The year is 1933. Angelique Collins in a desperate attempt to save Barnabas Collins from his entrapment beyond time and space has invoked the mysterious Orb of Solace. An magical artifact that allows one to travel back in time to a particular moment of their hearts desire. For Angelique, this moment is upon the Orient Express in 1933 where she seeks yet another artifact, which she believes will allow her to open the rift separating Barnabas from the current time line.
The cold February morning had dawned with a heavy, wet snow. As afternoon had settled the snow become more a series of prolonged flurries through which pedestrians bowed as they stepped carefully through the hoary accumulation. Just outside of Paris, in a fashionable suburb, the crowded depot was a cacophony of voices, the echo of the steam engine, and the load rumble of metal wheels of the luggage wagons as strong-armed porters were pushing them toward the sleek, black train.
Outside the station, a taxi pulls up. Carefully stepping out so as to place his foot so as not to slip but to also keep from soiling his spats, a well-built, mustached man with glasses exits. He reaches back inside and removes a battered suitcase and a well-traveled backpack. Certain to stay well within the confines of the shoveled and cleared expanse designated for passengers to disembark from their taxis, as they arrived to board the Train Eclair de luxe, operated by the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits, he reached into his jacket and removed his wallet. He took out a note and folded it so as not to allow its denomination to be seen. Ah, merci, he said as he passes it through the open window to the diver.
The driver was not impressed.
With a shift of gears, the taxi drives off back onto the snowy road as the gentleman lifts his valise and heads toward the depot. He enters through the main doors to move hurriedly through the warmth of the station. There is no one there to greet him or to send him off and so he moves quickly through the station and pushes open a pair of dark wooden doors. He immediately steps back out into the cold. For although the platform is protected various large doors are in a state of constant motion: opening and closing.
He steps past a well loaded baggage wagon and see across the platform, the Orient Express.
In a hurry, a brown uniformed man moves quickly around him, while checking a list upon a clipboard.
The platform seems frantic.
Porters wheeling large luggage wagons about with amazing precision and ease, as well as several broad-shouldered men working at loading wooden crates of produce into what much be the service entrance to the trains kitchen. There were First-and-Second Class passengers absently mingling about, ever mindful of the luggage wagons, rolling past, as they seek out their correct coach and the steel steps leading up into the narrow entryway of the trains carriages.
Off to the left a newsboy stands near the door at the north end of the platform, a stack of papers at his feet as he offers one to everyone exiting the station.
He rubs his fingers together against the cold.
The mustached man waves to the boy. Garçon! He signals him over, S’il vous plaît.
Inside the train, dressed in his smart, brown uniform, the Wagon Lit conductor, Pierre Michel, walks purposefully down the narrow passageway outside the sleeping compartments, having just a moment before turned away from closing the door to Number 6, after saying, Mais oui, M. Jagiellon, I understand. He checks his watch. Precisely 4:45, the train is to depart in 15 minutes.
He lifts his eyes as if in a silent supplication to a deity most likely uninterested in the working of a train as Pierre Michel sighed rather heavily.
There are still passengers yet to board.
Outside on the platform, visible through the window that was slightly fogged at the edges, the newsboy can be seen hurrying over to the gentleman with the valise and backpack, which bespeaks of duty among the Legionaries.
As Pierre Michel passes compartment Number 9 he takes note of a sudden bright flash of white light at the bottom of the door.
Through the window, behind Michel, the mustached gentleman reaches into his pocket and hands the newsboy a coin.
And behind the mustached gentleman and the newsboy, a heavy, dark wooden door opens out upon the platform and an attractive girl of 19 emerges to see the boy hurrying back over to his stack of papers and she smiles, “Oh I wonder if he would have anything in English. I may speak some French but I sure cant read a lick of it . . . ” The blonde, young woman says aloud to herself, slightly aware of the odd looks she was getting, and she would smile embarrassingly, as she rushes over to the boy: “Yoo-hoo! You wouldnt happen to have any one of those in English would you?”
The mustached gentleman gives the young woman an appreciative inspection and then opens his newspaper to check the front page as if looking for something. Or perhaps in the hopes of not seeing something . . . Nancy Drew, the young American, girl thinks as she notices the gentleman with the mustache.
Curious, Pierre Michel steps over to the door of compartment Number 9 and knocks lightly, Pardon, is there something of concern?”
A woman’s voice from within answers, “No, everything is just perfect.”
The voice of an American.
Tony Peterson steps over to the window of the sleeping coach and stands looking out to see the winter wonderland beyond. One moment he was in Samantha Collins bedroom and now now he was in the tight confines of a trains sleeping compartment. “My God it worked . . . what ever . . . where . . . where are we.”
