Horror Express Page 3

  “How am I to know the decision making of a common thief?” Saxton stood up and stepped closer to the inspector.

  “Is it gold? Silver? Something of value?”

  Saxton scoffed. “If it were a crate full of gold, I would be travelling in my own private car. Better yet, I’d buy the train.”

  The priest pulled the top half of the cover back from the corpse and staggered away with a gasp. The crème-colored linen rustled in the breeze and twirled away from the body like a dancing ghost. A spectator screamed. The professor’s eyes snapped to the woman who fainted into the arms of another bystander. Doctor Wells was inching closer and craning his neck for a better view of the dead man. Saxton turned to look and decided his own view was too good.

  Eyes as white as pearls stared into the inky abyss above. Blood pooled in his gaping mouth and streamed from the other orifices of the face and head. Tiny bubbles swelled and popped as the remaining air filtered up from his lungs. He was dressed well, especially for a thief, but the front of his suit was stained with blood and urine. Saxton mentally noted all the details.

  “That’s Goetz,” the Mountie lieutenant pointed at the body, “the locksmith. That certainly explains the mysterious robberies around the territory.”

  “Mysterious how?” Mirov asked.

  “The buildings were robbed, but the locks were still turned. He must have picked them open and then picked them back closed again. The man was masterful in his skill. You’re very lucky, professor. You probably wouldn’t have even realized your crate was empty until you got home,” the lieutenant explained.

  “This man is blind!” the priest interjected.

  Mirov rolled his eyes. “Of course, he’s blind. He’s dead.”

  “Look at his eyes.” The priest knelt and lifted the man’s head. “This man was blind.”

  “That’s impossible,” the lieutenant said, crossing himself. “I saw Goetz not two days past and he could see just fine.”

  “Fascinating, but irrelevant.” Mirov shook his head and prodded Saxton with a finger too short for his stature. “Now, Professor, if you please, what is in the crate?”

  The priest fell to the ground in hurried prayers.

  Saxton pointed at the shipping instructions and the address to the university. “Laboratory samples. Anthropological in nature, of no value to anyone not in the field, I’m afraid. Even then, they have no monetary value.”

  “Then it would seem they have no value at all. So, they’re fossils?”

  Saxton wanted to explain, but didn’t bother. “Close enough. Yes, it’s a fossil. May I be going now?”

  Mirov put his palm against Saxton’s chest. “Not until you tell me how this man died.”

  “I’m neither a detective nor a doctor.” He brushed the inspector’s hand away. “It is not my concern.”

  “Humor me.” Mirov sidled more directly into Saxton’s path. “I insist.”

  “It was the devil!” The priest jumped up.

  “The hell it was.” Saxton’s voice raised much louder than he meant for it too.

  “It was. That much is clear,” the priest insisted in words tinged with the inflection of a forgotten accent. “Only the unholy vileness of Satan could inflict such horrors upon a man.”

  “Not quite,” the chipper voice of James Wells shouted from the edge of the baggage area.

  “Who are you?” Mirov called back.

  “A man of reason,” Saxton answered. “A pompous ass of a man, but I’ll take what I can get given the circumstances.”

  Wells made his way closer to the body. Despite his age, his step still maintained the bounce of a schoolboy.

  “I would take great care in the handling of the body. Doctor Wells is my name.” He tipped his hat. “You see, I’ve been busying myself this last decade or so with the more recent discipline of virology. The study of viruses, that is.”

  “A virus you say?” The lieutenant backed away from the thief. “Perhaps the Dominion Police are more qualified for this after all, Inspector Mirov.”

  Wells produced a handkerchief which he pressed over his nose and mouth as he bent over the body. He turned to face the inspector.

  “There are several cases of note that lend to similar symptomatic displays, if we are willing to accept the man may have been ill for some time. It perhaps is just coincidence that he expired while in the process of pilfering that which the professor has rightfully stolen in the name of science.”

  “What kind of cases?” Mirov pressed.

  Wells thought about it for a moment, tucking the hankie back into his vest pocket. “To start, the Spanish reported a similar pestilence two or three times in a certain region of Mexico. I would simply butcher the name, so I will spare you my ignorant attempt.”

  “What a pleasant change,” Saxton said under his breath.

  Wells continued undaunted. “There was also the mysterious Plague of Athens during the Peloponnesian War. Alex, I’m sure you’re familiar with that story.”

  Saxton nodded once.

  “For those less-learned, there are more well-known culprits. Yellow fever is perhaps the most commonly known, though I highly doubt the presence of mosquitoes around your fair burg. Some rare cases of typhoid have brought hemorrhaging of the brain like we see here, the same can be said of smallpox. While none of these are particularly likely, they should not be quickly dismissed.”

