He turned his head to look at Margaret in the seat next to him, but her image was still fuzzy. "Sorry, I was drifting."
"Well don't drift too far, Colonel Holland," she said. Margaret's luggage had been destroyed when the Apollo burned, so she was still wearing the same dress she had yesterday.
"It's a pretty country," she nodded towards the window, "I can understand why Jay Thomson likes to travel around the Continent."
Martin turned to look back out the window again. Their train was passing through some lightly-forested hills and farms. Martin was not a nature enthusiast; at best scenery like this just struck him as dull. Before he could figure out a polite way to respond to Margaret's comment, however, she went on.
"Colonel Holland, do you think my brother's being held by the same sort of people we saw last night?"
Martin frowned, but resisted the urge to turn away from the window. He supposed he should be grateful that she hadn't asked more questions like this sooner. Not because he didn't want to answer honestly, but because he didn't know the answer at all. Martin had been avoiding thinking about such things.
"I don't know," he said after a moment. He almost shrugged, but the pain in his left arm checked the motion. He said, "I hope not. I don't think I'm up for another fight like the last one."
In the reflection of the window, Martin could see Margaret look down at her lap. "I'm not sure if I can ever really thank you enough for that, Colonel," she said. Then she shook her head, "I was quite certain that I was going to die. And you very nearly did." She tilted her head up slightly to look at his back.
Martin sighed. "It wasn't quite that bad," he said. He turned back around and tried to give her an encouraging smile. It was not an expression Martin had much practice with at all.
Margaret held up a hand, "No, Martin, it was. I know it was." She smiled weakly herself. "I'm not always the nicest person, but I hope you know how I grateful I am. You'd already done so much even before yesterday trying to find Jay Thomson for all of us. After yesterday, it's more than my family or I can fairly ask of you anymore. But…"
Martin wanted to say that he had been more than happy to save Margaret from their captors last night; after all he had been saving himself at the same time. But he bit his tongue and said nothing. Margaret was staring at him with wide and slightly-teary eyes, and Martin couldn't quite identify the emotion they showed.
"But Colonel Holland," she started again, then swallowed, "if Jay Thomson's being held by those same people… They had us for an hour, he's been here for two weeks. I have to find him. And—and well," she smiled very weakly again, "you're the only person that I know could save him."
Martin opened his mouth, then shut it again. Neither of them said anything for a long time. The only sound was the grumbling noise of the train as it passed over the tracks, and the footsteps of a conductor as he passed quietly through their car.
"I know it's not right of me to ask, Colonel Holland," Margaret said again, "but I'm asking you anyway. Promise me that you won't stop until we've found Jay Thomson. If he's being held by anyone, promise me that you'll rescue him too."
Martin couldn't look away from her eyes, and she refused to turn her own gaze away. In a way, that was good, Martin wasn't sure what would have happened if he had turned away at that moment. In the end, he answered in a very small voice.
"Yes," he nodded slowly. "I'll find him, Margaret. I promise that I will."
She didn't say anything, but hugged him across the dividing armrest of their seat. And even though her chin was pressing into Martin's left shoulder, he didn't feel any pain at all.
Jay wandered for a while. He had sat for several minutes on the beach, nearly paralyzed and sinking into the mud. But eventually real thought began to penetrate the panicked haze of his mind once again, and Jay had decided that he needed to rescue Theodore. He realized that Theodore's shout to "stay back" had probably been meant for him, and at the time it had probably been excellent advice. There was nothing Jay could have done at that moment to rescue his German friend from the soldiers who were seizing him. But that didn't mean that Jay shouldn't try to find something else he could do to help free Theodore now. This was an island, so there couldn't be too many places the soldiers could have taken him. Jay wasn't at all sure what he was going to do if he figured out where they were holding Theodore, but the man had saved Jay on more than one occasion now. Jay owed him.
And it wasn't as if he could very well do anything else. Theodore was the one who had led Jay to this island; without Theodore, Jay had no reason to be here.
Unfortunately, deciding to rescue Theodore was proving to be the easiest step. Jay didn't dare follow the soldiers directly; and every time he came in sight of the little town on the northern edge of the island, the presence of more soldiers forced him to withdraw again. Jay found himself making a wide circle around to the south. Perhaps if he could walk all the way around, he would have an easier time coming at the town from the other side.
He wasn't having much luck, however. Eventually, he did get away from the beach by skirting all the way around the southern edge of the field. He hurried across the far side to another big stand of trees in the interior of the island. South of him was more cleared land, but in the form of a manicured lawn rather than wild grass. The lawn indicated people, and Jay didn't want to risk being seen, so he darted towards the woods in a half-crouch.
Jay let out a little sigh of relief once he was back into the safety of the trees. The forest was denser here, and much bigger than the little stands of trees around the beach. Jay walked a few yards in, until he could no longer see the clearings, and sat down to lean against the trunk of one tree. He needed to figure out what he was going to do, or, at least, how he should figure out what to do.
Jay reached into his coat and pulled out the sword that the woman from the beach had given him. He'd hooked it under his suspenders as the best way he could figure to carry the thing.
"Next time I travel, I'll remember to bring my sword-belt," he said to himself, then laughed at his own joke.