Yet another knock upon the compartment door, this time more insistent by the Wagon Lit conductor, Pierre Michel, “Pardon. Open the door if you will, S’il vous plaît.
The gentleman scanning the newspaper cocks an eyebrow as he notices the young American girl. He smiles and folds the evening edition, which he adroitly tucks under his arm; he lifts his valise and steps over toward her. Mademoiselle, I do not believe he understands you.
Angelique looks across the compartment to give Tony a cutting look. Oui, Monsieur, everything is fine.” She calls out to the conductor.
As you say Madam, but alas, perhaps there has been the mistake, as I do not have anyone listed as occupying this compartment. Pierre Michel says, his hand reaching into this pocket for the passkey.
Before he can withdraw it, he hears the click of the door lock.
The door to compartment number 9 opens. The Wagon Lit Conductor sees Angelique standing at the door with Tony Peterson over near the compartments window. The first thing he notices is that their clothing seems rather odd or is perhaps some new American style?
Yes, well you see monsieur, we where in such a great rush to get on board the train not wanting to miss it you see . . . we did not have time to purchase our ticket. She tells him as she surreptitiously passes him several folded notes. But thought we could do so once we were on board.
Ah, He replies with a slight nod of his head even as he pockets the currency, Mais oui, I understand. And you are in luck. Although the train is occupied with more passengers that usual at this time of year there are several compartments still available. As, Madam, is this one. Now if you would give me your passports, I shall see to it that the contrôleur stops by to allow you to purchase your passage.
Of course, And she steps over to her purse which contains the contents of the package supplied by Peter Cairo in 2012. She removes the passports and turns to hand them to the conductor. Thank you, so much. She says with a winsome smile. The smile that Tony knows always gets her what she wants.
On the platform Leopold Peeters smiles at the fresh-faced young woman, You are new in Paris, non?
Nancy Drew looks over to the man and blushes “Is it that obvious, I tell you it is certainly one thing to study a language but its a whole other story to have to actually try to speak it, in order to get anyone to understand you.”
Ah, a problem I have learned too well. Leopold Peeters nods, Here. Allow me to translate.
Our luggage, it should be arriving shortly, Angelique said, just as there was a rapping now upon the window of their compartment, which startled Tony. He stepped back away from the widow as the Wagon Lit Conductor moved over and turned the locks opening it. He pushed the widow upward and then helped the baggage handler lift the luggage stacked upon the wooden baggage cart. Som that is how they loaded luggage in 1933, Tony thought watching with interest.
And I see they have arrived right on time, She said with a bright smile.
“Mais Oui, Madam. The burly baggage handler said as he handed up another valise, It was delivered only moments ago by your agent, a Monsieur Chandraputra, I think he said was his name.
Yes, that is my agent And sauntering over to the open window, she hands out folded notes to the handler and once again to the conductor, Monsieurs . . . for all of your help.
“Oh no no no, let me . . . Nancy Drew protests, I have to learn you know, so just tell me if I am saying it right though will you?”
Leopold Peeters nods and hands his newspaper over with a smile.
The compartment window closed once again, Pierre Michel bows slightly and makes his way over to the door, I shall have the contrôleur see to it that you have your tickets.
The door closes and Angelique smiles now at the bewildered Tony Peterson, who stands idly, patting at his body as if he were attempting to ascertain whether he was truly there. This. This is insane.
On the platform Nancy Drew smiles at Leopold Peeters and then squints her eyes at the paper “Alright I know this must mean . . . the date . . . and . . . oh, you must help me with the rest.
And Tony collapses to sit heavily upon the edge of the bed as he continues to look out the window, “Sowe are really . . .”
“Yes, Tony, it is really 1933 and we are on the Orient Express.”
“Oh, I am not even going to ask how this is possible because with you just about anything is . . . but how he motions now to the suitcases that have been neatly stacked inside the small compartment, How did you pull that off? How can you have a travel agent in 1933?
Leopold Peeters, using his finger points out now as he reads, See here, it is 2 February 1933. The Figaro. New German Chancellor Gives Speech. Pledges to return Germany to it’s lost Glory. Which is a lot of political nonsense about this little upstart next door.
“Oh yes, daddy is rather worried about this Mister Hitler.” Nancy says. But, a girl has to see Paris at least once?
Oh, my dear, non. She must see it many, many times.
Angelique glances out the window to see the man with the mustache reading the newspaper to a attractive young woman, “Yes Tony, as I told you, whether you believe me or not, there is a much larger plan to all of this . . . and so, all you need to know at the moment is that . . . someone . . . knew we would be coming.” And she reaches over and lifts one of the suitcases; and tosses it upon the foot of the bed.