  “Lieutenant, did the locksmith appear sick when you saw him two days ago?” Mirov asked the Mountie.

  “He did not.”

  “As I said, virology is a new field.” Wells rubbed his chin. “There’s much we don’t know. I would be very interested to hear of your local doctor’s analysis when he has one. Perhaps this is bacteriological. That might explain the apparent lack of symptoms.”

  The priest pushed Wells away and clutched the inspector’s lapels. “No! Do not listen to the heretical lies of this man. That box contains the very essence of Satan, it must be destroyed.”

  Mirov looked distastefully at the priest’s hands. “Mind yourself, holy man.”

  “Humbug. You’re a fool, a damned primitive fool.” Saxton jabbed a finger at the priest. “You’re suggesting we ignore the words of a doctor with decades in his field and destroy valuable scientific samples? For what reason? Because your sheltered existence has barred you from the education of experience? Doctor Wells just told you that these symptoms have occurred across the world for centuries.”

  “Science?” The priest spat at Saxton’s shoes. “The catchpenny lies of Beelzebub! This man brings the Devil aboard our train.”

  “The only devil here is ignorant devotion to a savagery no better than any previous superstition. The Druids might have been a damn sight better than you. They sacrificed human lives, but you and your ilk sacrifice the human intellect, dooming generations. You sell snake oil in the form of prophets to keep your coffers full at the behest of an absentee god.”

  “Blasphemer!” The priest lunged at Saxton.

  Mirov shoved the man back, knocking him to his seat. “You two are making a scene.” He pointed violently at the growing crowd.

  “He does excel at that,” Wells offered.

  “You can leave now, whatever your name was. There’s already one too many Englishmen here.” Mirov shooed Wells like a pest and turned to Saxton. “Secure your belongings and get on your train, professor. Be prepared to make yourself ready for any questions I may have later, however. It is a long voyage.”

  The priest rose and shoved Mirov to the side, producing an ornate bottle from his waistline. He splashed the contents on the crate and they steamed against the metal clasp.

  “You see? Do you all see how the holy water reacts? Where Satan is present, there is no room for the Holy Spirit!”

  The crowd gasped.

  “Foolish rubbish, spouted by the mouth of a buffoon and accepted only by the ears of the likewise infirmed.” Saxton took the bottle from the priest.

  He raised his booming, baritone voi
ce for everyone to hear. “The water was inside his coat and robes, tight against his body. The heat leaving him has warmed the water.” He took a sip and spat it out against the cobblestones where it steamed again. “Unpleasantly so, as a matter-of-fact. It is warm, the metal hasp and the stones beneath me are not. In fact, they are damned cold. When something warm hits something cold, it steams, the same as your breaths are steaming before your own easily entertained eyes.”

  A few people in the crowd huffed foggy breaths, as if confirming what they knew five seconds earlier.

  Saxton pointed accusingly at the priest. “This charlatan is deceiving you with the parlor trick of a gypsy con artist and you are swallowing it as gullibly as a fish takes a baited hook.”

  The crowd looked at each other embarrassingly. A few laughed nervously. Others lowered their heads and shuffled away. A few, though, crossed themselves and mumbled prayers of their own.

  Mirov snatched the priest by his beard and drew him close. “That is the second time you have put your hands on me. The third time, I’ll take my chances with your god and teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.” He pushed the man away.

  “Mark my words. Satan is among us, dwelling in that crate. Where it goes only death and damnation will follow. Those who have chosen to ignore my warnings will perish and burn for a thousand years in the fires before Satan’s throne in Hell. You will all see. This man has brought evil upon us. This train is doomed.” The priest pulled his coat tight around him and stormed away. “You are all doomed.”

  “Father, you’ve forgotten your holy water,” Saxton called after him.

  “That’s just wonderful,” Mirov sighed. “He’s a passenger as well.”

  “But of course he is.” Saxton tossed the bottle to the ground, shattering it against the stones. “As you said, it’s going to be a long trip.”

  “Yes. Longer than usual, if I have to spend it with the English and a lunatic.”

  On the platform, the priest continued to shout his warnings to anyone that would listen. He screamed of damnation, brimstone, and serpents. He bellowed in Latin, and Saxton caught the words well enough through the commotion. It wasn’t from the Bible, but Dante.

  The banners of the King of Hell advance…

  Chapter Four

  Wells argued with the porter and finally pulled the heavy bag away from him.

