Berlin
Chapter 4: An Unexpected Detour
by rabidsamfan and Timeless A-Peel
Beta by Khell, kibbitzing by clevertoad and cuthalion.
Disclaimer: The New Avengers are copyrighted by Canal+, and this is just for fun. The publicity picture which inspired this story is on a recent trading card from Strictly Ink (though you can see it at http://docs. google. com /View?docID(equalsign)d4pccjp(underline)215hr7t95 if you're curious. Replace the parentheses with the named punctuation and take out the spaces. And curse ff.n's document editor for me, will you?) It's the back of card 70. It clearly predates the series, which gave us the idea and a license to play...
"Be careful," the voice was saying. "We do not want them to waken before time."
Purdey had been about to open her eyes, to see why the train had slowed, but the translation of the German made it through the fog in just in time.
"It makes no difference, surely?" The second voice was higher, whinier.
"Those are our orders. Rough handling might kill the man before he can talk and the girl... especially if she is what she seems to be... will be a better lever for his cooperation if he thinks he can save her from being... damaged..." The first voice sounded reluctantly determined to follow the orders, whether he wanted to or not. "We are to search them only, to make sure they have no evidence against Janus hidden in their clothes."
That was enough warning that Purdey managed not to react when the hands began to unbutton her dress. She heard Gambit make a small noise and wondered if he were awake too. If he was, he was faking unconsciousness. That didn't seem to include being completely unresponsive, though, so she let herself flinch and frown when the person searching her brushed his hand down her front, as if he were impatient with the number of buttons in his way.
"Here..." the first man said. "Help me with him first." The hands left Purdey, and she concentrated on keeping her breathing even. Another groan from Gambit, grunts of effort from the two men, and the sound of ripping cloth. "I think this must be what we seek."
"Good. And just in time. We are coming to the junction. Leave them and lock the door. By the time they wake, Janus should have come."
"I would like to stay... to watch."
"You know better. Janus trusts no one but Karl to see his face, and Karl only because he does not speak. But do not fret yourself. We've been promised the girl, afterwards."
"Ah... that will do."
She heard them leaving, heard the snick of a lock, and dared open her eyes at last. The rocking told her that they were still on a train, but the place she found herself in bore no resemblance to the first class sleeper cabin she'd been in before. The long narrow room was lit by a hissing propane lantern, hung from a hook on the ceiling, which swayed with the movement of the train. It hadn't been designed for the purpose, clearly, as it lit the upper part of the train car brightly and sent shadows over the rest as it rocked. The windows were hidden behind heavy curtains, the floor covered with oriental rugs. If it weren't for the shape of the room and the movement she might have thought she'd been carried off to a Victorian's parlor. Four long upholstered couches were placed against the walls, and a heavy, ornate table dominated the center of the room. The brasswork was blackened with age, elaborate sconces for missing lamps and other fittings almost invisible in the shifting light. A private car, she realized, relic of an earlier age, when millionaires travelled in comfort.
She pushed up onto her elbow, tearing the disintegrating velvet of the upholstery beneath her. Gambit was stretched out on the couch opposite her, stripped of jacket and shirt, and even the bandages that had been on his chest and arm. His jacket lay on the floor, the lining torn out, and she wondered if that was where he'd been carrying the photograph he'd wanted to get to Steed. His face was slack -- the unconsciousness was real then, and she wondered how she'd escaped it. Of course she'd only swigged a little of the Schnaps that Margot had given them, and he'd had a healthy -- or unhealthy -- amount of the stuff. Small wonder we were both acting like we'd had one over the eight. Purdey frowned. We were drugged.
The trouble with that theory is that it must be hours since we fell asleep. And it didn't explain the tinny taste at the back of her nose and throat. I wonder what chloroform smells like?
She set the problem aside, and sat up to fix her clothing. It didn't matter how they'd been snatched nearly so much as it mattered how they were going to get away. And thinking about escaping was better than thinking about what their captors had implied would happen if they didn't get away.
"You knew the job was dangerous when you took it," she reminded herself. The fog was starting to clear now, a little, making it easier to think.
The train slowed to a stop, and she lay down quickly, pretending to be asleep. She waited, but no one came, and after a while the train began to move again, going even more slowly, so she got up and went to the window, carefully parting the old, faded, brocade to look outside.
Trees. Pine forest, dark and forbidding, like something out of a tale by the Brothers Grimm. She didn't want to move the curtains too much, lest they fall apart and reveal that she was awake, but by checking what she could from several different vantage points she decided that they were being pushed up the mountainside by a small noisy engine. A spur line, she thought, remembering the vernacular from half-a-dozen old Westerns. It probably led to some remote mine or a remote village.
She had a feeling that waiting to find out wouldn't be a good idea.
The door nearest her led into a small vestibule, like a closet designed to hold baggage. The door beyond it was locked from the outside. There was a small window in the center of it, but all she could see was the front end of the engine. She went back into the main room and tried the door at the far end. That one wasn't locked, but it was blocked by something on the other side and wouldn't open more than half an inch, no matter how hard she tried. The windows were a possibility, but only if she was truly desperate, and they wouldn't do Gambit any good at all.
Gambit. I'd better do something about bandaging him up again, in case he wakes up and we get a chance to run.
She knelt by the long couch where Gambit was sprawled and dug into his jacket pockets in search of his handkerchief. Nothing. His trouser pockets had been emptied too, and there was no sign of their luggage. If there'd been a tear in her dress she'd have torn out a strip of it, but the tough silk refused to give way to her teeth, so she tore out the rest of Gambit's jacket lining instead and tried to wrap it around his chest to protect the unhealed stitches there.
"Ow," he flinched away from her and she breathed a little easier as she shook his shoulder to waken him. "G'way."
"Come on, Gambit. Wake up." She shook him a little less gently and he groaned. "I'm not going to try the Sleeping Beauty method," she warned. "You're no beauty. Besides, you need another shave."
"Uggg..." his eyes fluttered open. "Where?"
"I haven't the faintest. We were drugged or gassed or something and hijacked. And someone called "Janus" is going to come and interrogate us if we don't find a way out."
"'S not good." He tried to sit up, and on the second attempt managed it, blinking dazedly at his bare arms. He looked at her, still blinking. "I don't remember having this much fun," he said.
"What?"
"Your dress is buttoned crooked." He shivered a little and wrapped his arms gingerly around himself. "Did I do that? I know we were getting a bit hot, but I didn't think we got that far."
She shook her head. "No more than I stripped you off. You decided to take a nap." She started to wrap the jacket lining around his chest, shifting his arms so she had better access.
He frowned, his concentration hampered by the drugs. "Well, if I didn't..." His voice trailed off as he considered the implications of that statement, and he caught her by the shoulders. "Bloody hell... Are you okay?"
She didn't answer. It was easier to focus on his chest, and keep winding the cloth around it. To just look at her hands, and avoid Gambit's eyes reflecting the thoughts and fears she was trying to brush aside. She hoped he'd let it drop.
She should have known better. He wasn't that kind of a man.
"They didn't..." he breathed, his jaw working overtime.
"No," she broke in, hurrying to correct the misconception. "They didn't. I mean, they were searching for the evidence." In her haste to reassure him she met the blue eyes and shivered. She had never seen them so cold, so devoid of emotion. This was the other Gambit, the man who could strike out without emotion. He must have noticed her reaction, because his features softened. "You're not lying or putting on a brave front, are you? Because when I said I wasn't going to have your blood on my hands, I meant I didn't want you hurt in any way, least of all that."
"No," she assured him, then unaccountably felt anger bubbling out as the events of the past 24 hours caught up with her.
"And what if they had hurt me?" she heard herself say, although it didn't quite sound like her voice. "What makes you think that the blood would be on your hands? I knew exactly what I was letting myself in for when I signed up for this job. My father died, remember? Why shouldn't I take the same risks? I can be just as brave as you are -- just as brave as any man."
Gambit's brow furrowed. "I didn't mean--"
"I mean, it's not as though I want anything to happen," Purdey plowed on, "but the last thing I need is for you to get some sort of hero complex. I never liked the damsel in distress parts at school. We're liberated now! Especially me."
Gambit was looking tired now. "Purdey..."
"I can look after myself," she was saying.
"Purdey..."
"I mean, Steed obviously thought I was capable, if he sent me out."
"Purdey!" He said it as loudly as he dared. She started a little, and he finally had a chance to get a word in edgewise.
"I don't doubt that you knew what the risks are," he said quietly. "But I'm not in the habit of letting my partners get killed."
Partners?
"Besides," he went on, "I spent three very uncomfortable weeks learning how to cope with being held by unfriendlies, and I know you can't have had that training yet."
Purdey blinked. "Training..." she repeated, thoughtfully. If Gambit was protecting the tyro and not the girl, that was different.
Gambit nodded grimly. "And even the training doesn't seem to help all that much when you've got to turn theory into practice. Afterwards, yeah, but while it's happening..." His eyes were bleak.
Purdey blanched. "Theory into practice?" He sounded like he knew, and not from any classroom lecture, either.
He pulled himself back from whatever memory it was that had held him and tried to smile. "Let's just say I'm not too keen on going through it myself, let alone watching you try when you haven't been given any pointers on how to deal with it."
"Oh," Purdey managed, feeling a little sheepish. "Then you think that using me as leverage against you might work on you, not just me."