Someone in the past knew, we in the future, were going to be in Compartment 9?
She gives him that infamous smile that informs him he is not going to get an answer.
She reached over and snaps open the suitcase, “Now, we need to change into something a bit more suitable for the time.
Tony Peterson looks at small compartment, aware there was little or no privacy and so looks at her rather slyly and smiles.
“Tony I am a married woman. Now.” Angelique says.
“Yeah, well, he’s in a different dimension.”
“Im Nancy by the way, Nancy Drew.” She introduces herself.
Leopold Peeters smiles and takes her hand and kisses it, Leopold Peeters, Adventurer. At your service Mademoiselle Drew.
“An adventurer?! Oh, how exciting so please allow me to properly introduce myself, as you see. . . some have called me an All-American Sleuth” she does a curtsy.
Ah! The American Sleuth? Leopold says with a smile. From the land of Gangsters and Movie Stars,my, my how exciting. I have been to the far corners of China and the deep deserts of Africa, but I have not once set foot in the United States. You must tell me all about it Missen.
Nancy smiles, “Oh well theres really not all that many gangsters, and certainly no movie stars in River Heights. But still, theres still plenty of excitement to go around”
To be certain, Mademoiselle, it is always the small towns that have something to hide. Why, there was this little village, down in the Ganges in India. And the entire Village was full of people from all over the world. Hindus, Chinese, Frenchmen, Germans, Russians, and Bolivians.
Inside compartment number 9, Angelique Collins reaches into the suitcase and pulls out a garment and tosses a pair of dark pants at Tony, “Now, get into these.”
“Right.” He says and stands up, watching her as he begins to unbuckle his trousers.
She of course pays very little attention to his impertinent and all too observant eyes as she strips and changes clothes before him.
“So this pearl? He asks working to button the wing-tipped collar, You say it is on the train?”
The last place it was known to have been was on this train, yes, in 1933. She explains as she looks into the mirror to make adjustments to her makeup. After that, there is absolutely no record of it.
Tony Peterson, watching her reflection in the mirror, ties his tie, “I assume you know who has it?”
“Yes only what I do not know is precisely it is on board the train that originally takes it and what they do with it afterwards so we have to try and get it before ”
He frowns, “Before what?”
“The murder.”
“Oh, good Christ.” He says.
On the cold platform Leopold Peeters was just now touching his mustache for effect; Communists. All of them. I had stumbled upon a commune. But the real exciting part was that they had been sabotaging the rail lines and telephone cables.
Nancys eyes widen.
Needless to say, I had to put a stop to it. His shoulders lifting with pride and pulling ever so slightly back.
“Why would they do such a thing?” She asked, “And communist you say?”
And he nods in brisk ascent, Because they where trying to fan the socialist flames in India. Sabotage the British, and the capitalists. There are groups like them all over the world.
Do they still have Red Republicans, here in France?
Leopold Peeters smiled at the young woman, But you needn’t worry. The Orient Express is quite safe.
“Oh my, well lets hope so . . . She thought it odd he did not answer her question about the Red Republicans, and made a mental note of it, I do have to warn you though, I do tend to have a knack for running into trouble” and she startles him with a wink, ” Just now, I was at the Louvre as nothing more than a simple touristwhen suddenly, I found myself involved in a porters mysterious vanishing.”
Vanishing Porters? Peeters looks now at the young girl, this would be detective, in bewilderment, Tell me, did you find him?
“Oh yes, but it proved to be a hoax in a scheme in attempt to steal a Van Gough by having a porter and a mummy disappear.
A mummy?
And some very scroll but it was all misdirection as the target was the Van Gough.
And, so what, you put a stop to it, yes? He now was starting to re-evaluate his perception of this very attractive American.
Nancy Drew turns her head to look at him with a sly smile.
Then you, Mademoiselle, are truly an adventurer as well. But tell me. He looks over to see the workmen now unloading some wooden crates, which were to be passed along to those inside: it is obvious that the crates contain bottles of wine. He could use a drink that was for certain, So, what brings to the Orient Express? And on to Istanbul?
Well, I am to meet an art expert and a archeologist. To be honest daddy wants me to meet an old client of his there, keeping appearances you know.”
An Archeologist? You don’t say! This girl is more fascinating by the moment he thinks.
“Oh yes she was quite interesting. A Dr. Song. Dr. River Song?
She is Chinese? He asks.
Dont think so she said she was from New York.
The echoing sound of the metal wheels of the baggage wagons grew louder as the wagons were pushed back toward the station empty of their cargo.
