The restaurant car was another long, narrow oasis of opulence. An aisle ran down the middle with tables under the windows on each side. All was compact but luxurious, with fine china and silverware in place on the starched white linen cloths. Fresh flowers – in low, stable vases – graced every table. They were greeted by a waiter who took them to a vacant table.
For a lunch, it was both substantial and grand. Four courses, from soup through to dessert, with the sort of service that Aubrey had only experienced in the most exclusive of restaurants. His appetite was hearty and he thoroughly enjoyed the experience of appreciating fine food while the train pulled smoothly through the outskirts of Lutetia before gathering itself and racing through the countryside.
Through his shirt, he touched the Beccaria Cage in silent thanks for its good work.
Eventually, George touched his napkin to his lips. ‘Superb. That strawberry mousse was the best I’ve ever had.’
‘After your third helping, I guessed as much.’
George sighed with great inner satisfaction. He gazed through the window with a happy smile on his face. ‘This is the way to travel. Scenery, good food, comfort.’
‘You know, I hear that one of the Holmland dirigible companies is starting passenger flights. That could be spectacular.’
‘Good food?’
‘They promise it will be first class.’
George nodded. That was enough for him.
Aubrey grinned. ‘Let’s go to the lounge car for a while.’
‘Shouldn’t we be getting back to your mother?’
‘She’s well protected. We can play cards, or backgammon, or chess.’
George put a finger to his nose in a gesture that Aubrey guessed was meant to look conspiratorial. ‘You want to spend some time watching the other passengers, don’t you?’
‘Of course. Call it a spot of covert surveillance, but it really boils down to a bit of poking about.’
‘Discreet poking about.’
‘Naturally.’
It was also a chance to study the train’s journey. Aubrey had chosen a table which had a map on the wall between the windows. It showed the Continent, from Lutetia to Constantinople, with the Transcontinental’s passage picked out in blue. After leaving Lutetia, it climbed through the mountains in an almost straight line to the border with Holmland. The border crossing at the dual city of Teve-Grodenberg was the major stop before Fisherberg. A tense city in these times, Aubrey had hoped to have time to do some intelligence gathering around there.
Aubrey sat with his back to the window, the better to keep an eye on the half dozen patrons who were seated at the bar. A waiter brought mineral water and, when asked, a pack of cards. Aubrey admired the stylised representation of the Transcontinental locomotive on the back of the cards and then dealt a hand of Goltan whist. They’d both been introduced to bridge, by Caroline, and enjoyed the fashionably new game, but when there was only the two of them, they always returned to the game of their childhood, Goltan whist.
They had played the game so often, over so many years, that they knew each other’s habits extremely well. The two-handed game, in any case, was simple and straightforward, so that the enjoyment didn’t come from the play, it came from the company.
While shuffling between hands, he tried a showy single-handed cut. The cards sprayed all over the table.
George raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been practising.’
Aubrey scrabbled around on the floor, picking up the cards. ‘Almost ready to go on the stage, I’d say.’ He barely avoided banging his head on the table as he straightened.
‘Stick to magic, old man,’ George suggested and, as luck would have it, his voice fitted neatly into one of those silences that fall in a crowded room, so that his words hung in the air like an unusual cloud, the sort that brings people to windows to stare, point and consult books about rare meteorological phenomena.
Aubrey dealt the next hand. ‘Well, we didn’t set out to draw attention to ourselves, but we’ve managed it beautifully.’
‘Any arms dealers rushing over to try to make a sale to us?’
‘No. But a startlingly attractive woman looks as if she’s coming this way.’
‘She is?’ George put down his cards and straightened his tie. ‘How do I look?’
‘Complex.’
‘Complex?’
Aubrey didn’t have a chance to answer. The woman had arrived at their table. ‘I am Zelinka. You have magic?’
She was tall, taller than George, and dressed entirely in black. Her dress and tight-fitting jacket had the sheen of expensive silk. Aubrey couldn’t clearly make out her features for she wore a hat with a veil, but he had the impression of large, dark eyes.
Her voice was husky and undeniably foreign, although her Albionish was good. Aubrey found it hard to guess her origin. Somewhere on the east of the Continent, most probably, although nationalities in that region were often a matter of opinion. Depending on the year of one’s birth, one’s home town could belong to half a dozen different nations.
When she pushed up her veil, Aubrey swallowed and tried to catalogue a description, both to steady himself and because the authorities might find it useful.
She was only a few years older than he was, middle twenties at the most. Black hair framed her face and her eyes were large and dangerously dark. Exotically beautiful, she had high cheekbones and when she frowned, small, even teeth caught the edge of her dark-red lips.
Aubrey stood, slowly. ‘Madame Zelinka.’ After gaping for a moment, George also managed to get to his feet.
She turned her head from Aubrey to George and back to Aubrey again. She stared into his face. ‘You are the one I was to meet, no?’ She dropped her veil. ‘I can feel that you have the magic. Where do we talk?’
Aubrey made a split-second decision. She’d obviously mistaken him for someone else, but he was intrigued as to who that was. Who’d be waiting to talk magic on the Transcontinental Express? If he could play along and learn the answer, it could be very useful.
Besides, it was thrilling.
‘I am Mr Black,’ he said. ‘This is my associate, Mr Evans.’ He glanced around the lounge car. ‘That booth in the corner. It’s private enough.’
She followed his gaze, then nodded.
Aubrey endeavoured to convey his intentions to George by way of gestures and facial expressions. George rolled his eyes, but signalled his acquiescence with a shrug. Aubrey was thankful for their long friendship, which meant that words were sometimes unnecessary. This silent dialogue, however, was cut off when the stranger reached the booth and turned. ‘I will sit nearest the door.’ She slipped into the booth with a rustle of fabric.
‘We were going to insist you did,’ George said, rallying to his role. She glanced at him sharply, and George smiled the smile of someone who knows a great deal more than he’s willing to let on. It was a useful expression, especially for when he didn’t have a clue what was going on.
‘You’re younger than I expected, Mr Black.’ She shrugged, minutely. ‘It is no matter. I deal with people who seem to be all ages. I make no judgement.’
Aubrey smiled slowly. ‘I’m older than I look.’
George coughed into a closed fist. ‘And that’s old enough.’
Aubrey just restrained himself from kicking George under the table. There was such a thing as over-egging a pudding. ‘What do you want?’ he said abruptly, trying to catch her off guard. ‘Time is short.’
Her expression hardened. ‘You are meeting someone else, aren’t you?’