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. A magical artifact that allows one to travel back in time to a particular moment of their heart’s 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. But as she will soon discover there are others seeking the same object.
The Orient Express, having pulled away from the Strasburg Station, again begans to gather speed as it gathers speed in order to hurl along through the winter wonderland of heavily falling snow.
Various cars begin to sway, slightly at first , as the train begins to take several winding curves.
The Duc Jean Floessas des Esseintes watching the winter storm beyond the window, removes a cigarette case from his pocket and and cliks it open. His long slender fingers remove an unfiltered, oval Egyptian cigarette, snaps the case clse and gently taps the cyclinder upon it to pack the tobacco. He places it to his thin lips and lights it, exhaling a long curling plume of silvery smoke.
Where was Wellington?
He was supposed to have met him in his compartment an hour ago.
The Duc Jean Floessas des Esseintes checks his watch.
Damned the English.
Karl von Juntz, having assured himself his luggage had been properly placed in his compartment, as well as being certain to thavtaken all taken the necessary precautions in order to secure the papers he is carrying for the German government, makes his way into the Salon Car.
Upon entering Von Juntz takes note of a little Belgian gentleman who slips into the car behind him and hurries over to one of the attendant’s to tap the man upon the shoulder.
Unconcerned about the antics of a Belgian, von Juntz motions to the Ma’tre D’ and indicates he wishes a table. The Ma’tre D’ nods and moves over to guide him toward one of the centrally located tables.
As he steps past the near table he nods to the Duc.
“Herr Esseintes.” {German}
Leopold Peeters once again accosts the attendant in order to ask once again about whether or not the evening newspapers were delivered at Strasbourg, but he sighs as the attendant shakes his head sadly in the negative. The attendant explains that it is no soubt owing to the snow. “Very heavy for this time of the year.”
Unusual, is the word the attendant uses.
Leopold frowns and rubs a palm along the side of his face.
Well, he has other matters to attend to and he leaves the Salon Car in search of the conductor Pierre Michels.
In her second-class compartment, Amelia lightly dozes, her head resting on the window, the circles under her eyes just barely concealed by her makeup, papers having spilled from her lap lie about her feet.
“So, Herr Juntz, I see they have you now on a short leash?” {German} The Duc says and makes a slight wave with his hand, cigarette smoke trialing in its wave.
Juntz frowns, “Leash, M. Duc?” {German}
The smiles is wicked, “Come, come, it is well known that some among the brown shirts have a rather acute interest in artifacts, shall we say, that are of the extraordinary nature, non?” {German}
The door to Amelia’s compartment opens and the tall, lovely, blonde American Angelique Collins enters and closes the door behind her. She stands for a moment and then gives Amelia a smile, trying her best to give the appearance that the scattered papers on the floor were not of Amelia’s doing, “My, they are certainly lax once the night lengthens. You would think they would tidy up the place.”
“I am sorry, may I help you?” Amelia glancing at the papers she was about to gather up.
“Perhaps, I am looking for the little Belgian gentleman, Peeters.”
Amelia looks at her with amused curiosity, “The little Belgian? Seems Leo is very much in demand.”
“Leo?” Angelique smiles, “So, are you . . . traveling together?”
“No! We just happened to share this compartment. The man is crazy, carries a camel saddle about with him.”
“Does he now?”
Karl von Juntz takes the menu from the table attendant.
“So what, Karl? Do they not have you sniffing like the blood hound for the unusual, the extraordinary?”
“A camel saddle?” Angelique asks, stepping further into the compartment, rubbing her hands together as she tries nonchalantly to peer at the documents on the floor.
“Yes, he has laid claimed to this cabin as his own, and so that I have to share it not only with him but with a saddle . . . a saddle of all things.” She stoops to gather the papers up.
When suddenly the compartment door opens. Angelique turns with a wry smile to see Leopold Peeters, entering to close the door behind him, “Ah. Ladies. Good evening!”
He is dressed in a silk robe and a pair of pajamas.
Von Juntz turns a very stern glare upon the Duc des Esseintes and leans forward to say rather conspiratorially, “Might I ask, des Esseintes, what precisely are you hiding from THEM?”
Amelia stares and then averts her eyes-, “Please have some decorum sir!”
Leopold looks at her confused. He quickly looks at his pajama pants checking for possible holes.
Angelique’s bright eyes are not amused, “I hear you have been very lucky with the cards, Mr. Peeters.”
“Close your robes at the very least.” Amelia demands, putting the papers in her bag and closing it.
Leopold, having inspected his pajama for possible rents or tears, finds none and then shrugs as he takes a seat, closing his robe about him.
Angelique reaches into her pocket, “I am sorry to disturb at this late houe, but I felt i need to make good Tony’s losses.” And She removes a thick fold of currenty notes and passes them over to Peeters.
He takes takes the cash, and slips it into the pocket of his robe, “Thank you Madam.”
Angelique turns to saunter toward the door, and then stops, “I do hate to be an imposition, but, as I understand it from Tony, you have this marvelous pearl. Unique, I am told, in that it is a red pearl? I must say, I have never seen one, is it possible that I might have a look at it?”
“It is I must think rather disappointing that the days for your little group are drawing to a close Duc, for as the Reich rises in power, so shall the Anti-Saints find their influence to be on the wane.”
“Ah, Oui, it is of course the German world view of the Superman, based upon the writings of madman, eh?” The Duc replies and flicks ashes from his cigarette into a crystal ashtray.
Leopold cracks a half smile, “Oh I assure you, my pearl is indeed as red as they do not come.”
“He is very boastful my dear. I am sorry to say.” Amelia tells Angelique. “Let’s not encourage him, shall we?”