"It might, once I start hurting. Especially since all they've got to do to make me hurt is leave off the meds." He closed his eyes and put his head back against the wall, as if the argument had cost him precious strength, and Purdey's indignation drained away.
"Do you think you're likely to give in?" she asked.
"Eventually. Unless Steed manages to rescue us first." He opened one eye and smiled a little. "One good thing at least. I can't have said anything too significant under the anesthesia, or they wouldn't be bothering to question either one of us."
Except for that bit about your mother. She couldn't help but wonder just how much the blue eyes had seen in their time, whether Gambit had ever gotten much of a chance at a childhood. At innocence. She briefly considered telling him about their brief dialogue as aunt and nephew, but decided against it. He'd want to know what was said, and why she had let it go on for so long, and Purdey wasn't entirely sure she knew the answer to the second question. Why Gambit, a relative stranger, held the interest of a trainee like her. Besides, the rest of what he said had been singing and unintelligible mutterings, and it wasn't like his childhood was classified information. Rationalise, Purdey. You're better at this job than you thought.
"At least if they question us together we can encourage each other. Right? When things get rough?"
"In theory. But it's not going to happen," Gambit assured her. "They start in on you over my dead body."
"That's their plan," Purdey pointed out, trying to look more confident than she felt. "I think we need one of our own."
"I'll come up with something," He collected himself and gave her one last searching look. "Sure you're okay?"
She nodded to assure him. "I'm fine. So what's the plan?"
"The plan?"
"Yes, you said you'd come up with one." She gave him a bright, expectant look. "You've had all of ten seconds. They promised me in class that we'd be trained to adapt to new situations at a moment's notice."
Gambit laughed, and the worry stopped haunting his eyes. "All right, but I need a little more data first. Are the exits locked?"
"This end's locked, that one's blocked." She described what she'd found on her small tour. "But even if we could get a door open, then what? Jump? The engine of the train is behind us, not ahead. We'd be seen."
"So much for plan A."
She went back to wrapping the makeshift bandage around him while he tried to think. She'd managed to get his shirt onto him again and partially buttoned when the train slowed again and the brakes began to grind. Without consultation each of them took a side of the doorway, to wait for someone to come in.
But they only heard voices talking, and the clank of metal as their prison settled to stillness after one last shudder. The train engine pulled away and the clack of its wheels on the track faded into the distance. For a moment Purdey thought she heard the rumble of a car engine, but it faded before she could be sure. And then everything got quiet, and stayed that way.
Gambit slid down onto the nearest couch and Purdey began peering out the windows. There were train cars on either side, ancient and dark, and so close that they rendered the windows nearly useless as an escape route, not that they'd be able to open one quietly enough to avoid notice. The small window in the vestibule was more helpful. She could see the reflection of a fire in the windows of another train car on the track to the left and the outline of a man with a rifle crouched beside it.
She went back over to Gambit to report.
"Just one man?" he asked.
"That's all I see. And from what they said, Janus only trusts one of his men to see his face."
"First bit of luck we've had. Here, help me get my boot off."
"What are you going to do, bash him with it?"
"No... That's where I've got my insurance policy stashed."
"Insurance policy?" she asked, but he had already taken the boot she handed him and reached in to pull out the sole lining. He reached in again and came up with a small bullet. "What do you have in the other boot?" she asked. "A revolver?"
He smiled wryly. "Don't I wish. No, the other boot's got a little pill I'd just as soon never take. I like living."
Purdey had to agree with that one. "Silly place to keep it," she opined as casually as she could, retrieving the bullet before it could slip out of Gambit's shaking fingers. "What happens if you walk through a puddle and your boot leaks?"
"It's in a waterproof case," he said. "But it can stay there. We're getting out alive."
"With one bullet and no gun?" she said, arching an eyebrow at him.
Gambit nodded. "Put it in the keyhole, pointed out. Then see if you can pry up a piece of wainscoting with at least one of the nails still in." He leaned back again and closed his eyes as he explained. "The nail's going to act as a firing pin. We line it up with the bullet, make a noise to attract the guard, and then use something as a hammer to strike the nail into the bullet once he's close enough to get hit. I'd best do that part, it's dangerous. The bullet's as likely to explode back as forward."
Purdey, having slipped the bullet into the keyhole and started to look for a loose board along the walls, shook her head. "You're shaking too much. You'd miss."
"Maybe." He was silent for a moment. "If you do it from the side then I can kick the door open and get him. We only get one chance at this, and the bullet could easily miss, depending where he's standing. If it hits his hand or his hip it might disable him, but it'll only kill him if it hits a major artery. But the noise will distract him no matter what."
"If you say so."
"We get out, get him, and then steal whatever transportation he's got and run for it. Okay?"
"What about the double agent? If he's coming here, then couldn't we capture him or something like that?"
Gambit bit his lip and then slowly shook his head. "No. No, if you had a little more training, maybe, or I was in better shape we might try it. But we're better off getting away and calling in. I've already lost the photograph with the fingerprints on it. It's time to cut our losses and run."
She had to agree, really, even though it felt like a failure. In the movies, the bad guys always lost in the last reel. Then again, in the movies the hero usually recovered from a bullet wound with scarcely a wince. Gambit, on the other hand, was putting on a good act, but his long face wasn't really meant for stoicism. She wondered if he could tell as much from her own expression as she could tell from his. Hopefully not. She shifted around mentally, looking for a distraction.
"The photograph's not the only thing you lost."
"Hey?" Gambit opened his eyes and looked at her quizzically.
"Well, the suitcase is gone, and that means you'll have to start a new little black book, won't it?"
"Little black..." his exhaustion fled as he put his hand over his mouth to muffle a laugh. "Oh, help... you went poking, didn't you?"
She felt the blush creeping up her neck. "Maybe a bit."
"Purdey... you don't honestly believe I'd bring personal information like that along on a job like this, do you?" His amusement was worth her embarrassment, but only barely.
"I didn't know what kind of job it was," she pointed out waspishly, tugging at the board she'd loosened. "And what else would you want it for?"
He chuckled. "It doesn't matter now, so I'll tell you. I needed to get into a computer, and in order to get in I had to put in a command string of random letters and numbers perfectly. The book had all them all laid out in a sequence that doesn't mean anything to anyone but me, and once I got in, I locked the door behind me. Even if I did tell someone how to work out the code, the computer won't accept it any more."
"Oh." Purdey wasn't sure how to take that. "Did you learn that trick in training?"
"No, I picked it up off another agent -- Steed, as a matter of fact. He did something similar once."
"Steed?" Purdey felt her ears prick up. "You've worked with Steed?"
"Occasionally," Gambit said, still smiling, although he was beginning to sit a little lopsidedly. "Don't tell me you've got a case of hero-worship already."
"Well," she temporised. "He's Steed. I mean, three quarters of the stories we're hearing in training are about him. And nearly all the rumors in the canteen too."
Gambit made a mildly rude noise. "He'd be pleased to hear it."
"Would he?" Curiosity got the better of her. "I mean, is that what he's like? Polishes his own legend?"
"He doesn't have to -- it gets polished enough by the rest of us." Gambit rubbed at his eyes again, fighting off sleep. "Steed's all right. Thinks faster on his feet than anyone I've ever met, and can charm the birds out of the trees. Mind you, he's a bit old-fashioned."
"Nothing wrong with that," Purdey argued. "I mean, so's St. Paul's. But it's lasted a very long time, and so has Steed." She bit her lip, decided to say it anyway. "Unlike my father." Gambit reached over a hand to help her get to her feet. She took it, being careful not to let her weight pull on him, but grateful to him for the thought anyway. "Sorry. I shouldn't talk about dying when we're in danger, should I?"
He shook his head at her, but he was smiling. "Doesn't matter. Reminds us why we want to get out of danger, doesn't it? But if you want a better incentive we could always discuss what we're going to do when we get back to London. Dinner, dancing, afters at my place." He hadn't let go of her hand, and now he squeezed it gently and gave her a hopeful leer.
It was Purdey's turn to make a rude noise. "You're incorrigible, you know that."
"Never wanted to be corriged," he replied, cockily. "Wouldn't be half as much fun."
Purdey reclaimed her hand. "Let's get out of here."
It didn't take long to get the board into place. At Gambit's suggestion she used the heel of her shoe to tap two of the nails quietly into the wood of the door and the doorjamb, to hold the third nail in position over the bullet. He rummaged around for a different "hammer" for the last blow, since he didn't want her to lose her shoe to it, and eventually came up with a loose leg from one end of the left-hand bench seat. But at last they were ready -- Purdey kneeling by door with her shoes on and her "hammer" in her left hand, forced by the position of the doorhandle to be on that side -- Gambit standing well back, braced against the table until the moment he had to act, his face in the shadow of the bottom of the lamp above his head, but not so shadowed that the grim expression was hidden from her. This was going to have to work. She didn't think he'd have the strength for a second attempt.
Gambit was running through the plan again in his head, trying to remember the possibilities he was sure he'd forgotten. So much depended on Purdey, and she looked so damn young kneeling there, her eyes bright with apprehension, and the light from the lamp making her look nearly as pale as her dress. This was no way to kill your first man. Not that his own initiation into that unhappy club had been a lot better. He shoved the memory away. Deep breaths, or as deep as he could make them. Concentrate on the door. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted by the explosion of the bullet, couldn't let anything stop him once it had gone off. If the guard got him when he went out the door, at least he'd make sure that he got the guard too. Purdey could run home then, please God, whether he was with her or not. Deep breaths. He let himself settle into a fighting stance. He was ready.