In its scabbard, the whole sword was a little over three feet long. It had a straight silvery cross-guard and a roughly cylindrical pommel made of the same metal, and the handle was wrapped in a black wire. It weighed less than four pounds and looked to be about as generic a sword as Jay could have imagined.
He drew the blade out of its scabbard, and blinked.
Although the hilt of the sword appeared plain, the blade was nothing of the sort. To begin with, it was… not really white, but some sort of pearly silver color that shifted subtly depending on the angle. For that matter, it seemed to be reflecting entirely more light than was filtering down through the tops of the trees in this place. Jay rolled his tongue around in his mouth as he looked at the blade.
The light glinted, and Jay noticed that the blade's surface was not entirely smooth. Something was carved into the side. Jay turned the sword sideways to read the single word etched there: TOLLITE.
"Well that's helpful," he mumbled. Jay flipped the sword over. There was a different word on the other side: MITTITE.
Jay returned the sword to its scabbard and the scabbard to the inside of his jacket. The thing was certainly strange, but hardly the strangest thing Jay had encountered lately. And a sword wasn't really going to be much help to him at the moment. Even if he knew how to use such a weapon properly, he could hardly expect to use it to get by a platoon or more of British soldiers armed with rifles. Jay blew out his cheeks, he needed to think.
If there was an actual town on the island, and not just a military garrison, then Jay might be able to blend in among the people there if he was able to actually get inside. It seemed like there should be some sort of ordinary settlement, at least, if Theodore was planning to meet friends and hide out here himself. Jay might not be able to avoid notice for very long, especially if he stuck around long enough to need a place to sleep, but there were still several hours until the sun went down, and Jay might be able to accomplish something in that time. Maybe.
He stood up and started picking his way to the edge of the forest so that he could follow its boundaries up north. Jay was going to have serious problems if there were sentries posted all the way around the town, but it could be that he and Theodore had just run into a fluke patrol or something. If the forest ran up very close to the town, Jay might have a fair chance of walking in unnoticed. Then he could figure out where the soldiers were based, and possibly figure out a way to rescue Theodore.
There were a lot of ifs in that plan, Jay knew. But he tried not to think about that fact. So far, it was the best idea he could come up with.
Jay kept walking, slowly, through the trees, always keeping one eye on the clearing to his left to be certain no one could see him.
Martin and Margaret had to switch trains in Rosenheim, but it was only a short ride from there to their destination, the town of Prien am Chiemsee. From there, however, Martin was unhappy to learn that they would still have to walk about a mile further to the ferry stop. His legs were feeling somewhat uncooperative. Martin had certainly put himself through worse many times before, but that didn't mean he was particularly eager to do it again.
Margaret must have seen his grimace as he looked at the long street.
"We could rent a carriage," she said. Several cabs were waiting by the train station, and their drivers were playing some sort of dice game. It must be a slow day.
Martin snorted, "This is all wrong. I'm supposed to be the one offering you a carriage so that you don't blister your soft aristocratic feet."
"Colonel Holland, I would bet my 'soft aristocratic feet' against yours any day of the week."
"Well," Martin said, looking forlornly at the cabs, "this little challenge is going to escalate to a conclusion that my own feet won't like."
"Not if you surrender now. Just admit that I'm sturdier than you and I'll be more than happy to hire a cab for us." Margaret patted the handbag she was carrying under one shoulder.
Martin shook his head, "I'm afraid that's not possible. Duty to uphold the honor of the crown and all that."
"Well, shall we start walking then?" Margaret asked. She smiled in a way that was not at all conciliatory.
Martin sighed, and started down the concrete steps towards the road. Margaret followed alongside, whistling maliciously.
The walk wasn't as bad as Martin had feared. His feeling of nausea passed after a few minutes, and a mile wasn't really that far to go. There was no sign of the fear and violence that they had left behind in Munich in this town. A few people were milling about shopping at stores or running other errands, most others would be indoors engaged in whatever work kept them occupied during an ordinary day.
Margaret shuffled right to avoid two boys plodding down the street on horseback, eating pretzels. "So what is this place we're going to?" she asked.
"The Herreninsel," Martin said. "Ludwig built his capital there, way back when, and the palace there is nearly as big as his ego was. It's been the headquarters of the Occupation since the Great War, although they really do most of their work out of the embassy at Nymphenburg. Or they used to," Martin grimaced as he recalled the state of the palace last night.
"So why would Jay Thomson be there?"
"I cannot say," Martin shrugged. "The palace may have some symbolic value to the dissident faction that may be holding your brother. He may not be there at all, you realize," he caught Margaret's eye to be sure she knew he was serious. "We may have a long search ahead of us yet."
"I know," she said a little defensively, "but how do we make sure? Do you intend to search the entire island yourself?"
"Well there's an infantry battalion which guards the headquarters. Hopefully they will be able to tell us something." He smirked, "And if not, they can conduct a search much faster than just the two of us."
Margaret looked a little unhappy at that statement, but she nodded.
It took them twenty minutes to reach the lakeshore, by which time Martin felt much better. Still, he frowned at the sight of the docks. There were no guards posted, as there should have been, and the ferry boat had a chain drawn across its ramp. A man sat on a stool by the ferry, smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper.