Long the narrow passage of the sleeping car, the Wagon Lit conductor Pierre Michel steps aside in order to make way for a tall, slender woman moving toward the salon car. Her blonde hair is cut in a most fashionable bob and she wears a coal black woolen suit; she nods as she steps past. He nods in return: Mademoiselle Swan. And then cuts a glance backward to watch the roll of her hips as she continues on her way . . . ah what a waste, he thinks to himself, aware that she is the companion of the dark beauty in Compartment 3.
Still, I dont get how you think you can change anything I mean, from all Ive ever heard, one cant just go around f**king with time with events in the past it has dangerous ramifications on the present . . . or . . . in this case our future. You know, I have seen a few Doctor Whos.
Yes, well thats all theory now isnt it. She tightens the ends of his bow-tie. Whereas this Tony, this is reality and it is after all it is alien technology.
What is? He looks at her dismayed.
Time for a drink dont you think? She replies and steps back to allow him to inspect her, So, how do I look?”
“As always, and to my eternal damnation, you my dear, always look wonderful.”
She smiles and her green eyes are pure wicked, “Now take my hand Tony, and do try to remember it is 1933.”
She opens the door of the compartment and they step out into the small passageway.
Tony glances at a strange man just stepping back into the compartment down from theirs, the number 6. The man cuts a mean look at him and then steps through the door and closes it behind him. Tony hears the latch lock. We might need to keep watch on Number 6 down there.
With a quick look back over her shoulder, Angelique turns to lead the way to the salon car.
Leopold Peeters aware of the cold continued now his conversation, As you see, Mademoiselle Drew. I, myself, I am on my way to French Syria. I seek to uncover that of what I learned of when I was living there about 10 years ago.
“Oh? And what is that?”
Leopold Peeters begins very theatrically: An ancient city, buried in the sand, and lost. Forever. To the annals of time. He now stands with his arms ahead of him as if to unfold a scene for her, Yes, Mademoiselle, out there in the shifting sands, there in the vast wasteland of the desert, an ancient and forgotten place, where the Gods themselves hid it. Lying in ruin. Irem! The City of pillars!
Her eyes widen once again, “A lost city? Oh how exciting. What do you plan to do once you uncover this city?”
Now very animated he continues, There is said to be a large cache of artifacts. Gold. Silver. Untouched since the days of the Bible. Who knows what history is written on those temple walls? What tale they will tell.
“Oh wow!” She looks at him with growing wonder.
And so, I, Caporal Leopold Peeters, retired, will set forth with my trusty companion, with whom I shall rendezvous in Istanbul, to uncover these riches for the betterment of mankind!
He glances over toward her to see the effect of his dramatic speech.
Nancy smiles widely “Well if this companion doesnt follow through, I would sure love to tag along on that adventure. Just to be sure, Ill even give you my clients address”
Leopold Peeters shakes his head even as he smiles, No, no, Sabastiano Possiano is reliable as ever. I fought with him in the war, and he saved my life more times than I care to remember. The problem of the archaeologist is a concern though He quickly glances at her.
“Well Monsieur Peeters, you are in luck, it just so happens I know one, though Im unsure of how to get in contact with her . . . until we get to Istanbul.”
Well then. When we reach Istanbul, you must take us to meet this friend of yours.
“Well she doesnt live in Istanbul nor in Paris for that matter come to think of it, I never really found out where she was from . . .
New York, You said.
Yes, well everyone says theyre from New York, Monsieur Peeters. And she laughs.
So, how are you to find this Dr. Song?
Oh, well, she said she would find me.
Oh, I see. He said not seeing at all.
He takes note of the newsboy stamping his feet to keep warm against the freezing wind, Well, Mademoiselle Drew, I do not know about you but I do not see the point of continuing our conversation here out in the cold. Shall we move unto the train, Ja?
“I was just about to suggest the same thing” Nancy rises, drawing out her first class ticket from her purse.” I should make sure that my luggage made it in safely.
The brow of Leopold Peeters rises as he spies the first class ticket and for a brief moment allows his eyes to rise upward to the heavens, God? Why do you tempt me so? He thinks to himself as he watches the young American girl heading to the train.
The salon car was as not yet as occupied as it would be much later, once all the passengers boarding the Orient Express had settled into their compartments. And alas, for the Second Class, there was the frugality of the complete journey to be considered.
Angelique strolled in leisurely and smiled at the Maître D Madam, Monsieur, a table for two or are others to shortly join you. He asked.
Tony holds up two fingers, Just two. Near the window there. He indicated the seat he wished, one that had a view of the connecting door between the coaches.
Mais Oui. And the Maître D led them to the table.