Gambit nodded to Purdey and she took a deep breath. This was it.
"Help!" she screamed, as loud as she could. "Someone help me! He's dying!"
She took another breath, and heard the scrabble of movement outside.
"Help!" she called again. "Oh, please help!" The car shifted subtly as someone clambered up the steps onto the platform. The outer door was opened, heavy boots sounded in the vestibule. The guard was just beyond the door now. Purdey saw the doorhandle shift, ever so slightly.
"Now!" Gambit hissed, but she was already swinging her hand around.
The bullet exploded with a flare and a bang that knocked her backwards, purblind and nearly deaf to the rattle of an automatic rifle being fired nearby. Her hand stung as if she'd put it into a beehive, and as she instinctively went to cover her eyes she could feel splinters of wood trying to transfer themselves from her fingertips to her forehead just in time to think better of rubbing at her eyelids with her fist. She used the other hand instead, trying to press away the bright green glare inside her head.
Dimly she was aware of Gambit going past her, the sudden rush of cool air as the door fell under his assault. The cordite of the bullet mixed with the sudden iron smell of blood and the stench of intestines laid bare to the world. Purdey's stomach, already in knots from preparing the ambush, rebelled, and she turned away retching. She'd only just got past the worst of it when she felt the hand on her shoulder, steadying her. She blinked furiously, hoping that Gambit would realize that her eyes were watering because of the glare and not because she was crying as he guided her up to a sitting position on the nearest stretch of bench.
"I'm okay," she said. "I just can't see anything but green."
"Can you hear me?" The words were dim through the ringing, but she could make them out.
She nodded. "Mostly."
"Keep your eyes closed for a little. And try popping your ears."
She obeyed. It seemed to help. She waited, tugging free splinters as best she could blindly while he fumbled around somewhere beyond the ringing echoes. She couldn't understand the words he was using under his breath, but she could catch the general tenor of his cursing, and the clunk of a magazine bolt being drawn.
"What kind of a useless bastard doesn't carry any spare ammunition?" That wail of disgust was clear enough.
"Doesn't he have more than one gun?" Purdey asked, hoping she didn't sound shrill. It was hard to tell -- even her own voice was distant.
"Not that I can see." He sat down beside her, heavily. "Speaking of which, can you see anything yet?"
She opened her eyes, blinked them a few times. "Lots of green," she said. "The lantern." She turned to him. "Outlines of things. Why are you rubbing your legs?"
"I'm not -- I'm just... well, nevermind. Think you can walk? No one's turned up yet, so we probably didn't wake the neighbors, but I don't want to stick around."
Purdey nodded in agreement. Anything was better than hanging about here. In the dark. With the blood. And the cordite. The breeze brought it to her again, the sickly mix. Why was it that the one sense she wished had dulled had escaped the blast unscathed? At least her sight was getting better. And the ringing was dying down.
"You'll have to lead me," she warned him. "Unless you'd rather wait till I can see my own way."
"Nothing you want to see," he said gruffly.
"Hadn't I better ought to face up to it?" she asked. "It's not likely to be the last time I kill someone."
"Face up to it the next time," Gambit advised her as he pushed himself back upright with a groan. "When I kicked the door open, his gun must've turned back on him and things got messy."
Purdey took the hand he offered, still careful not to put her weight on him as she stood. "How messy?"
"Ever dissect a frog?" Gambit wasn't interested in looking either, she suspected, from the way he kept his eyes on her face as he started to lead her out of the carriage. She kept her eyes on his, in turn, and didn't tell him that she'd enjoyed that part of biology class. There'd been something fascinating about looking at the insides of a frog. Come to think of it, she'd had to pith the frog, too, so it wasn't like she'd never done anything like this before, only smaller. All she had to do was imagine the sliminess beneath her feet looked like frog guts, and she'd probably get out without heaving again, in spite of the smell.
She'd just reached this happy conclusion, and better yet, the door leading to the outside, when her foot came down on something that rolled and slid and she lost her balance. The other foot didn't have any better purchase and she lurched towards Gambit, who used the grip he had on her uninjured hand to pull her out onto the small porch-like end of the car with a strength she hadn't known he possessed. She put her arms around his neck instinctively to steady herself, ended up with her face buried in his shoulder.
They stayed that way for a moment, while she waited for her heart to settle down. Gambit smelled of antiseptics and penicillin, a hint of aftershave, perhaps even a little of her perfume, but strongest of all his own sweat. Musky. Masculine. Somehow, it wasn't bad: a vast improvement over the reek of cordite and blood and the other things she'd nearly landed in.
The ringing in her ears was fading -- she could hear his breathing steadying near her ear, soft and comfortable. Purdey realised how unexpectedly weary she was, how nice it would be to just settle into Gambit's shoulder and sleep for a week. Or not sleep. Suddenly the idea of curling up next to Gambit didn't just seem like just a reasonable alternative to the couch for someone who was too tired to argue. She had a feeling the idea would look just as appealing in the light of day and a well-rested mind. And once she'd admitted to that, she also had to admit that playing Gambit's "Mabel-love" had gone beyond just a cover, that she'd let it turn into a sort of guilt-free excuse to indulge. She nearly had on the train. If Gambit hadn't been drugged, she was fairly certain she wouldn't have had the willpower to refuse whatever proposition he might have made. Of course, he wasn't the only one who'd been drugged... I think. Still, drugged or not, if ever once she started, she wasn't entirely certain she'd be able to stop. Or even want to.
What would happen when there was no cover? When they got back to England? Gambit would still be a skirt chaser, and she'd be...what? An idiot. There were lots of ways to describe a girl who let herself be controlled by a guy who only wanted sex, and none of them very complimentary. She'd danced the fool to Larry's piping, and once in a lifetime was more than enough of that tune. An affaire de coeur with a senior agent would make hash out of her reputation in the Department too, and she had no intention of letting it be said that she'd earned her place with anything but hard work. Besides, from the way Terry went on, Gambit made a habit out of playing target -- he was too dangerous to get involved with in more ways than one.
But, oh, it felt good to rest for a moment in strong arms.
Gambit let the stanchion behind his back do the work of keeping them both upright for as long as he could, wishing that he had the energy to do more than just hold Purdey in his arms. He'd held a lot of girls like this, sooner or later, but few of them had fit against his body the way she did, and none of them had ever felt so perfect. Maybe it was the ballet that did it -- that underlaid the lovely softness with a core of strength and resilience that he already knew he could depend upon. Someday, when he could trust his knees to keep from buckling under him, he meant to find out what it would be like to dance with her. Someday when they could dance the night through without worrying about someone taking potshots at them, at any rate. He smiled to himself. Even odds she'd be the first girl who would tire him out instead of the other way 'round. And even if it were a dead tie, he'd lay money Purdey would bounce back first.
She'll bounce back first tonight, that's for certain, he thought, shifting a little to ease the pressure on his aching chest.
Instantly, Purdey stood away, searching his face with eyes that probably weren't focussing yet.
"For a ballerina, you've got lousy balance," he murmured, reaching up to tuck her hair back from her face.
She grinned, and found his arm, lending the support that he was starting to need. "This from the man who collects bullets like postage stamps," she wisecracked, proving him right. "Now what?"
"Now we find out if that guard kept any spare ammo in his gear." Gambit still had the guard's gun slung over his shoulder, for all the good it had done him so far.
It took cooperation to get down from the train car and across the tracks to the guard's fire. He could see, and she could walk without wobbling. They made it without any disasters, and Gambit slumped gratefully down onto the folding stool while Purdey crouched beside him and held her hands out to the warmth of the fire.
"Can you see yet?" he asked. "How are your eyes?"
"A little better." She turned her head one way and the other, peering into the darkness beyond the fire. "I can see more than I could, any road."
"I meant to tell you to keep them closed," he confessed, "but I forgot. That's the first time I've ever actually tried that trick. I wasn't sure it would even work."
She goggled at him. "What would you have done if it hadn't?"
He grinned wearily. "Kicked the door down anyway. As long as he was on the other side of it there was a chance of knocking him out."
"Might have been less messy," she observed, shivering a little in the cool night air.
"Not sure I could have done it before you blew out the lock." Gambit reached for the coffee pot and the cup that the dead man had left behind. "Anyway, if he hadn't had his gun set on auto I think the worst that would have happened is he'd have got his neck broken. As it was he pulled the trigger and fired the whole clip. We're just lucky it wasn't pointed our direction." He poured out some coffee, biting back a curse when some of it slopped over his hand. "Here," he offered the cup to Purdey. "Drink a little something. It'll help."
"No, thanks," she said. "Coffee never tastes the way it smells."
"Go on, you're shivering," he insisted, and she took the cup and sniffed at it before sipping reluctantly.
Wishing that there was more than one cup, Gambit tried to keep his own shivers from showing. "Wish I knew where we are," he said thoughtfully.
"Germany, presumably," Purdey offered pertly.
