“Haven’t seen him since we got here, but I think that’s the idea.”
“I must tell M’sieu Lacan.” She instinctively looked around, wondering how to go about it.
“So Monsieur Lacan’s going down there, is he? Not back to Beirut.”
“I did not say that!”
O’Gilroy reassured her: “Ye never said a word.” He had been too clever again. She could have been grateful enough to kiss his hand, fall on his neck, show him the way out . . . Or, of course, she might be a shrewd professional such as a shrewd professional like Bertie would hire and trust.
She was certainly eyeing him shrewdly now. “And so you think I should say thank you and not care what M’sieu Lacan tells me, that I should let you go free – yes? And you will promise anything, no? Oh, I know men like you.” She took another of his cigarettes and stood looking down at him.
He said mildly: “Ye said ye were going to let me go, anyways.”
For a while she didn’t say anything. Then she relented a little: “Tomorrow, I will tell you what must happen. A Dr Zimmer comes to Constantinople-”
“Zimmer?”
“Perhaps it is not his real name, but-”
“Mebbe we met once,” O’Gilroy said thoughtfully, very thoughtfully. “In Friedrichshafen, I’m thinking.”
“Good, so you know him. Then you go with him, yes?”
“Monsieur Lacan, he said ye was to send me off with Dr Zimmer?”
“Yes. That is good for you, no?”
“That’s jest fine with me,” O’Gilroy lied.
18
It was not a good night. Normally O’Gilroy had a certain fatalism where time was concerned and could sleep when there was nothing else to be done, but that was before he took to wearing an iron collar. Time after time he wriggled into a position where he felt That’s it, all I have to do is stay like this. But after a couple of minutes it wasn’t, and he had to start wriggling again.
Above all, the damn thing was cold. He knew that scientifically it was the same temperature as its surroundings, just a better conductor of heat away from him, was all. Knowing that didn’t stop the bloody thing being cold.
Being alone to fiddle with the chain and padlocks was no help, either. The locks – brand new, probably bought that day – were simple but hefty and even if he had a pick-lock, it would also need to be hefty, just to exert the sheer leverage needed. And rusted though the chain was, it needed another century or so before its quarter-inch thickness became vulnerable. So he spent too much time imagining Dr Zimmer and Hunke arriving in Constantinople, hurrying round here – wherever here was; he guessed they were still in Stamboul, but the carriage ride had been a fuzzy, disjointed time – and carting him off . . . How? By carriage or car? Certainly at pistol-point. And then . . .
Then, whatever happened wouldn’t be in Bertie’s house, and would be long after he was known to be aboard a ship going south. Nothing to do with him. Neat, that, without O’Gilroy around to contradict.
His one pale hope was that Theodora didn’t know he knew what was going to happen. Whether she knew herself didn’t matter. It only mattered that he had convinced her he was looking forward to Zimmer’s arrival and had abandoned thoughts of escape. But lying there in that collar, the other end of the chain padlocked to the iron bedstead, there seemed little to abandon.
* * *
After breakfast, Ranklin dressed as for the mountains and went up to walk on deck. By now they were through and well south of the Dardanelles, but there was still land like a rough-edged grey cloudbank on the eastern horizon. They’d probably be in sight of land most of the trip, since they were following a coastline which had crumbled into a myriad islands and he hoped the Captain would miss them all.
Particularly in bad weather, which was supposed to arrive later in the day. The wind had backed westerly and they were getting an extra nudge from it, having set main-and fore-sails and some jib (if he’d got that right). That gave them a cracking pace, a lot of spray and a heel to port. It felt wrong, a steamer leaning steadily like that.
He walked cautiously along the high side of the deck, breathing deeply and healthily when he thought anyone might be looking, past the forward deckhouse onto the wet foredeck and round to the low, lee side. There, a door in the deckhouse below the bridge was labelled Kapitans Buro – privat, which could only be for the benefit and discouragement of passengers, since the crew would know which cabin was whose. Ranklin felt more benefited than discouraged. Nothing like a healthy stroll on deck after breakfast. If only O’Gilroy were here, or accounted for, he’d feel quite cheerful.
By lunchtime the wind had become gusty and the sails had been lowered, but instead of putting the Loreley upright this let her roll indiscriminately. Lunch was a very thick stew and pureed vegetables which stuck to the plates no matter what the ship did, which was obviously intended and a bad sign. Nor did any of the officers eat with them, but to Ranklin that was a good sign. The more of them that were busy not bumping into islands, the better.
Streibl ate very little and Ranklin asked solicitously: “Are you a good sailor?”
“Hein? I am not a sailor. I am-”
“I mean, do you get seasick?”
“I expect so,” Streibl said lugubriously.
Lady Kelso reprimanded Ranklin with her eyebrows and he changed the subject. “Tell me, do you use quite a bit of explosive in digging tunnels and so forth?”
“Naturally.”
“Quite a bit, I mean?” Ranklin felt he wasn’t handling this well; Streibl looked at him oddly. “I mean, quite a lot?”
“In the mountains, when work goes well, perhaps one hundred kilos a week. It sounds like a war.”
“Gosh,” Ranklin said, trying to sound foolishly impressed to give some point to his question.
Soon afterwards, Streibl retreated to his cabin. Lady Kelso and Ranklin went back upstairs to the saloon for coffee.
“What,” she asked, “was all that about explosives?”
“Er . . . I heard a vague rumour we might be taking dynamite for Miskal Bey – his stronghold, anyway – as a last resort.”
“But if the Railway’s got it by the ton, there’d be no need?” she said crisply. “I certainly hope, with a storm coming, that we aren’t carrying anything like that.”
“Oh, most explosives are very stable.” Then he added hastily: “So I’ve been told. We must be carrying ammunition for those guns on the deck anyway. But so do all warships, if you think about it, and they don’t blow up in storms.”
“I suppose not.” She balanced her cup carefully and took a genteel sip. “But we do know we’re carrying all that gold coin . . . Have you any idea where?”
“Er . . . hadn’t thought about it,” Ranklin lied.
“Just suppose,” she said calmly, almost dreamily, “you could find out where that was kept and pinched some of it, or just threw it overboard, that would rather spoil their little plans, wouldn’t it?” And she gave him a sweet bright smile.
* * *
The morning had passed slowly for O’Gilroy. Inspired by the success of chaining him to the bedstead, they’d now padlocked it around the foot of the cast-iron stove in the first-floor room. That meant Arif didn’t have to watch him the whole time and made it even more humiliating as Theodora dusted the room around him, topped up the paraffin lamps and re-lit the stove. But he had to pretend to be hopeful and cheerful, merely bored.
“It will not be long,” she assured him. “The train from Vienna comes I think at three o’clock.” Then, judging from the sounds on the stairs and below, she went off to the market. He was getting pretty good at knowing where they were – or at least how close – from such sounds.