"Oy," Martin called to him, stepping away from Margaret, "where are the soldiers stationed here? And why aren't you running?"
The man looked up at Martin for a moment, long enough for the end of his cigarette to flare as he inhaled, then returned to his newspaper.
"All the British shoved off for the island this morning. They have forbidden any boat traffic until they come back."
"You're kidding," Martin said. The man just shrugged.
Martin reached into his back pocket with his good hand. "You're the ferry captain?" he asked.
"I was until this morning. Now I am the ferry guard." He looked up and smiled, "It is like I have been conscripted into your military, yes?"
"Yes," Martin said, humoring the man. He showed the credentials that he'd pulled out of his pocket, "I am Colonel Holland of the British Security Service, and I am hereby directing you to reopen this ferry and take us across to the island."
The ferry captain's eyes flicked from Martin's face to the papers he was holding, then he looked briefly over his shoulder to the island before sighing.
"All right, Colonel," he looked between him and Margaret. "It is four pounds for two."
Martin returned his papers to his pocket. "I will pay two pounds," he said, "and two more if you can get us there in less than twenty minutes."
Martin was pleased to see the man spring straight to work.
Jay's plan, or at least the first stage of it, worked perfectly. The trees ran right up to within a few yards of the edge of town, and a small path would let Jay step out of the trees and stroll in like a normal person. Or something approaching normal, anyway, Jay looked down at his muddied overcoat. He tried again to brush away some of the filth, but with little success. Hopefully he'd just look like a poor farmhand or something.
"Or a clumsy tourist," Jay said to himself, "it's even true."
He shrunk behind a tree as a young man walked up the path leading a pair of horses by their reins behind him. Once the boy had passed, Jay stepped out after him, and followed in his wake into town.
If anything the streets here were even busier than they had been in Prien am Chiemsee. Jay found that odd, since this place couldn't have been more than a tenth of the size of the mainland town. He also noticed that about half the people walking around were soldiers, and none of them seemed very happy. Jay could feel himself starting to sweat. Everyone else walking about—all of the civilians—seemed to be behaving as if it was a day just like any other day. But the soldiers all looked nearly as nervous as Jay felt. Their movements were stiff and twitchy, and they all kept looking over their shoulders, as if expecting something to be following them. And the fact that they were clearly scared just made Jay even more scared himself.
Must be bad news from Munich, he thought. Jay was pretty sure that if he'd been in the army, he'd be rather on-edge out right now, and worried that whatever had stormed over that city would be coming for him next.
Focus, Jay told himself. If he worried over the soldiers too much, he was sure to be noticed by them. He needed to figure out what to do and where to go next. There were lots of soldiers around, but he couldn't identify any building which looked like it might be their headquarters. All of these buildings looked like small shops or cafes. The soldiers were all walking around in groups of three or four, but none of them were just standing about looking like they were guarding anything. The street curved around to the north, and Jay kept walking.
He'd travelled three more blocks when someone behind him shouted, "Shit! We got another one!"
Jay nearly jumped out of his shoes, and he spun around, clamping one hand to his left side to make sure the sword didn't fall out of his coat. Even as he did all this, Jay realized it was a stupid response, since it just made him look all the more guilty. But he couldn't help himself, and he looked frightfully in the direction of whoever had shouted.
It must have been a soldier, and he was certainly shouting for the benefit of the other soldiers around him, but Jay was not the focus of his attention. Jay reached this conclusion because, almost as soon as he turned around, a soldier shoved him aside and ran right on past. Jay scrunched up against the side of a building as more soldiers followed him, shouldering people out of their way as they moved. Jay was still too pumped full of adrenaline to really sigh in relief, but he was definitely glad that none of the soldiers seemed to even give him a second glance.
Actually, they were all running in the same direction Jay had been walking a moment ago. He and the nearby townspeople watched the little river of red-jacketed soldiers moving up the street with varying degrees of wonder and amusement. A few people trailed along behind the soldiers.
Jay probably should have changed course and gone in some other direction, used the distraction to his advantage. But his curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to know what was going on too. And anyway, just because the soldiers were heading north didn't mean that wouldn't be the way Jay needed to go anyway. He jogged along on the heels of some small children doing their level best to catch up with the soldiers.
They followed the curve of the street to the north, and then came out from between the buildings. The streets here opened up into a little plaza, on the far end of which was the boat dock for the island. The dock was much smaller than the one on the mainland, but also more nicely built and better-maintained, with concrete steps leading down to the water. There were two or three dozen British soldiers clustered around those steps, most of them with rifles in their hands and at the ready. Around them, a small crowd of townspeople had gathered in a wide arc, although everyone was sure to keep a few feet of distance from the armed soldiers. Jay joined the crowd, and settled in to watch near the back between two merchant stalls, one selling almost-fresh vegetables, the other showing off some cheap jewelry.
The soldiers' attention had been drawn by a fair-sized boat that was paddling through the water towards the island. It was coming around the northern edge of the island from the west, and was probably the same ferry boat which Jay and Theodore had seen closed down back at the docks on the mainland.