Leopold Peeters bends to pick up his suitcase and cane: I do not trust the conductor with my luggage. I have it here with me at all times. He then smiles warmly to Nancy Drew, and tips his hat, I shall meet you Mademoiselle Drew perhaps later in the dining car.
Nancy bobs her head cheerfully “I shall see you soon Mr. Peeters!” And Nancy makes her way toward the train unable to shake the thought that Mr. Peeters looks a bit like that Charlie Chaplin.
Angelique silently inspects the occupants of the luxurious salon car. There was only a couple down at the far end, sitting very close together, talking. Hands touching. The corner of Angeliques mouth curled in a smile. She looks away and opens her clutch to remove a cigarette holder and a small gold cigarette case. She deftly took a Dunhill from the case, snapped it shut, and sat tapping the cigarette thoughtfully to pack the tobacco tighter within the slender white tube.
So, were re-enacting the Murder on the Orient Express? Tony said instinctively reaches into his jacket pocket and removes his lighter.
It has not been published yet. She tells him, leaning forward as he offers her the pale blue flame of his lighter. Next year.
You know, I really dont like handling cigarette lighters around you. Although she says she doesnt remember being Cassandra Collins he certainly does.
She frowns and there is a hint of anger at the corners of her mouth, I told you Tony I have no memory of that.
He nods and snaps the lighter shut, So you say.
Which was something that had begun to worry him . . . how had he met, fallen in love with, and nearly committed a murder, while being under her spell, when she says she was never really there. That she had never been Cassandra Collins. Has she already been manipulating time? And if so, how many times has she done so?
The table attendant steps up, “Mais Oui, Monsieur et Madame un rafraîchissement?
A bottle of Champaign please, and two glasses,” Angelique replies and looks over at Tony, who nods and removes a cigarette from his own pack. He still wasnt sure if he should trust her . . . trust her . . . well, it wasnt that he did it was just that he he was still infatuated with her.
When the attendant moves away Tony leans forward, “1933. We’re not about to be part of a war or anything are we?”
Smoke escaping around the stem of her cigarette holder she shakes her head, “No, Hitler was just made Chancellor, there is still a bit before the shooting starts. But, we are in a war of another kind.”
I thought your memory was fragmented?”
She looks out the window at the lumbering baggage wagons pulled by the strong-armed baggage handlers in their dark uniforms, seemingly have taken no notice of his question.
The headwaiter arrives with a bottle of Champaign in an ice bucket and two crystal glasses. He places them on the table before them.
“Merci.” She says and takes up her glass.
Tony is more than eager for a drink. The attendant pops the cork and pours the sparkling blonde liquid into her glass and then fills Petersons glass as he watches her settle back in her chair and he wonders just want she is really up to? He takes a sip of his drink and looks around the nearly empty salon car. “I thought there would be a lot more peopleI mean I’ve heard so much about the Orient Express . . . ”
“Just wait, this train this train will soon enough have quite a few unusual passengers.”
The door to the salon car opens and a tall, slender gentleman now enters. He is smartly dressed with a monocle securely placed in his left eye.
Angelique looks up and takes note of his entrance and adverts her eyes for a moment.
Tony looks around to see who has entered, “That him?”
She shakes her head, “Tony, please don’t be so obvious.”
The Duc Jean Florssas des Esseintes steps over to one of the seats as he opens a gold cigarette case and removes a slender black cigarette and places it between his lips rather circumspect.
The table attendant steps up and bows, Le monsieur désire un rafraîchissement?
The gentleman with the monocle nods, Oui. Un whisky, soigné, merci.”
The Maitre D’Hotel all in deference steps up to the gentleman, “Ah, Duc des Esseintes, it is so good of you to travel with us again. He says in French, Please accept this drink with the compliments of the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits.
“Merci, Henri,” des Esseintes, replies lighting his cigarette; his voice a deep baritone. “But, I see perhaps I am early, non?” Smoke escaping around each word as he speaks.
Leopold Peeters steps up into the train and hands his second-class ticket to the Wagon Lit Conductor in his smartly pressed uniform. The conductor glances at the ticket and Leopold Peeters is quickly directed to the second-class coach. His Merci, was as repetitive as the second-hand of a well wound watch as he lifted his valise away from the passengers who now stood outside their compartments in the narrow corridor. Amongst his apologies there was also great care in the way he took care with his valise.
He moves along, his eyes running ahead to read the numbers, until soon he finds his compartment in the second class.
The Maitre D’Hotel nods, “Of course, the salon car, it will fill up shortly after we leave the depot. You travel far, this journey, Monsieur?”
I dont know yet. The Duc des Esseintes replies.
End of Session One, Cue Music