Hell Train by Christopher Fowler Read Free Book Online Page A

his fingers off. But the door was too far away for him to cut and run. The others in the bar would never allow him to leave.
    ‘There is no time for this,’ he warned, trying to rise but held down on the stool. ‘The enemy is already inside your walls.’
    ‘Whose enemy?’ asked the landlord. ‘Not ours. This town was built by the railways. Our families were raised on iron and fire. Our men are engineers and metalworkers, and our women become wives and mothers, not sport for bored city folk.’ He had been mulling red wine over the open fire in an iron cup. It was now boiling.
    ‘And you would see Isabella raped to save yourselves.’
    ‘Let’s show the stranger our hospitality. Pour him a drink, boys.’ Two of the toughest looking farmers in the bar pinned Nicholas down and forced open his mouth. The metal wine cup was red hot and bubbling fiercely. The landlord drew up a three-legged stool and seated himself before Nicholas. Perhaps, Nicholas considered, this situation is worse than Valencia. He struggled, turning his head aside.
    Outside, Isabella watched in horror, unable to act. She was shocked by the ferocity of men she had known all her life, men she thought she knew. What she was witnessing only firmed her resolve to leave. But there was nothing she could do to save Nicholas now.
    The landlord lowered a pair of tongs into the fire and lifted the iron cup, carefully raising the glowing goblet over Nicholas’s open mouth. Drawing it close above the fine English gentleman’s upturned face, he started to tip it. Behind him, a tough old farmer held Nicholas’s arms by his sides.
    Kicking out as hard as he could, Nicholas knocked the fat landlord off his stool, upending the scalding cup into the farmer’s eyes. The farmer roared, blinded, and fell back. The cup fell on his forehead, branding his flesh. Nicholas seized the moment to make a break for freedom. Grabbing the farmer, he slammed him into the fire, setting his hair alight.
    He dashed for the door and barged it open. Seizing Isabella’s hand, he rushed from the tavern with the others in pursuit.
    The pair ran as fast as they could. Isabella pulled Nicholas aside as Ivan and Josef came around the side of a building and blindly charged past.
    The streets were dark and empty, both a blessing and a curse. As they reached the town’s outer wall, they saw that a platoon of bedraggled soldiers had began pouring in through the open gate.
    ‘The town has one road in and out,’ Isabella warned. ‘If we are to survive, we must cut across the fields.’
    Panicked, she ran even faster, with Nicholas close behind.
    In the penumbral gloom ahead, Nicholas could make out rows of upturned marble tablets, angled among grassy hillocks like rotten teeth. ‘Is that a graveyard?’
    ‘Yes. We must go through it to reach the station. From there we can follow the tracks out of town. It is the fastest way.’
    As they fled toward the ragged field of corpses, their pursuers started closing in. Nicholas knew that their valises were slowing them down, but he could not possibly travel without his belongings.
    Ivan and Josef were strong country lads and quickly gained ground. Then Isabella missed her footing and fell heavily, pulling him down into the grass.
    Moments later, the fleeing couple were seized by their pursuers.

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    THE TRAIN
     
     
    T HOMAS AND M IRANDA had seen the torches of the arriving army wavering through the treeline, and had fallen into panic.
    Miranda wrung her hands and paced back and forth on the platform. In England, she took control of every situation in which she found herself. Here, it was impossible to do so. She had never felt so powerless. ‘We don’t have the right papers,’ she cried. ‘They’ll see that we’re English.’
    ‘We must pray to Our Lord,’ said Thomas.
    ‘Is that your only solution? It’s too late for prayers.’
    ‘That is a blasphemy, Miranda. Remember, we are all children of God. The conventions