Someone else had apparently decided to flout the ban on crossing the lake today, and the British Army was clearly unhappy about the decision. Several soldiers nearest to the beach had their rifles pressed up against their shoulders, although they hadn't yet aimed the weapons at the boat. Jay felt glad that he and Theodore had landed where they did; Theodore might have been beaten and arrested, but his reception clearly could have been even worse.
As the ferry drew up near the dockside, Jay could see at least three people standing on its deck. One of them had his hands raised palms-out towards the soldiers on the island. Another one had a large hat, like a woman's capeline, which made it a good bet that that one was a woman. Jay was now even more curious than he had been before he'd seen anything. What were these people doing here?
The ferry pulled up alongside the docks, which meant that it slipped out of Jay's sight beneath the crowd and the raised surface of the plaza. Several soldiers walked down the steps, probably to find out just what these people thought they were doing. Jay shifted his weight between his feet. If the people on the boat got arrested too, they might lead him to wherever Theodore was being held.
No such luck. After a few minutes, one of the soldiers came back up the stairs and waved his hands at the others. The soldiers relaxed, and everyone who had had weapons ready returned them to their shoulders. The party which had gone down to the dock returned up the steps, followed by a man in a simple brown coat and a woman wearing the large hat Jay had noticed. They were both nearly the same height, but Jay couldn't tell if that was because the man was unusually short, or the woman unusually tall. The crowd started to disperse as the soldiers returned to their duties and the civilians wandered away to continue with their lives. Jay let out a long sigh as the tension of the moment faded. He was going to have to go back to working out a plan himself.
The merchant in the jewelry booth called out to the couple that had just come ashore as they walked by. Jay glanced at the pair as he plodded off from his spot. The woman raised a skeptical eyebrow as she looked at the gaudy necklace that the jeweler was holding up in his hands. Jay came to an abrupt stop as he looked at the woman's face.
Jay forgot his entire attempt to remain inconspicuous as he let his jaw hang open.
Martin noticed him first.
It was not all that difficult. At first, he'd dismissed the man as a down-on-his-luck local. But then he started staring at the two of them like an idiot, which made Martin take a closer look. He no longer looked very much like his picture, his hair had grown out and he had the start of a scraggly blond beard. He was also taller than Martin would have guessed from the picture alone, and his heavy coat hid the shape of his arms and shoulders. But even despite all this, it was still the face Martin had taken great care to memorize. It was the man Martin had been trying to find for all this time, Jay Thomson Blake.
"Thank you, no," Margaret said loudly beside him. She started walking away, and tugged on Martin's arm, but stopped when he didn't move.
She glanced down at Martin, then blinked and followed his gaze to the man standing only four or five feet away from them. She had apparently overlooked him as well, but now her head tilted to one side in the same sort of incredulous stare that she was receiving. Martin watched the whole scene unfold with a detached fascination.
It was Jay Thomson who recovered first, but he only managed to say "Mar—?" before he had to stop with a grunt because Margaret had run straight into his chest to embrace him.
The siblings babbled at each other for a little while, although neither was really managing any sort of intelligible communication beyond simply expressing an overwhelming surprise and joy at finding each other. Jay Thomson still seemed too completely shocked to have figured out a proper reaction just yet, while Margaret was trying to suppress tears, but not doing a very good job of it. As Martin watched them silently, his right hand was moving almost unconsciously inside his coat pocket. He felt the handle of his pistol, and squeezed his fingers around the grip.
Martin had felt his own heart lift slightly when he saw Margaret recognize her brother. After the time that she had spent with him getting to this point, Martin couldn't help but to have invested a little of his own self in Margaret's quest. Martin had had a different final objective, but so long as they had been going to the same place, he had been able to pretend that they were working for the same thing. Now he couldn't help but feel a little joy on Margaret's behalf. She had found her lost brother.
And the other part of Martin, the part of him which was the product of decades of training and self-discipline, that part had found his target. That was the part of him which was getting ready to draw his gun out of the holster inside his coat, and to fire it as soon as he had a clear shot.
Margaret, tears running down her face, took a step back from her brother, holding on to one of his hands. She half-turned towards Martin and gestured with her own right hand.
"Jay Thomson," she said, "I want you to meet Colonel Martin Holland." She looked at Martin's face and smiled, then sniffed and turned back to her brother. "He's the one who's helped me find you."
Her brother looked at Martin for the first time. Jay Thomson turned and took a half-step away from Margaret, so that she was now clear of the space between the two men.
Martin's heart broke.
Some local citizens had helped Margaret carry Martin back to the air station after their fight in the palace. Martin still thought that story seemed unlikely, but he couldn't dispute it because he had been unconscious at the time. Back at the station, one of the brigade's field surgeons had done his best to fix Martin up. Apparently his wrist had required actual surgery to repair, and he had dislocated his shoulder as well, so now his left arm was double-bandaged with a cast and sling. A nasty cut on the back of his head had been Martin's only other serious external injury, and the surgeon had fixed that with some simple stitches. Only time and rest would really relieve his concussion-induced headache, however. That was another reason he had not felt too charitable towards the brigade commander, Colonel McGuire had ordered that he be resuscitated with smelling salts. Martin's nose was still itching.