"Yeah, but which one?" The guard had been carrying small change from both sides of the border in his pockets -- East German coins mixed up with what the Bavarians called Fuffzgerls and Zehnerls -- but his papers had been pretty thoroughly destroyed, or soaked beyond recognition. Gambit took a surreptitious look at his own hands. It would take water to get the rest of the blood off, now that it had dried into the seams of his skin. At least Purdey couldn't see well enough to tell what it was.
She offered him the coffee cup. "That's enough for me, thanks."
"Drink some more -- it'll help clear the drug out of your system," he advised, but she shook her head.
"I think the fright's done that already. You drink it."
He didn't argue, just drained the mug and filled it again from the pot. He drank a little more and pulled a face. "This is really awful coffee."
Her sense of humor tickled unexpectedly, "You should try my coffee sometime."
"I thought you didn't like coffee."
"If you tasted my coffee you wouldn't like it either." Purdey stood and dusted herself off. "I wish I had a watch," she said. "If we knew what time it was, at least we'd know whether or not we had to still be in the Eastern Sector."
That was a thought. Gambit shielded his eyes from the fire and looked until he found the Big Dipper. "A little after midnight," he calculated. "We may be lucky after all. Anyway, I'd rather be in the hands of a local cop than Janus, whoever he is, even in the Eastern sector."
"Me too," Purdey said. "Which means I'd best find us some transportation out of here. Which way do you think the road is?"
"I can't tell." Gambit drank a little more coffee. Fright or not, he still felt a little muzzy. "There may not even be one. That fellow could have come up here on the locomotive."
"No, I'm sure I heard a car." Purdey performed a ritual which looked suspiciously like eenie meenie miney mo. "That way, I think. You stay here and see if our dead friend left anything useful behind besides the coffee."
"Are you sure you can you see well enough?" Gambit asked.
"I think so. Just stay near the fire -- I know I can find it again."
Gambit didn't argue, which told Purdey volumes about the condition he was in. She left him sitting on the folding stool and began exploring. They were in a narrow valley, deep in a spruce forest. The moonlight showed her large concrete bunkers at the high end of the valley, but they looked dark and unoccupied. A single train track led off down the opposite direction, but in the space between it was split into several sidings, each of them crammed with old railway carriages and ancient locomotives. The locomotives seemed like the best bet and on the farthest siding she found one locomotive that radiated heat. She climbed up into the cab to look, but the dials and levers looked complicated, the firebox was down to a bed of embers, and there was only a small pile of coal in the tender. Somehow she felt that old movies weren't going to be sufficient tuition for running a train. Unless Gambit knows how to drive it. There was treasure of another sort though, in the form of a kerosene lantern that gurgled promisingly when she shook it and a box of wooden matches. She took both along as she climbed down the other side of the cab.
On the far side of the line of locomotives she found a bicycle and a narrow road with cracked paving leading over the hill. There were automobile tracks in the soft dirt at the edge of the paving, but no car. She looked along the road. Janus would probably come that way, and there was only one bicycle. Near where the car must have been parked she found a sign that she couldn't read in the moonlight, so she lit the lantern.
"No Trespassing. Future Home of the Railway Museum of the Frankenwald," she read, hoping her mental translation was accurate. "Maybe Gambit will know where that is." She found a gap between locomotives and started back, and then nearly had heart failure when she realized that Gambit wasn't sitting where she'd left him.
She made a beeline for the fireside. "Gambit?" she called softly. "Mike?"
"Over here," his answer came just as softly. She looked and found him leaning against the corner of a decrepit passenger car, nearly hidden by the shadows. As she started to approach he backed into the space between that car and the next and called, "No -- leave the lantern by the fire. It makes you stand out like a sitting target."
"Should you be wandering about?" she asked.
"Better than waiting for Janus to show up. Besides, I needed a moment to meself, and I didn't want to take it that close to hot coals."
Purdey nodded. She'd found a private corner herself during her explorations, and felt the better for it. "Did you find anything we can use?"
"Only this." He held up a folded clasp knife. "I was hoping there'd be a box of ammo, but if he had any, he wasn't keeping it close to hand. Probably in one of those bunkers, if we had time to search them."
"It'd take days," Purdey warned him. "I think they go right into the side of the mountain." She maneuvered him until he could sit on the coupling of the two cars and bit her lip, trying to consider their options. "Gambit, have you ever heard of a place called Frankenwald?"
"The Frankenwald. It's a forest in Bavaria. Why?"
"There's a bevy of locomotives over that way. Old ones. Museum pieces, in fact." She told him about the sign.
"Explains why this place looks like Steed's garage," Gambit quipped with a grin. Purdey frowned in confusion. "He likes vintage. Bentleys, Rolls, that sort of thing."
"I see," Purdey murmured. "Do you get to take them out?"
Gambit snorted. "He won't let me near them. Says I drive too much like I'm trying to get somewhere in a hurry. Besides, the old Bentley has the spirit of Mrs. Peel in it. I'm not worthy. Not yet, anyway."
Purdey snickered. "Or female. I can't see you in a catsuit."
"I'll take that as a compliment. Not everyone can carry off those creaky wardrobes." He shook his head. "Must be hell to keep up. All that oiling. I have trouble just with me boots." He indicated the pair he was wearing, which were more than a little scuffed by this point. "They're never going to be the same. How about you? I think the leather comes with the job."
Purdey blushed. "I'm not official," she reminded him. "I've only just started training. But if Steed does take me on, I'll be retaining my own wardrobe."
"Just as well," Gambit commented absently. "Stockings and suspenders are more my line in any case."
Purdey smirked at him. "You must look lovely in them."
Gambit smirked right back. "I save them for special occasions. Now, what about those engines?"
Purdey returned to the problem at hand. "There's several. One's been used recently, but I couldn't make head or tail of the controls. Can you?"
"Probably, if I had enough time, and there wasn't a double agent on the way. But I'd just as likely only cause a ruckus. I don't think we can risk it. Anything else?"
"A bicycle," Purdey said glumly. "For one."
"Who'd take the handlebars?" Gambit wondered.
"You're in no shape to be the one doing the pedalling," Purdey pointed out. "And the position would put strain on your chest in any case. And if you took the handlebars, we'd be off-balance. Too much weight at the front. I can't offset it."
Gambit looked her up and down, taking in her figure appreciatively. "No, you can't," he agreed. "There is something over that way, though." He indicated the track beyond with the jerk of a thumb, and Purdey clambered up beside him to get a view.
"A handcar!" she exclaimed as the pattern of lines and shadows resolved into something recognizable in the dark. "That might work."
"It might," Gambit allowed. "If we can get it onto the track we want it on. And as long as Janus isn't coming up the track the other way."
She shook her head. "I think he'd probably come up the road where I found the bicycle, don't you? Don't trains have to be scheduled?"
"Yeah," Gambit said gloomily. "But he'd managed to schedule the one that brought us here."
"I'd still rather risk the handcar than the bicycle," Purdey said.
He nodded. "Okay. Let's go."
The handcar was easy to understand, with the help of the lantern, but for all of that it wasn't Purdey's idea of perfect transportation. Gambit couldn't really help, for one thing. She couldn't think of any motion worse for a chest injury than bending up and down and trying to put pressure on the rocker handle. He insisted on trying, but had to give up and sit after they'd figured out the first switch and transferred the handcar onto the downhill track. She put him in charge of the brake handle and told him to watch out for switches and oncoming trains.
"What about ladies tied to the tracks?" he asked, grinning at her.
"This isn't the Perils of Pauline," she pointed out.
"Feels like it," he said. "You in that dress, and the handcar and all. We just need some piano music for accompaniment."
Purdey snorted, but she couldn't help but grin back. "You've got it wrong you know. If I'm the one doing the rescuing then you must be the damsel in distress."
He laughed so hard he started coughing, but once he'd managed to stop he was still grinning. "Does that make you the Mountie?"
"I haven't got the chin for it," she said.
"Well, you're definitely not the horse," Gambit said. "Even if you are providing the horsepower. And you don't have the mustache for Snidely Whiplash."
Purdey remembered an old joke from school and said, in her best villainous accents, "But you must pay the rent..."
"But I can't pay the rent!" Gambit came back in a squeaky falsetto.
"But you must pay the rent!" She took a hand off the pump to twirl the end of an imaginary mustachio.
"But I can't pay the rent!" He delivered the line with all the outrageous emoting of a Victorian melodrama.
"I'll pay the rent!" Purdey switched to "heroic" mode, biting back laughter as Gambit splayed a hand across his chest and fluttered his eyelids at her.
"My hero!" he chirped.
"Curses! Foiled Again!" Purdey came back as the villain for the punchline, and was rewarded by Gambit's struggle to keep his laughter from turning into another round of coughs. Then she bent again to the rockerhandle, grinning to herself as she sought the most efficient rhythm.
The wheels of the handcar clacked as they passed over the joints between sections of track, and Gambit could hear the acceleration as well as feel it as the slope became steeper, so it wasn't an illusion. He glanced back at Purdey, and thought that she had eased up a little, letting gravity and momentum do most of the work while she could. He couldn't blame her. There was something dreamlike about riding along through the clear, cold night. The breeze was sweet with pine, and the cool smell of water from the brook which paced along beside them, dodging now and then beneath the tracks through culverts that echoed the music of the rails hollowly and blended it with the chuckling of the water. The light from the lantern made the boles and branches of the trees flicker from silhouette to reality as they passed. Gambit still wasn't sure about the lantern. He'd put it behind him, to keep it from destroying his night-vision, and he hadn't argued with Purdey when she'd said that she didn't want to be invisible to any passing train, but being in the spotlight still made the place between his shoulderblades itch.
