Wolfweir by A. G. Hardy Read Free Book Online Page B

Alphonse.
     
    He grasped Lucia's wrist.
     
    "Yes," she said." I know. We have to run. Oh no. No. Wait. They saw us. Oh Alphonse! They are coming!"
     
    As the derby-men approached the two children, almost sauntering in their vicious glee -- taking their sweet time, both smiling the thinnest and cruelest of twin smiles -- Alphonse picked up his sword-cane.
     
    "Careful. They have pistols," Lucia whispered.
     
    Then Alphonse saw it too, the grip of a black pistol stuck in one derby-man's belt.
     
    He crouched down, lowering his head, his shoulders shaking as if wracked by a cough.
     
    "Ah, we are no doubt finished for good this time," said Lucia, a sad tremor in her voice.
     
    **
     
    The clicking steps approached. Both men wore shiny black shoes. When Alphonse saw the points of their shoes, he straightened up in a flash, hurling his blanket into their faces.
     
    He ripped the sword free of its cane. The naked steel glittered. Alphonse lunged. He stabbed twice, three, four times at the writhing men through the ship's blanket. He heard howls.
     
    A gun clattered to the floor. Lucia kicked it so it spun away.
     
    She grabbed Alphonse's arm shouting:
     
    "Come, Alphonse! We must abandon this place!"
     
    They fled, shoving through the crowd, overturning carts and scattering luggage.
     
    Alphonse sheathed his sword as they ran. He used it to swat aside a swarthy gendarme who stood in their path, red-faced, puffing on a tin whistle.
     
    Lucia's tophat was gone, and her hair flew.
     
    Many people simply stepped aside from their path, dumfounded at the sight of a puppet boy (sans strings) running pell-mell beside a golden haired girl in a billowing opera cape.
     
    **
     
    They dashed through the chaotic shouting crowd, crashing aside wooden barriers, onto the concrete boarding platform where the sleek blue trains, chugging and humming softly, were already loading passengers and luggage in puffing clouds of steam under those great brilliant skylights.
     
    Lucia was gasping for breath. She tore off her opera cape and draped it on Alphonse, to hide his stick-like puppet body from prying or astonished eyes.
     
    Then she turned her head anxiously from side to side, searching for the Milan train.
     
    Meantime, Alphonse was watching behind them for the sudden appearance of more rough derby men armed with pistols, or club-waving gendarmes. He had one hand on the grip of a dueling pistol.
     
    "Ah!" Lucia hopped up and down, jerking on Alphonse's sleeve.
     
    There it was, the long dark blue train shuddering like something alive even as suitcase-laden passengers popped into view through the steam-misted windows.
     
    " C'est la . "
     
    As she seized Alphonse's wrist and began to run for it, Alphonse tugged her to a stop. He pointed to the open door of a car full of boxes, crates, and luggage at the rear of the train, just in front of the glassed-in observation car.
     
    "Ah, si . Si!" Lucia cried.
     
    They made haste into the baggage car, crawling over suitcases and crates to the darkest corner, where a big green steamer trunk sat. Padlocked, its lid was stencilled with red letters: MAIL. Alphonse glanced around, then unsheathed his rapier and struck again and again at the chain holding the padlock, sparks flying, until it snapped.
     
    He threw open the green lid and waved Lucia forward. She crawled inside, on a pile of letters. Alphonse jumped in after her and shut the lid with a heavy clunk.
     
    Had anyone heard Alphonse hacking at the chain? It was eerily silent in the baggage car. They could hear bells ringing, a conductor's distant shout.
     
    Then door to the baggage car slid shut with a bang. A lock thunked into place. In the dark, Alphonse smiled. He stroked the panting Lucia's hair with his wooden fingers.
     
    The engine let out a whistle blast the two children could hear even in the depths of the mail trunk, and the Paris-Milan express jolted into movement -- streaming out of the Gare du Nord toward Germany, the