The Colonel had wanted to debrief Martin in the hopes that he could shed some light on just what the hell had happened. But Martin—who even under normal circumstances would not have considered sharing his story with a regular Army officer—turned him down. He had gotten to his feet, wobbled once, and asked to see Margaret Blake so that they could board the first train leaving for the southeast.
It wasn't until they were actually on the train that Martin realized just how dramatically the situation must have changed in the few hours he was unconscious for trains to be running at all. Whatever it was that had happened in Munich, it had passed even faster than it started. Martin would be interested to read the final account after this was all over. He just hoped he wouldn't have to do that from inside of a prison.
"Oy, are you all right over there?" Margaret asked.
Martin sat up and blinked a few times while his eyes refocused. He had been slumped against the window of the train car, staring out of it but without really looking at anything. At least he hadn't been drooling. He was going to have to watch is behavior for a few days, lest he make a habit of dozing off every time he sat down.
"Yes," Martin said. He turned his head to look at Margaret in the seat next to him, but her image was still fuzzy. "Sorry, I was drifting."
"Well don't drift too far, Colonel Holland," she said. Margaret's luggage had been destroyed when the Apollo burned, so she was still wearing the same dress she had yesterday.
"It's a pretty country," she nodded towards the window, "I can understand why Jay Thomson likes to travel around the Continent."
Martin turned to look back out the window again. Their train was passing through some lightly-forested hills and farms. Martin was not a nature enthusiast; at best scenery like this just struck him as dull. Before he could figure out a polite way to respond to Margaret's comment, however, she went on.
"Colonel Holland, do you think my brother's being held by the same sort of people we saw last night?"
Martin frowned, but resisted the urge to turn away from the window. He supposed he should be grateful that she hadn't asked more questions like this sooner. Not because he didn't want to answer honestly, but because he didn't know the answer at all. Martin had been avoiding thinking about such things.
"I don't know," he said after a moment. He almost shrugged, but the pain in his left arm checked the motion. He said, "I hope not. I don't think I'm up for another fight like the last one."
In the reflection of the window, Martin could see Margaret look down at her lap. "I'm not sure if I can ever really thank you enough for that, Colonel," she said. Then she shook her head, "I was quite certain that I was going to die. And you very nearly did." She tilted her head up slightly to look at his back.
Martin sighed. "It wasn't quite that bad," he said. He turned back around and tried to give her an encouraging smile. It was not an expression Martin had much practice with at all.
Margaret held up a hand, "No, Martin, it was. I know it was." She smiled weakly herself. "I'm not always the nicest person, but I hope you know how I grateful I am. You'd already done so much even before yesterday trying to find Jay Thomson for all of us. After yesterday, it's more than my family or I can fairly ask of you anymore. But…"
Martin wanted to say that he had been more than happy to save Margaret from their captors last night; after all he had been saving himself at the same time. But he bit his tongue and said nothing. Margaret was staring at him with wide and slightly-teary eyes, and Martin couldn't quite identify the emotion they showed.
"But Colonel Holland," she started again, then swallowed, "if Jay Thomson's being held by those same people… They had us for an hour, he's been here for two weeks. I have to find him. And—and well," she smiled very weakly again, "you're the only person that I know could save him."
Martin opened his mouth, then shut it again. Neither of them said anything for a long time. The only sound was the grumbling noise of the train as it passed over the tracks, and the footsteps of a conductor as he passed quietly through their car.
"I know it's not right of me to ask, Colonel Holland," Margaret said again, "but I'm asking you anyway. Promise me that you won't stop until we've found Jay Thomson. If he's being held by anyone, promise me that you'll rescue him too."
Martin couldn't look away from her eyes, and she refused to turn her own gaze away. In a way, that was good, Martin wasn't sure what would have happened if he had turned away at that moment. In the end, he answered in a very small voice.
"Yes," he nodded slowly. "I'll find him, Margaret. I promise that I will."
She didn't say anything, but hugged him across the dividing armrest of their seat. And even though her chin was pressing into Martin's left shoulder, he didn't feel any pain at all.
* * *
Jay wandered for a while. He had sat for several minutes on the beach, nearly paralyzed and sinking into the mud. But eventually real thought began to penetrate the panicked haze of his mind once again, and Jay had decided that he needed to rescue Theodore. He realized that Theodore's shout to "stay back" had probably been meant for him, and at the time it had probably been excellent advice. There was nothing Jay could have done at that moment to rescue his German friend from the soldiers who were seizing him. But that didn't mean that Jay shouldn't try to find something else he could do to help free Theodore now. This was an island, so there couldn't be too many places the soldiers could have taken him. Jay wasn't at all sure what he was going to do if he figured out where they were holding Theodore, but the man had saved Jay on more than one occasion now. Jay owed him.
And it wasn't as if he could very well do anything else. Theodore was the one who had led Jay to this island; without Theodore, Jay had no reason to be here.
Unfortunately, deciding to rescue Theodore was proving to be the easiest step. Jay didn't dare follow the soldiers directly; and every time he came in sight of the little town on the northern edge of the island, the presence of more soldiers forced him to withdraw again. Jay found himself making a wide circle around to the south. Perhaps if he could walk all the way around, he would have an easier time coming at the town from the other side.