And after all, the moonlight was enough to make out the shape of the hills rising on either side. He'd lost sight of the North Star, once they'd gotten deeper into the trees, but he knew they were heading east by southeast, and all he could do was hope that they'd gone west from the main track. He couldn't remember much about the Frankenwald -- he only knew where it was because he'd been seated with a chatty young lady for breakfast on the train a year ago, and she'd spent as much of the time nervously pointing out landmarks as they passed across the border as she had clearing her plate. There were towns, though, once they reached the main line. Ludwigsstadt, he remembered, and Steinbach am Wald.
He couldn't remember if either of them had a hospital. There was skiing at Steinbach, though so there had to be a clinic at the very least. Even this time of year. Someplace I can get another pain pill.
Gambit knew he was coming to the end of his strength. He'd hoped a good long sleep on the train would make things better, and it had, but even the briefest of fights had left him feeling hollow inside. The coughing hadn't started up yet again, knock wood, but Kendrick's medicines were bound to wear off sooner or later. Gambit wasn't good for much more than a cheering section for Purdey now, and heaven help them if she were in the same case. There wasn't anything left of the mission except getting her home alive, and he was a lot less sure than he wanted to be that he was going to be able to manage it. In the end she'd probably have to depend on her own wits and strength, and thank God she seemed to be blessed with both, but he'd have felt more sanguine about her chances if she'd had even a week's more training.
He didn't dare look back to see how she was doing - he needed his night vision as much as they needed the lantern to warn any train that might approach of their existence. But he could still talk, still encourage her, or at least distract her from fear. "Would a rousing chorus of 'I've Been Working on the Railroad' be appropriate, do you think?" he called back to her. "I know all the ruder verses."
Steed pushed the rental car as hard as he dared, wishing that he'd had the time to arrange for something with more power before flying to Germany. Beside him, Dr. James Kendrick stared out the passenger window, rubbing at his chin with the steady, absent air of thought. He'd fussed furiously at being towed to Heathrow, fussed insistently about the seats on the plane, fussed resignedly at the delays in hiring a car in Munich, and fussed automatically about missing dinner on the drive up to Lichtenfels, but the fussing had stopped when Purdey and Gambit proved to be missing from the train. Steed missed it. If nothing else it had helped him stay awake.
I just hope that Purdey can manage. He'd been riding his gut when he pulled her out of karate class, depending on little more than the précis of her psychological interview and the half-moonstruck enthusiasm of her instructors over her potential to back his certainty that Gambit's location needed to stay darker than the usual secret. If Mabel Horrocks -- the real Mabel Horrocks -- hadn't gone to Gambit's apartment in search of his address book at the same time that Steed had stopped by to empty out the mailbox and water the plants, even he would have thought the man was still incommunicado behind the Wall.
At least now he knew why Gambit had given his real next of kin when the doctor had asked. A double agent. Steed reviewed the names of the men he was certain were in Germany and the much longer list of names of the men whose location he couldn't pin down. One of them had gone sour, or had been careless in talking to a West German agent who was playing both sides. Someone had warned the East Germans that Gambit was in their sector -- someone had been waiting with a sniper's rifle to make sure that he didn't make it back to the West alive despite the bribed guards.
Someone is still trying to silence him. Steed hoped they hadn't succeeded.
They passed a sign. 20 kilometers still to Steinbach am Wald.
"Why Steinbach am Wald, Steed?" Kendrick asked. "The attendant was pulled out of the car to deal with that broken window while they were still on the other side of the border. Gambit and the girl must have been taken when they stopped in Probstzella."
"But then why would the train stop again in Steinbach am Wald?" Steed said.
"The Railway Controller in Lichtenfels told you. They got warned about debris on the track ahead by the driver of the other train." Kendrick tucked his head down, like an elderly, disgruntled turtle. "It probably didn't have anything to do with our two. And you're not going to get us across the border, not without a carnet."
"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it," Steed said. "But we'll ask questions in Steinbach first. A steam locomotive must have attracted some attention from the town as well as the passengers we spoke to."
"That was nearly two hours ago," Kendrick said. "Everyone in Steinbach will be in bed by now, even if they did see something."
"There's always someone awake," Steed said. "A policeman, a gas station attendant, a hotel clerk. Someone. And they'll be bored and ready to talk to anyone who stops by. Think positive."
"As long as there's coffee," Kendrick conceded with a sigh. "I'm getting too old for this."
So am I, Steed thought, but very very quietly. Although, truth to tell, it wasn't dashing across Germany in the middle of the night that was a strain -- it was wondering about the condition of the youngsters he'd sent into danger. He'd have much rather gone himself. Best reason to turn down that desk job McKay's been offering -- all I'd be doing all day is waiting to hear which missions had gone sour. That wasn't quite fair, and Steed knew it -- he liked having the authority to send an agent off to investigate someone without leaping through hoops of seniority first. He wouldn't have been able to send Coyne into Berlin without risking exposing Gambit's vulnerability to at least three more "supervisors" ten years ago. He liked being able to hijack Kendrick, for that matter, and once he'd had some coffee himself he'd be able to face the hunt for his lost lambs with his usual equanimity.
Steinbach am Wald was sleeping and dark. There weren't any other cars moving through the narrow streets, no people wandering about. It took ten minutes for Steed to find the train station, set down on a dead end street, and it was a disappointment when he did. He slowed as he passed the shuttered windows, looking for signs of life without success. Kendrick, who was looking for other things, tapped his elbow. "Gasthof Pietz," he read off a bit of barding. "You mentioned hotel clerks."
"Yes," Steed said. "And if I recall correctly they've got a very good restaurant as well." He turned the car around. "It's back up at the bridge."
Purdey found it easier to keep a steady rhythm once Gambit started singing at her, in spite of his apparently endless repertoire of risqué lyrics. But she was just as glad to take a breather when he spotted the switch ahead and warned her before tugging on the handbrake to slow their odd vehicle to a halt. They stopped just before a junction of the track they were on with a second track that looked nearly as lightly used. Purdey fetched the lantern along with her as she scouted ahead to examine the switch (already in their favor) and decide which way to go on the new line. There was less grass growing off to the left, but more coal fallen beside the track on the right, but after thinking about it long and hard she decided that they'd have to go forward, switch the switch, and then head down to the left, following the water. This was probably where the order of engine/car had been reversed, just in time to distract their captors. She walked back to the handcar to tell Gambit her decision and found that he'd clambered down to the stream and was sitting beside it, taking drinks from his cupped hands.
She joined him. The water was wonderful, sweet and clear and so cold it made her teeth ache. "Wish we'd thought to bring that coffee cup," she said.
"Me too." Gambit ran his dripping hands over his face, like he was trying to keep himself awake, or cool off.
"Is the fever back?" she asked. His forehead felt warm, but so did her own after dipping her hands in that stream.
"I'm okay," he answered automatically, and then smiled ruefully. "Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"Well, I was pretty thirsty," he admitted. "And I'm not looking forward to getting up. But I think I can manage. I just wish I felt up to helping you work the handcar."
Purdey grinned. "Spence told me I needed to do exercises to improve my upper body strength. Just think how impressed by my muscles he'll be by the time we get back." She pretended to inspect a bicep. "I think I can tell the difference already."
Gambit laughed. "You're already in pretty good shape, as far as I'm concerned," he said.
"Good. Then you'll let me help you up the hill."
"Let me drink a little more water first."
He did let her help him on the short scramble back up to the handcar, not very much, but enough for her to tell that he was shivering under the hand she'd rested on his arm. It wasn't worth mentioning. There wasn't a thing she could do about it except get him to someplace safe. It hadn't occurred to her to look for a blanket back at the train museum, although the guard must have had one somewhere. Next time I'll remember, she promised herself.
Gambit insisted that they reset the switch back once they'd maneuvered onto the new track. "It's like closing gates," he said, when Purdey hesitated. "You leave things the way that the people who need to use them expect them to be. Fewer accidents that way."
She couldn't argue with that, though it was harder having to stop and start and stop and start again. But at last they were heading downhill again, and she could set herself into the rhythm of the handcar pump and not think too hard.
They passed two more switches that had been left in their favor before they reached one which had been reset to the other track. That track was far shinier in the moonlight and Purdey suspected it was in more regular use. Gambit peered at the sky above them. "Nearly one thirty, I think. It's probably safe enough."
Purdey followed his gaze. "How can you tell?"
He waggled a finger at her and smiled crookedly. "A fellow's got to have some secrets," he asserted blearily. "It's hard to look impressive if you give them all away."
It's hard to look impressive when you're leaning like a drunk on a three-day binge, she wanted to tell him, but she didn't think it would help. "Which way do we go, do you think?"
"South. Toward the lights," he answered, waving off to the left, Now that he'd pointed it out she could make out a dull glow showing just above the trees in the cleft of the valley. He slid off the end of the handcar and stumbled over to the switch. "You ready?"
"Ready." She confirmed. She didn't miss the noise he tried not to make as he pulled the lever, though, and once she'd gotten onto the new track and he rejoined her she said, "My turn next time," to keep him from trying it again.
"You want all the fun," Gambit protested unenergetically.