“As yours is based upon what, the rantings of a mad Arab?” von Juntz retorts. “We have the power at our command now Duc, the tide of Europe’s history is about to change.”
“I see, well perhaps Miss Cadwell would rather not have me expose it.” Leo said with a sly and knowing nod to Ameila.
She grimaces slightly, “Caldwell, sir. Caldwell.”
“Yes, Herr Juntz. If anything you should know, the writing of that madman will certainly out live yours. Perhaps you should take more time to read you ancestor’s work?”
Leopold frowns suddenly, “I do beg your forgiveness Miss Caldwell. The tongue of the English, it is not as easy to pronounce with my Flemish Accent.”
Angelique looks at her with her most becoming smile, “Surely, you would love to see a red pearl, Miss Caldwell.”
Leopold nods, “Well, then by all means, let me get the little lovely.” He puts his hand to his breast pocket and suddenly an expression of anxious dismay fills his countenance.
He puts his hand quickly into his breast pocket.
The train’s whistle blows shrilly into the night.
Leopold Peeters suddenly looks at the two ladies; a nervous smile crosses his lips, “If you ladies would please excuse me.”
Little can be seen out the windows owing to the reflection of the compartment’s lights.
“Oh of course.” Angelique says, trying to mask her excitement. She is so close, yes, so close now to the prize — the Crimson Pearl.
Peeters leaves the compartment for the car’s water closet whispering “Waar is het? Waar is het?”
As the train rattles over the glistening tracks, while in the baggage car, a wooden crate slams shu. A tall, swarthy gentleman catches himself as he sways with the train just now rounding of a curve. He is dressed in a very lavish vest of red and silver. His hair is long, and each finger is adorned with a large ring.
Angleique contemplates her reflection pale and frail in the glass the compartment’s window glass. Behind her she observes Amelia Caldwell glancing furtively to the close door.
Mr. Peeters has been gone now no more than 30 seconds — and yet the owman seems much too anxious.
Why?
30 seconds becomes 45.
Dominique Provoyeur moves along the narrow compartment corridor, her hand rising to brace herself as the car sways with the same turn that the gentleman in the baggage car had steadied himself against as she closes the connecting door of the Second Class Compartments.
45 seconds become a minute.
“I must say — this pearl. This red pearl, turst me, it is just another of his boasts.” Amelia says to Angelique, who turns from the window’s reflection to look at her.
Amelia suddenly sighs and stands, “I am going to attempt to find something to eat, care to join me Miss? I am sorry I didn’t catch the name.”
One minute becomes two.
Angelique take note of a man just now walking past the window of the compartment’s door window but she does not recognize him.
Where is Peeters.
She is becoming anxious now herself.
“I am Angelique Collins.” She tells Miss Caldwell.
“Well, care to join me Miss Collins?”
Angelique frowns as she sees stall, slender nun passing by the compartment.
“No, thank you, I think I shall wait a moment longer.” She tells Amelia, “It is not every day one gets to see a red pearl.”
“Very well,” She opens the door and almost collides with Dominique Provoyeur as she steps outside.
“Pardon.”
Amelia nods and turns to head toward the dining car.
The train rattles upon some uneven track.
The whistle blows and suddenly the train hurls into a long, darken tunnel.
Two minutes have become three.
Leopold Peeters has yet to return.
Angelique rubs her hands growing ever more anxious: Is it possible that he suspects her?
The echo of the train passing through the tunnel grows loud in the compartment.
Angelique grows worried as each moment passes and Peeters has failed to return. She is well aware that the Pearl was once on this train — last seen before the Strasburg Station — and then — it disappears from history. And now, each moment Peeters failed to return — each moment the train hurled through the snowy night — fate and history were converging
Where was he?
Suddenly, the lights within the entirely of the second-class compartment winks out.
The darkness of the tunnel obscures everything.
Angelique hurries to the door.
Only, she is aware that as it opens there is a slight click — the doo rhad been locked?
The lights flicker, once, twice and then return to a dim glow.
Angelique hurries into the passageway.
She turns to look down the narrow corridor toward the water closet. The compartment door swings open and closed.
Something is wrong, she can feel it — sense it.
She hurries into the corridor, “The little Belgian, have you seen him?” She asks Dominique Provoyeur, who is standing to inspect her reflection on the glass of the corridor’s window.
Amelia Caldwell seems to have vanished as well.
Provoyer shakes her head, “Non.”
Angelique hurries to the water closet and knocks on the door as it sways outward and she grabs it, “Monsieur Peeters?”
There is no response.
Pierre Michel, one of conductors steps up beside her, “Is there anything the matter, Madam Collins?”
“Peeters, the Belgian. He went into the WC and he has not come out.”
The conductor steps over and knocks, “Monsieur are you well?” {French}
No response.
A tall gentleman in a red and silver vest passes through the compartment, squeezing past those gathered about the WC.
Pierre Michel knocks once again, and then grasping the open door, swings it wide, “Monsieur Peeters are you . . ” { French}
His statement is frozen in mid-sentence as he looks upon Leopold Peeters. The little Belgian’s glasses are askew; his eyes wide, staring; his mouth hangs open as blood gurgles past his lips for there is a long, thin stiletto lodged into his throat.
It appears the stiletto is pinning him to the wall, having exited through the back of his neck and embedded into the mahogany wall of the water closet.
His robe is soaked in blood and his right hand appears to be twitching.
Angelique, her dress gathering blood along the hem, pushes past Pierre Michel in order to move closer to the dying man, as she graps the lapels of his pajamas, “Monsieur Peeters, where is it!”
TO BE CONTINUED