He wasn't having much luck, however. Eventually, he did get away from the beach by skirting all the way around the southern edge of the field. He hurried across the far side to another big stand of trees in the interior of the island. South of him was more cleared land, but in the form of a manicured lawn rather than wild grass. The lawn indicated people, and Jay didn't want to risk being seen, so he darted towards the woods in a half-crouch.
Jay let out a little sigh of relief once he was back into the safety of the trees. The forest was denser here, and much bigger than the little stands of trees around the beach. Jay walked a few yards in, until he could no longer see the clearings, and sat down to lean against the trunk of one tree. He needed to figure out what he was going to do, or, at least, how he should figure out what to do.
Jay reached into his coat and pulled out the sword that the woman from the beach had given him. He'd hooked it under his suspenders as the best way he could figure to carry the thing.
"Next time I travel, I'll remember to bring my sword-belt," he said to himself, then laughed at his own joke.
In its scabbard, the whole sword was a little over three feet long. It had a straight silvery cross-guard and a roughly cylindrical pommel made of the same metal, and the handle was wrapped in a black wire. It weighed less than four pounds and looked to be about as generic a sword as Jay could have imagined.
He drew the blade out of its scabbard, and blinked.
Although the hilt of the sword appeared plain, the blade was nothing of the sort. To begin with, it was… not really white, but some sort of pearly silver color that shifted subtly depending on the angle. For that matter, it seemed to be reflecting entirely more light than was filtering down through the tops of the trees in this place. Jay rolled his tongue around in his mouth as he looked at the blade.
The light glinted, and Jay noticed that the blade's surface was not entirely smooth. Something was carved into the side. Jay turned the sword sideways to read the single word etched there: TOLLITE.
"Well that's helpful," he mumbled. Jay flipped the sword over. There was a different word on the other side: MITTITE.
Jay returned the sword to its scabbard and the scabbard to the inside of his jacket. The thing was certainly strange, but hardly the strangest thing Jay had encountered lately. And a sword wasn't really going to be much help to him at the moment. Even if he knew how to use such a weapon properly, he could hardly expect to use it to get by a platoon or more of British soldiers armed with rifles. Jay blew out his cheeks, he needed to think.
If there was an actual town on the island, and not just a military garrison, then Jay might be able to blend in among the people there if he was able to actually get inside. It seemed like there should be some sort of ordinary settlement, at least, if Theodore was planning to meet friends and hide out here himself. Jay might not be able to avoid notice for very long, especially if he stuck around long enough to need a place to sleep, but there were still several hours until the sun went down, and Jay might be able to accomplish something in that time. Maybe.
He stood up and started picking his way to the edge of the forest so that he could follow its boundaries up north. Jay was going to have serious problems if there were sentries posted all the way around the town, but it could be that he and Theodore had just run into a fluke patrol or something. If the forest ran up very close to the town, Jay might have a fair chance of walking in unnoticed. Then he could figure out where the soldiers were based, and possibly figure out a way to rescue Theodore.
There were a lot of ifs in that plan, Jay knew. But he tried not to think about that fact. So far, it was the best idea he could come up with.
Jay kept walking, slowly, through the trees, always keeping one eye on the clearing to his left to be certain no one could see him.
* * *
Martin and Margaret had to switch trains in Rosenheim, but it was only a short ride from there to their destination, the town of Prien am Chiemsee. From there, however, Martin was unhappy to learn that they would still have to walk about a mile further to the ferry stop. His legs were feeling somewhat uncooperative. Martin had certainly put himself through worse many times before, but that didn't mean he was particularly eager to do it again.
Margaret must have seen his grimace as he looked at the long street.
"We could rent a carriage," she said. Several cabs were waiting by the train station, and their drivers were playing some sort of dice game. It must be a slow day.
Martin snorted, "This is all wrong. I'm supposed to be the one offering you a carriage so that you don't blister your soft aristocratic feet."
"Colonel Holland, I would bet my 'soft aristocratic feet' against yours any day of the week."
"Well," Martin said, looking forlornly at the cabs, "this little challenge is going to escalate to a conclusion that my own feet won't like."
"Not if you surrender now. Just admit that I'm sturdier than you and I'll be more than happy to hire a cab for us." Margaret patted the handbag she was carrying under one shoulder.
Martin shook his head, "I'm afraid that's not possible. Duty to uphold the honor of the crown and all that."
"Well, shall we start walking then?" Margaret asked. She smiled in a way that was not at all conciliatory.
Martin sighed, and started down the concrete steps towards the road. Margaret followed alongside, whistling maliciously.
The walk wasn't as bad as Martin had feared. His feeling of nausea passed after a few minutes, and a mile wasn't really that far to go. There was no sign of the fear and violence that they had left behind in Munich in this town. A few people were milling about shopping at stores or running other errands, most others would be indoors engaged in whatever work kept them occupied during an ordinary day.
Margaret shuffled right to avoid two boys plodding down the street on horseback, eating pretzels. "So what is this place we're going to?" she asked.
"The Herreninsel," Martin said. "Ludwig built his capital there, way back when, and the palace there is nearly as big as his ego was. It's been the headquarters of the Occupation since the Great War, although they really do most of their work out of the embassy at Nymphenburg. Or they used to," Martin grimaced as he recalled the state of the palace last night.