"I want breakfast," Purdey grunted as she started pumping again. It was hard work accelerating, and the stop had given the breeze a chance to chill the sweat that was trickling down her back. She waited for Gambit to come back with a sarky remark, but he'd fallen silent. If it hadn't been for the way he was holding his arms so tightly around his chest she might have thought he'd fallen asleep.
For tuppence, Purdey would have walked the rest of the way. She was tired of working the handle, and her arms and back were telling her in no uncertain terms that she'd already overdone it. She didn't like the feeling of being on an active train track, and she liked it even less twenty minutes later when they reached the junction with the main line. There was no mistaking it, two sets of tracks running in gleaming parallel on a well-cleared bed. She could even see some of the lights further down the valley now. If she hadn't been just as certain that abandoning the handcar meant abandoning Gambit, she'd have suggested it. But he clearly wasn't up to a hike through the woods.
They began to pass under bridges, and over them, as the tracks dodged the river and the road -- she even thought she might have heard a car engine once, the echoes coming back from an outcropping of stone. With any luck at all there'd be a level crossing soon. Get Gambit onto a road and she might be able to keep him from falling over his own feet. They could probably hitchhike to a phone, if there were any cars around in the middle of the night. Anything to get off this track and away from the handcar and the feeling that any moment now it was going to all go smash. She only hoped she'd notice the road if they found one. Her world had narrowed to just one thing. Get Mike Gambit someplace safe.
The were on a sharp curve, passing under a stone bridge, when the blare of a car horn overhead pulled her out of her thoughts. Automatically, she turned to look as they came out from under the shadow of the stone. Above her a bowler-hatted silhouette was waving a furled umbrella and shouting. For a moment she couldn't understand the words.
"Gambit! Purdey! Jump! TRAIN!"
Gambit wasn't sure how he'd managed to get to his feet. He'd thought to pull the handbrake, and Purdey, thank goodness, was too busy gaping at the figure on the bridge to keep pumping the handle. But as the handcar halted, he could still feel vibrations under his feet, and the part of his brain which had automatically responded to Steed's call sent an urgent message at him to hurry up and obey. But he had to step around the rocker-handle, had to get hold of Purdey, who wasn't moving fast enough, and whom he wouldn't leave behind.
He'd caught her around the waist, and she was turning to him, her eyes confused, when the light swept around the curve below, and he had only time to tuck one hand up behind her head, to protect it, when the train whistle blasted at them, deafeningly loud. They fell more than jumped, and it was sheer luck that they fell to the outside of the trackbed and not onto the other set of rails. He felt her wrap her arms around him as they tumbled, shielding his injured chest as best she could from the rocks and grass and mud of the riverbank. Above them the train roared on, the whistle screeching out a warning to the next pair of idiots who got in its way, the lights in some of the compartment windows flashing a semaphore pattern onto the valley walls.
They'd ended in a kind of a tangle in the mud at the edge of the water, and Gambit was still trying to locate the new bruises when he heard Purdey begin to giggle. He held her a little tighter. "Hysterics?" he asked, in a voice not much better than a whisper, "I'm surprised."
"Hysterics my foot," Purdey replied, relaxing in his arms. "I was just thinking."
"Thinking about what?" he asked, letting his lips brush the top of her head out of sheer gratitude that she was alive.
"About this dress. My mum bought it for me because she said that good silk can really take a beating... but I don't think she was expecting me to put it to the test quite so soon!"
It was a silly thing to laugh at, especially since laughing hurt, but he couldn't stop himself. And then it really hurt, and his chest was on fire, and he couldn't breathe except in huge painful gasps, and it was Steed who was bent over Gambit, concern in his voice.
"Easy, Gambit. We're calling for an ambulance now."
"Not...another...hospital," Gambit managed.
"I'm afraid so," Steed's smile was just visible in the light from the setting moon, and Gambit counted the effort of speaking well spent. Steed wouldn't smile like that if he thought Gambit were going to die.
He tried again. "Purdey?"
"She's all right." Steed looked up and away for a moment. "In fact she's coming now."
Gambit managed to turn his head, and then had to close his eyes against dizziness after a glimpse of a flashlight beam coming rapidly down the hill from the bridge abutment. When he opened them again Purdey was picking her way over the rocks by the river, calling to Steed. "The hotel clerk said it will be twenty minutes, maybe half an hour minimum until the ambulance gets up here from Kronach, but Dr. Kendrick's going to come down, and the clerk too, as soon as they find the stretcher."
Kendrick? Gambit wondered, but he didn't have the breath to ask. Kendrick was meant to be back in London. Steed must have brought him along. Gambit dodged Kendrick when he could, knowing that the man had an encyclopedic knowledge of just which agents were late for their physicals, but he'd be glad to see him now.
"We can't leave Gambit lying here for very long," Steed said. "He'll take a chill from the mud."
"I brought a blanket. Maybe we could put it under him."
"Excellent. Here, I'll turn him over long enough for you to get it into place."
Gambit thought it was time he contributed, since the conversation was about him. "Bad idea... I'll wreck... shoes..." If turning his head had made him want to be sick, he wasn't sure what being turned over would do.
But Steed was relentless. "I'll take my chances," he said, passing off his bowler and brolly to Purdey as a precaution before he crouched beside Gambit and gently began to roll him onto the least damaged side. Gambit couldn't protest, but his stomach did, violently, and that made him cough and struggle to make his breathing easier, although nothing really seemed to help until somehow he found himself in a sitting position, wrapped in the blanket, leaning against someone warm while someone else tried to get him to drink from an old-fashioned folding cup.
He felt more than saw more people arrive, heard questions in German and answers too, and made himself open his eyes. The needle of a hypodermic caught the light in the tunnel of his vision and he tried to fight it away, but he was being held too tightly to use his arms, and his leg hurt when he tried to kick. Then Purdey was there, saying something about everything being all right now, and Kendrick and Steed were saying it too and they had his shirt open and he felt a sharp pain not in his arm where he was expecting it but in his ribcage and suddenly he could breathe again and it was such a relief he passed out.
Steed caught Purdey's arm and held her back as the policeman and the hotel clerk began to maneuver the stretcher up the embankment under Kendrick's direction.
"Easy. We'd only be in the way at this point," he warned her. He needed a report from her too, but she wasn't thinking in those terms. All her attention was on the stretcher, and Gambit.
"His fever's up again," she said, as if she were continuing a conversation she'd been having inside her own head. "Did you notice?"
It had been hard to miss, supporting Gambit upright the way he'd needed to, to help the younger man breathe. "Kendrick will take good care of him," Steed assured Purdey. "I wouldn't have dragged him along from London otherwise."
Purdey's head swivelled around sharply and she stared at Steed. "You were expecting Gambit to be in such bad shape he'd need a doctor?"
"No," Steed said ruefully. "I was expecting him to be in such good shape he'd be arguing about whether or not he needed one." He shook his head. "I wasn't expecting them to take another go at him until Lichtenfels at the earliest, which is why we'd come up from Munich to meet you."
"I wasn't expecting them to take another go at him at all," Purdey admitted. "Once we'd made it out of Berlin..." She bit her lip. "Do you think Dr. Kendrick can keep him safe?"
"Safe enough, now that the police are involved." He tried to assess her condition subtly. "Do you think you'll be up to being interviewed as 'Mabel'? Or would you prefer to faint and avoid the questions?"
"Faint? Me?" She pulled a face, and then sighed. "Come to think of it, Mabel's not the fainting kind either, or we'd still be in Berlin. But I told them Uncle John couldn't fly -- that he'd been ill with pneumonia."
"Then I'll keep my own name and be his butler, shall I?"
She looked up at him, a sudden grin playing about the corners of her mouth. "His butler?"
Steed set his bowler onto his head and tapped it straight for emphasis as he favored her with a reassuring smile. "I can buttle with the best."
"It's going to be complicated," she warned him. "We left a dead man up on the mountain."
"A dead man?" Steed wasn't entirely surprised. Gambit had a habit of leaving corpses in awkward places. "Hmm. Maybe fainting would be simpler. We'll need some time to concoct a decent cover story."
"Maybe," she agreed. "But if we tell the police something now, they may get up there in time to catch 'Janus'."
Steed, who had rested a hand on her shoulder, intending to apply pressure to the nerve nexus and knock her out long enough to add verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative, turned the gesture into a guiding hand, ushering her toward the hill. "Stick to the truth as much as you can. Just remember that you have no earthly idea why anyone would want to kidnap Gambit, all right? And if you get well and truly stuck, I suggest a nice fit of hysterics."
"That shouldn't be difficult," Purdey muttered. She wrapped her arms around herself and he could feel her shivering. "Let's get it over with, then," she said. "I want to get up there and find out about Mike."
Mike, is it? Steed smiled to himself as he took off his coat and swung it around her shoulders. They certainly didn't waste any time
In the event, the policeman had little chance to ask very many questions. By the time they reached the hotel lobby Gambit had somehow managed to roll off the stretcher and was fighting the blankets and the men who were trying to help him. Purdey waded straight in and caught his hand. "Michael," she said. "Michael, it's Mabel, it's Mabel. Do you hear me?"
His eyes focussed on her, just for a moment. "Shot... stay...don't let them..."
"I'll be right here. See, I've got your hand -- I'm not going to let anything bad happen." Purdey's voice was soft, certain. She was either a very good actress, Steed decided, or she meant every word. She pushed Gambit's hair off his forehead with her free hand. "Just like the hospital, remember? I promised I'd stay and I did."
Rather to Steed's surprise, Gambit's eyes closed and he quieted enough for Kendrick and his recruits to get him settled onto a couch, propped up with pillows so he could breathe. He didn't let go of Purdey's hand, though, and by the white-knuckles on his own, Steed thought that hers must be getting nearly crushed.
"Sedation?" he asked Kendrick, under his breath.
"Not until I have him on oxygen," Kendrick said, not looking up from the examination he was giving Gambit. "He's having enough trouble breathing as it is. And I don't like the look of that lump on his head. A mild concussion at the very least. If we can just keep him quiet he'll be better off waiting until the ambulance gets here from Kronach."
"Fräulein?" The young constable replaced Steed's coat with a heavy red woolen blanket.
Purdey looked around with just the right air of distraction. "Frau," she corrected absently, and blinked at the man's uniform. "You're a policeman, aren't you?"
"Yes Fräule..., gnadige Frau. I am Wachtmeister Schmidt. If you could tell to me what happened." He pulled his notebook and pen out of his pocket and waited expectantly.
Purdey shook her head, though. "I'm not exactly sure. He... he had a bad night last night, and we were so tired... We fell asleep, both of us, almost as soon as the train left Berlin." She turned to Steed. "I'm not sure where we are now."
"Bavaria, just this side of the border," Steed told her as the policeman said, "Steinbach am Wald."
She nodded but kept her eyes on Steed as she went on. "When we woke up, we were in a valley up in the hills, some kind of abandoned switching yard, I think. There were a lot of old railcars... and a dead man. He'd been shot. Michael said we had to get away, that the others were coming back, so we took the handcar."
"'Railcars'?" the constable looked to Steed for a translation.
"Eisenbahnautos," Steed filled in. He nodded to Purdey, just a fraction of an inch, to tell her that she was doing well. "Do you know how long ago that was?"
"Michael said it was near midnight."
Steed looked at the constable. "Do you know where she means? Can you catch them?"
"Ja, I know the place. But I must wake up my Vorgesetzter. I cannot leave the village without telling anyone."
"The sooner the better. But you should have reinforcements. Mr. Horrocks' nephew is an important witness in a coming trial -- he left England for his own safety until then. The men who took him are very dangerous, I'm sure." Steed was rather pleased with himself for coming up with that one. It had worked in Lichtenfels and it worked now.
"What?" Purdey exclaimed, venting some of her tension in the exclamation. But she lowered it to a shaky whisper when the shout made Gambit flinch. "What do you mean a trial?!"
Steed took the cue. "I'm sorry Mrs. Horrocks, but your husband thought it would be best if you didn't worry."
"Didn't worry? If I'd known that Michael was being chased by anyone more dangerous than a cuckold I'd have had the US Army bring him out of Berlin!"
"Now, Mrs. Horrocks, please, you should stay calm..." Steed made placating noises while the constable looked at Purdey's indignation and chose a hasty retreat.
"Excuse me, I must call..."The young man took himself off and Steed took his place by Purdey.
"That should keep him busy," he murmured, patting Purdey's hand and letting his eyes smile at her. "How's Gambit doing?" he asked Kendrick in more public tones.
"I may need to put in a chest tube," Kendrick said. "It looks like he had one before..." he looked the question to Purdey, who nodded.
"If you mean a tube in his chest, yes. The surgeon took it out yester... no, the day before yesterday. Just after I'd reached the hospital." Steed could hear the uncertainty in her voice. Not all of the hysteria had been an act, he suspected, but she was burying it well.
Kendrick nodded. "And if Gambit had had the sense to stay where he was, he'd have..."
"He'd have been kidnapped all the sooner," Steed interrupted, squeezing Purdey's shoulder. He knew that leaving the hospital had been her idea, and he still approved, even with Gambit lying there looking like he hadn't quite managed to dodge the train. "What about Purdey?"
"Haven't had time to see," Kendrick growled. He glanced at Purdey from under bushy eyebrows. "Is any of that blood yours?"
She blinked at the dark stains on her dress and shoes and pulled a face. "I don't think so. I'm just tired, mostly. And hungry. A few bruises."
"Did you hit your head in the fall?"
"No. No, Gambit had his hand in the way." She looked up at Steed. "I'm thirsty too," she said. "And I don't think he's going to let go."
"I'll see what I can do," Steed said.
Purdey didn't get her hand back until they put Gambit into the ambulance. By then, of course, Dr. Kendrick had dosed him pretty thoroughly, and between the doctor, the attendants, the oxygen tank and the IVs, it was clear she wasn't going to be able to ride along. Steed collected her by the shoulders and turned her back towards the door of the Gasthof Pietz, where the hotelier and his staff were watching the excitement with sleepy interest.
"Do you want a chance to clean up now, or shall we drive down to Kronach as we are?" he asked. He knew which one he'd choose -- his befouled trousercuffs were bound to get fragrant in a closed car -- but he wanted to get Purdey checked over by a doctor reasonably promptly. "I'm afraid I didn't bring along a change for you, but I spoke to the hotelier, and he says he has some maid uniforms to spare."
"Maid uniforms?" Purdey echoed, dragging her attention away from the vanishing lights of the ambulance.
"It's that or one of my spare suits," Steed said, firmly resisting the urge to add something witty about getting her into his trousers. Not even sleeplessness would excuse that sort of thing on such short acquaintance if she were the prickly sort.
But by the gleam in her eye, she'd already thought of the possibilities and was enjoying them quite as much as he was. "Well, you do have seniority," she said mysteriously. "But I think I'd better stick to skirts for now or Mike's likely to get the wrong idea."
"If I know Gambit, he's already had several ideas," Steed said, answering her grin. "Skirts or no."
She made a rude noise, but she didn't disagree with him. "Terry had one or two ideas too," she said cheerfully. "If an eye for the ladies is one of the prerequisites for a field agent, I'm afraid I'm going to fail the course."
"Even if it were," Steed said, "in your case I believe we would definitely make an exception." They'd reached the hotel door, so he couldn't continue the thought, but he came back to it ten minutes later when they were finally in the car and on their way.
"You still want to be a field agent, then?" he asked.
Purdey nodded. She'd borrowed a blanket as well as the maid's uniform, but he'd seen the bruises on her legs and arms before she'd wrapped it around, and he wouldn't have been too surprised if she'd hesitated. Fortunately, she was made of stern stuff. "More than ever," she said. "It needs doing, doesn't it?"
"It does." Steed was well-pleased. If she kept on as she'd begun Purdey was going to be outstanding, even in the elite company of her peers. But it wouldn't do to let her early success go to her head. "Now... while we have the chance, I'd like to know just how you two managed to get kidnapped."
Purdey flushed. "I think it must have been the Schnaps," she began.
Twenty minutes wasn't nearly enough time to enjoy getting a report out of Purdey, Steed decided, as he maneuvered through the quiet streets of Kronach. Her acerbic descriptions of the nurses at the hospital and Gambit's insistence on doing more than he ought were nearly worth the price of admission all by themselves, even if exhaustion had her quicksilver mind skipping back and forth merrily in the chronology. She didn't make herself the heroine of the piece, either. Gambit came in for a good bit of the credit. And the blame.
"I don't think Gambit will want to believe it was the Schnaps," Purdey said thoughtfully, circling back to her first thoughts again as they pulled into the carpark of the hospital. "I got the impression that he thinks he knows Margot Liebermann pretty well."
Gambit didn't dandle her on his knee when she was a toddler, Steed thought. He wasn't any too pleased to think that Margot had been lured over to the other side, and heaven only knew what he'd tell her father. But that didn't answer Purdey. "Oh, I expect Gambit will manage to come out heart-whole, no matter what we find out," he reassured her. "He's pretty resilient."
"Is he?" She darted a quick, questioning glance at him and he wondered what she saw. "He is." She set her shoulders a little straighter. "I expect that's a good quality in a field agent, too."
"It is," Steed replied, hoping they weren't talking at cross-purposes. A lifetime's study of young ladies had left him with the certainty that most of them were a bit quick off the mark when it came to considering romantic possibilities. Most, not all. And some of the younger men are just as quick. "You can't spend too much time living in the past -- or the future -- in this job. If you're building castles in the air you're not going to notice the fellow who's trying to shoot you in the present moment, and that won't do." He'd known agents who managed to combine professional and personal lives, but most of them had come in out of the cold years earlier than they needed to, and Steed's first instinct when he encountered a lovestruck agent was to give a gentle warning. He'd never had to do that with Gambit, but Purdey's lack of training probably meant she hadn't heard the theory yet. "Gambit's got the knack of enjoying what's in front of him."
Much to his relief, Purdey's frown vanished and she put her head back and laughed. "I should say he does!"
Steed chuckled. "Come on. I'd like the doctors to take a look at you, too, before I put you on a plane back to London."
"Back to London?" Purdey blinked. "Already?"
"Well I shouldn't want you to fall too far behind in your classes," Steed pointed out. "Half your instructors have already had words with me."
It took longer for Purdey to get clear of the medical fuss than she'd hoped it would, mostly because the pleasant young German doctor insisted on personally removing all of the bits of splinter that had worked their way under the skin of her left hand.