"So why would Jay Thomson be there?"
"I cannot say," Martin shrugged. "The palace may have some symbolic value to the dissident faction that may be holding your brother. He may not be there at all, you realize," he caught Margaret's eye to be sure she knew he was serious. "We may have a long search ahead of us yet."
"I know," she said a little defensively, "but how do we make sure? Do you intend to search the entire island yourself?"
"Well there's an infantry battalion which guards the headquarters. Hopefully they will be able to tell us something." He smirked, "And if not, they can conduct a search much faster than just the two of us."
Margaret looked a little unhappy at that statement, but she nodded.
It took them twenty minutes to reach the lakeshore, by which time Martin felt much better. Still, he frowned at the sight of the docks. There were no guards posted, as there should have been, and the ferry boat had a chain drawn across its ramp. A man sat on a stool by the ferry, smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper.
"Oy," Martin called to him, stepping away from Margaret, "where are the soldiers stationed here? And why aren't you running?"
The man looked up at Martin for a moment, long enough for the end of his cigarette to flare as he inhaled, then returned to his newspaper.
"All the British shoved off for the island this morning. They have forbidden any boat traffic until they come back."
"You're kidding," Martin said. The man just shrugged.
Martin reached into his back pocket with his good hand. "You're the ferry captain?" he asked.
"I was until this morning. Now I am the ferry guard." He looked up and smiled, "It is like I have been conscripted into your military, yes?"
"Yes," Martin said, humoring the man. He showed the credentials that he'd pulled out of his pocket, "I am Colonel Holland of the British Security Service, and I am hereby directing you to reopen this ferry and take us across to the island."
The ferry captain's eyes flicked from Martin's face to the papers he was holding, then he looked briefly over his shoulder to the island before sighing.
"All right, Colonel," he looked between him and Margaret. "It is four pounds for two."
Martin returned his papers to his pocket. "I will pay two pounds," he said, "and two more if you can get us there in less than twenty minutes."
Martin was pleased to see the man spring straight to work.
* * *
Jay's plan, or at least the first stage of it, worked perfectly. The trees ran right up to within a few yards of the edge of town, and a small path would let Jay step out of the trees and stroll in like a normal person. Or something approaching normal, anyway, Jay looked down at his muddied overcoat. He tried again to brush away some of the filth, but with little success. Hopefully he'd just look like a poor farmhand or something.
"Or a clumsy tourist," Jay said to himself, "it's even true."
He shrunk behind a tree as a young man walked up the path leading a pair of horses by their reins behind him. Once the boy had passed, Jay stepped out after him, and followed in his wake into town.
If anything the streets here were even busier than they had been in Prien am Chiemsee. Jay found that odd, since this place couldn't have been more than a tenth of the size of the mainland town. He also noticed that about half the people walking around were soldiers, and none of them seemed very happy. Jay could feel himself starting to sweat. Everyone else walking about—all of the civilians—seemed to be behaving as if it was a day just like any other day. But the soldiers all looked nearly as nervous as Jay felt. Their movements were stiff and twitchy, and they all kept looking over their shoulders, as if expecting something to be following them. And the fact that they were clearly scared just made Jay even more scared himself.
Must be bad news from Munich, he thought. Jay was pretty sure that if he'd been in the army, he'd be rather on-edge out right now, and worried that whatever had stormed over that city would be coming for him next.
Focus, Jay told himself. If he worried over the soldiers too much, he was sure to be noticed by them. He needed to figure out what to do and where to go next. There were lots of soldiers around, but he couldn't identify any building which looked like it might be their headquarters. All of these buildings looked like small shops or cafes. The soldiers were all walking around in groups of three or four, but none of them were just standing about looking like they were guarding anything. The street curved around to the north, and Jay kept walking.
He'd travelled three more blocks when someone behind him shouted, "Shit! We got another one!"
Jay nearly jumped out of his shoes, and he spun around, clamping one hand to his left side to make sure the sword didn't fall out of his coat. Even as he did all this, Jay realized it was a stupid response, since it just made him look all the more guilty. But he couldn't help himself, and he looked frightfully in the direction of whoever had shouted.
It must have been a soldier, and he was certainly shouting for the benefit of the other soldiers around him, but Jay was not the focus of his attention. Jay reached this conclusion because, almost as soon as he turned around, a soldier shoved him aside and ran right on past. Jay scrunched up against the side of a building as more soldiers followed him, shouldering people out of their way as they moved. Jay was still too pumped full of adrenaline to really sigh in relief, but he was definitely glad that none of the soldiers seemed to even give him a second glance.
Actually, they were all running in the same direction Jay had been walking a moment ago. He and the nearby townspeople watched the little river of red-jacketed soldiers moving up the street with varying degrees of wonder and amusement. A few people trailed along behind the soldiers.
Jay probably should have changed course and gone in some other direction, used the distraction to his advantage. But his curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to know what was going on too. And anyway, just because the soldiers were heading north didn't mean that wouldn't be the way Jay needed to go anyway. He jogged along on the heels of some small children doing their level best to catch up with the soldiers.
They followed the curve of the street to the north, and then came out from between the buildings. The streets here opened up into a little plaza, on the far end of which was the boat dock for the island. The dock was much smaller than the one on the mainland, but also more nicely built and better-maintained, with concrete steps leading down to the water. There were two or three dozen British soldiers clustered around those steps, most of them with rifles in their hands and at the ready. Around them, a small crowd of townspeople had gathered in a wide arc, although everyone was sure to keep a few feet of distance from the armed soldiers. Jay joined the crowd, and settled in to watch near the back between two merchant stalls, one selling almost-fresh vegetables, the other showing off some cheap jewelry.
The soldiers' attention had been drawn by a fair-sized boat that was paddling through the water towards the island. It was coming around the northern edge of the island from the west, and was probably the same ferry boat which Jay and Theodore had seen closed down back at the docks on the mainland.
Someone else had apparently decided to flout the ban on crossing the lake today, and the British Army was clearly unhappy about the decision. Several soldiers nearest to the beach had their rifles pressed up against their shoulders, although they hadn't yet aimed the weapons at the boat. Jay felt glad that he and Theodore had landed where they did; Theodore might have been beaten and arrested, but his reception clearly could have been even worse.
As the ferry drew up near the dockside, Jay could see at least three people standing on its deck. One of them had his hands raised palms-out towards the soldiers on the island. Another one had a large hat, like a woman's capeline, which made it a good bet that that one was a woman. Jay was now even more curious than he had been before he'd seen anything. What were these people doing here?
The ferry pulled up alongside the docks, which meant that it slipped out of Jay's sight beneath the crowd and the raised surface of the plaza. Several soldiers walked down the steps, probably to find out just what these people thought they were doing. Jay shifted his weight between his feet. If the people on the boat got arrested too, they might lead him to wherever Theodore was being held.
No such luck. After a few minutes, one of the soldiers came back up the stairs and waved his hands at the others. The soldiers relaxed, and everyone who had had weapons ready returned them to their shoulders. The party which had gone down to the dock returned up the steps, followed by a man in a simple brown coat and a woman wearing the large hat Jay had noticed. They were both nearly the same height, but Jay couldn't tell if that was because the man was unusually short, or the woman unusually tall. The crowd started to disperse as the soldiers returned to their duties and the civilians wandered away to continue with their lives. Jay let out a long sigh as the tension of the moment faded. He was going to have to go back to working out a plan himself.
The merchant in the jewelry booth called out to the couple that had just come ashore as they walked by. Jay glanced at the pair as he plodded off from his spot. The woman raised a skeptical eyebrow as she looked at the gaudy necklace that the jeweler was holding up in his hands. Jay came to an abrupt stop as he looked at the woman's face.
Jay forgot his entire attempt to remain inconspicuous as he let his jaw hang open.
* * *
Martin noticed him first.
It was not all that difficult. At first, he'd dismissed the man as a down-on-his-luck local. But then he started staring at the two of them like an idiot, which made Martin take a closer look. He no longer looked very much like his picture, his hair had grown out and he had the start of a scraggly blond beard. He was also taller than Martin would have guessed from the picture alone, and his heavy coat hid the shape of his arms and shoulders. But even despite all this, it was still the face Martin had taken great care to memorize. It was the man Martin had been trying to find for all this time, Jay Thomson Blake.
"Thank you, no," Margaret said loudly beside him. She started walking away, and tugged on Martin's arm, but stopped when he didn't move.
She glanced down at Martin, then blinked and followed his gaze to the man standing only four or five feet away from them. She had apparently overlooked him as well, but now her head tilted to one side in the same sort of incredulous stare that she was receiving. Martin watched the whole scene unfold with a detached fascination.
It was Jay Thomson who recovered first, but he only managed to say "Mar—?" before he had to stop with a grunt because Margaret had run straight into his chest to embrace him.
The siblings babbled at each other for a little while, although neither was really managing any sort of intelligible communication beyond simply expressing an overwhelming surprise and joy at finding each other. Jay Thomson still seemed too completely shocked to have figured out a proper reaction just yet, while Margaret was trying to suppress tears, but not doing a very good job of it. As Martin watched them silently, his right hand was moving almost unconsciously inside his coat pocket. He felt the handle of his pistol, and squeezed his fingers around the grip.
Martin had felt his own heart lift slightly when he saw Margaret recognize her brother. After the time that she had spent with him getting to this point, Martin couldn't help but to have invested a little of his own self in Margaret's quest. Martin had had a different final objective, but so long as they had been going to the same place, he had been able to pretend that they were working for the same thing. Now he couldn't help but feel a little joy on Margaret's behalf. She had found her lost brother.
And the other part of Martin, the part of him which was the product of decades of training and self-discipline, that part had found his target. That was the part of him which was getting ready to draw his gun out of the holster inside his coat, and to fire it as soon as he had a clear shot.
Margaret, tears running down her face, took a step back from her brother, holding on to one of his hands. She half-turned towards Martin and gestured with her own right hand.
"Jay Thomson," she said, "I want you to meet Colonel Martin Holland." She looked at Martin's face and smiled, then sniffed and turned back to her brother. "He's the one who's helped me find you."
Her brother looked at Martin for the first time. Jay Thomson turned and took a half-step away from Margaret, so that she was now clear of the space between the two men.
Martin's heart broke.