"Well?" Steed said, settling down into the chair beside the examination table.
"I'm fine," she said. "Just a few bruises and a scrape or two. What about Mike?"
"Gambit? He'll be laid up for a week at least, but barring complications the doctors think he'll be all right. He's asking for you."
"He is?" Purdey murmured. "Can I--?"
"See him? Certainly. But not for too long. Kendrick wants him to rest, and I'm inclined to agree with him."
"I'll be quick," Purdey promised. He led the way up the stairs to a quiet corridor. Purdey couldn't help notice the parallels to the hospital in Berlin, the nurses' station and the rows of private rooms, but here there was a stolid looking policeman who intercepted them and checked the papers that Steed produced before allowing them to proceed.
"Not taking any chances, are you?" Purdey asked Steed.
"Not even a little one," Steed agreed equably. "I think Gambit's had enough adventures for one week, don't you?"
"Adventures?" Purdey echoed, thoughtfully. "I guess you could call them that."
Steed cocked his head at her. "Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can't think what anybody sees in them," he said, with a twinkle in his eye, and Purdey laughed.
"They make you late for breakfast too," she pointed out. "But I have to admit I wouldn't have missed this one for the world. Thank you, Steed. For rescuing us. I can't think of anything I've ever been happier to see than you on that bridge this morning."
"Thank you, Purdey." Steed nodded cheerfully. "And don't underestimate what you'd already accomplished -- if you two hadn't had that lantern going I might never have noticed the handcar. But as it was, I saw you -- and I intend to see a great deal more of you once your training's completed. I think you'll make a fine addition to our team."
Purdey wasn't sure she'd heard him right. "Your team? I'll be working with you and Gambit?"
Steed nodded. "And a few others. Coyne, for one. Of course, it's up to you."
"I'd love to." If it hadn't been unprofessional she'd have given the senior agent a hug. As it was she offered a hand and smiled broadly. "You won't regret this."
"I know I won't." Steed seemed to understand, anyway, and he bowed over the handshake that sealed the deal, his eyes laughing, even if he wasn't. "Go on then," he told her. "Kendrick's got Gambit in the room at the end of the hall."
Purdey nodded, and made her way down the hall to Gambit's room. When she opened the door, there was an instant feeling of déjà vu. Gambit's pallor, his head on the pillow, all the machines. The green line of the oxygen feed was new, and the bandage on his head, but other than that it was like walking into a recurring dream. Had it really only been 48 hours since then? It seemed much longer.
He wasn't sure how much longer he could fight off unconsciousness -- was beginning to wonder why he was even trying. There was a dream about riding a train through the night with a white-clad angel escort that beckoned every time he let his eyes close. But he couldn't sleep yet. Kendrick had promised that there were no bugs in this hospital room, had even, reluctantly, conceded to Gambit's request to stick around, but it wasn't nearly as reassuring to see the white-haired doctor in the chair by the bed as it had been to know that Purdey was there.
Purdey. That was it. He couldn't sleep until he was sure that she was ali... safe. Nightmares aside, he had a clear memory of lying on a couch in a warm hotel lobby, with Purdey holding onto his hand. She'd been sitting an armchair beside him, dirty and exhausted but smiling. There was a sandwich in her other hand, with a few bites taken from it, though her attention had been on something else, and Gambit had been too exhausted to turn his head to see what or whom. That memory felt real. Realer, at least, than some of the others, the ones where she was snatched out of his arms by a passing train, or vanished between one moment and the next, or worst of all transfigured herself into Aunt Mabel, right in the middle of the sort of kiss that Gambit had never contemplated giving that worthy in his life.
"Mike?" The word was a whisper, but he opened his eyes straight away and found her standing across the room. Kendrick was standing beside her, but only for the moment it took to scan Gambit's face with a professional glance. He gave a little satisfied grunt and nodded before turning to go out the door.
They were alone. Gambit looked at Purdey and tried to figure out what was different about her, beyond the black uniform dress she was wearing. The bandages on her hand, yes, and the bruises on her legs. But there was a brightness to her, a core of confidence that went deeper than the roles she had played in Berlin. It was like meeting her again for the first time.
"Purdey," he said -- croaked -- and held a hand out to her. She made her way over to the bed and took it.
"I can't stay very long. Kendrick doesn't want me to keep you up," she said, still softly, as if she were wary of disturbing him.
"You can keep me up as long as you like," he tried to purr, but the effect was spoiled by a yawn. Purdey sniggered, wariness forgotten.
"I can see that you're going to recover nicely," she said, in much more her normal tone of voice. But she was smiling.
He smiled back; did his best to keep his eyes open, remembered the bandage on her hand. "You okay?"
"I came up a bit bruised is all. And I've got good news."
"Won the Irish Sweepstakes?"
"Just about. Steed's offered me a job working with him when I've finished my training."
"A job?" Gambit hid his dismay. He should have known she'd fall under Steed's spell. And vice versa. No wonder she was glowing. The man hadn't taken a regular partner since Tara King.
"On his team," she gloated winsomely. "Fresh out of training and I'd be working with Steed. And you," she added, squeezing his hand, and he felt the dent in his ego straighten out a little.
Purdey wondered for a moment if Dr. Kendrick had dosed Gambit with something -- or if the knock on his head had been harder than anyone had warned her. Her big news certainly hadn't got the response she was hoping for. At least, not straight away. But slowly the grin she was hoping for spread sleepily across the invalid's face.
"That should be good value." There was even a bit of a sparkle in his eye. "Are you going to take him up on it?"
Purdey laughed, reassured. "How could I refuse? Someone's got to keep you out of trouble, Mike Gambit, because you're certainly not up to the job."
Gambit chuckled softly. "Best pay attention in first-aid class, then. I might come to you and give the doctors a miss."
He would, too, she suspected, but the prospect was hardly daunting. She'd get a chance to feed him up, anyway, on something tastier than hospital gruel. "I hope you like marshmallows."
Gambit furrowed his brow. "What?"
"Never mind." She laid a hand against his cheek, "No fever now," she said. "But you need another shave."
He didn't seem to notice. She could see the sleep coming over him, but there was still something bright in the way his eyes followed her face.
"One of these days," he promised, speaking as much to himself as he was to her, "I'm actually going to be able to stand up when I talk to you."
"One of these days, Mike Gambit," Purdey repeated, glorying in the knowledge that his chances of keeping the promise were almost guaranteed, now that he was safe. "I'm looking forward to it." It would never be the same, she knew that now. She'd never be so green again, so dependent on another agent for her life -- and with any luck he'd never be hurt so badly he'd need her the same way he had needed her these past few days. They'd be equals -- professionals -- when they met again. And if she was always a little bit fonder of him than the rest it would be because he was the one who was with her when she fell in love with Danger.
"Steed sending you home?"
She nodded. "I've got classes -- miss too many more and I'll have to wait for the next round."
He shook his head, just a fraction. "You'll catch up, no problem. You're a natural." His eyelids fluttered closed, opened again.
"I should let you rest," she said.
"It's resting makes me tired," he said, and then frowned a little bit as if he'd just heard what he said, but his eyelids were drooping.
She grinned. "I'm sure it does," she said. "Try sleeping instead." She let go of his hand and tucked it under the covers. But she'd only got a step or two away before he roused again.
"No good-night kiss, Mabel-love?"
She put her hands on her hips, turned to face his raised eyebrow. "That was a cover. No need for it now."
"Humour me. I don't have much to look forward to for the next week." The smile lurking at the corners of his sleepy pout told her that he was only pretending to be forlorn, but there was something in his eyes that reminded her just how much he hated hospitals.
Purdey debated the pros and cons. Giving into Gambit's blatant attempt at charm would only encourage him. But Steed was right -- you had to have the knack of enjoying what was in front of you. Besides, with Gambit's track record it probably would put him to sleep. "One last time," she finally relented. "But Auntie Mabel's going into retirement the moment I get out that door. So don't expect it to happen again."
"I can dream, can't I?"
She didn't answer, just leaned down so her lips could meet his. The oxygen feed got in the way at first, but another wave of déjà vuwashed over her as his hand came up behind her neck. This time there was no pain, just bliss as she let herself savour the warmth of his touch. She'd miss kissing Mike Gambit, no question – unless Auntie Mabel ever needed to take up her duties again – but it was better to give it up before she got addicted to the feeling. Her classmates were safer.
When she felt him start to tremble she broke free and he let her, turning the grasp he'd had on her neck into a brush of his fingers against her cheek before he let his hand fall. "Thanks," he whispered, his eyes already closed. "I owe you one."
She remembered the shape of his arms around her, the shape of his hand cupped behind her head as they bounced down the trackbed and the morning express to Berlin thundered overhead. Remembered him croaking rude songs to give her heart as she worked the pump of the handcar. Remembered his hands leading her through the ringing green dark of the railyard. Remembered the feel of his heartbeat next to her own after she'd nearly fallen and he'd caught her. Remembered all of it, back to the moment that he'd first opened sea-blue eyes and stared at her in another hospital room.
"I think we're even," she told him, although she knew he wasn't going to hear her now. The monitors were steady, the lines of his face had smoothed away. With any luck his dreams were sweeter for the kiss – hers would be! She went to the door, flipped off the overhead light, and took one last look at the sleeping man. A corner of her mouth quirked up suddenly. "But I just might collect someday, anyway."
Fin et commencement...