  “I’m old, not dead. I can handle my own luggage. You can’t just throw these things any which way. I have bacteriological samples in there,” Wells pointed at the small footlocker, “the one you just casually slung against the wall. We may all very well die as a result of your haste, but please don’t let that keep you awake at night. On the other hand, the bag you are handling so preciously, is my dirty laundry. You have plenty of items waiting to be loaded, allow me to stow my own, if only for your own self-interest.”

  Toward the center of the car, Saxton laughed softly at the disagreement. The world was changing at an exponential rate, but James Wells would always be the same. Something groaned, causing an uneasy tingle along his spine. He stared at the crate, the seeming source of the emanation. That ominous sensation from the cave returned as he inched closer.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Alexander. It’s the wind.” He opened a small door on the front of the crate.

  A breath of frozen air escaped, made rank by the decrepit mummy inside. The caveman, a Neanderthal that never should have made it to North America, was still dead and not making any sounds. It had been packed in snow and ice, and looked as preserved as dried apples. Saxton dug out an ice block and noticed it considerably more diminished than he anticipated. He stared at the shriveled, ancient thing and slammed the little door. Another shriveled, ancient thing awaited on the other side.

  “What do you want now, Wells?”

  “Just curious. Damnedest thing, and you might think me mad, but I could have sworn I heard something moaning inside that bizarre box of yours.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Saxton pulled the tarpaulin back into place. “It’s packed in ice. The ice melts and moves. That’s what you heard.”

  “It most assuredly is not.”

  “Your mind is withering to match the rest of your body. It’s an anthropological specimen, ergo, it is dead. Frigid, lifeless, and, so far as you are concerned, non-existent.”

  “Like your sense of humor. You’ve finally found a proper travelling companion, Alex. That doesn’t answer the paramount question, however. What is it?” Wells rapped his knuckles on the little door.

  Saxton pulled the chains back into place. “You’ll find out like everyone else, Wells—when you read about it in the scientific journals.”

  “Is that so?” Wells raised an eyebrow. “And in which one shall I find it?”

  Saxton closed the heavy padlock with a hard clank. “All of them.”

  ***

  The woman sauntered into the cargo car like it was the stage of the Lyceum Theatre. She was the proper, formal, sort. In one hand, she cradled a white toy poodle with a Scandinavian clip and in the other she held a small, chartreuse bag that clashed violently with the bright blue of her dress. She called out softly, with a delicate siren-like voice, for the porter who promptly dropped the sack he was loading and rushed to the pretty young lady’s aid.

  “Yes, madam?” The man was an unspectacular fellow in all regards but hygiene. Long greasy hair hung to his shoulders and his skin was tanned by accumulation of grime instead of exposure to the sun.

  The lady maintained a pleasant composure, though her countenance slipped slightly as her nose scrunched at the man’s acrid body odor. “I wish to check this bag in your safe. It is of extreme importance that it be kept secure at all times.”

  “Right away, madam.” The man gave her his widest and most sincere smile. “You wait right here and I’ll fetch you a receipt. Won’t nobody get to it, I promise you that. I keep the most secure safe in the entire Dominion. The banks are jealous of my vault, I assure you.” He took the small bag and it sagged in his hand. “Bit heavier, than I was expecting. Must be quite the treasure.”

  “Oh, yes, it is.”

  “Seems fitting that it was delivered by a jewel like yourself then.” He clicked his tongue at her with an accompanying wink, then scurried to the back of the car. He nodded at Saxton as they passed one another.

  The woman side stepped into Saxton’s path. The poodle growled as he drew closer. She shushed the dog and smiled up at him softly, yet eagerly.

  The professor slowed his pace and eyed her questioningly. “May I help you?”

  “You’re the man with the crate.”

  He turned to the cargo hold which contained almost a dozen crates of various sizes. “I seem to be but one of many.”

  “Only one killed a man. I saw briefly, before my husband shepherded me away. He doesn’t feel a young lady should be exposed to such things.”

  “I agree with him on that. I’m Professor Alexander Saxton, by the way.”

  “Irina Petrovski. The Countess Petrovski if you want to be a bore about it.” She offered her hand. “So, what happened to that poor man?”

  Saxton kissed her porcelain fingers. “It was terrible business, but in no relation to my cargo, save for the man trying to steal it. He seems to have just fallen victim to some previous malady in the process.”

  “That’s great news.” She sucked air sharply between her teeth at her words. “In a way, I mean. Not that his passing was a relief in any way, just that I’m pleased to know we won’t be traveling with anything dangerous.”

  ***

  Wells caught the porter by the wrist as he scurried back to the young lady and Saxton. He reached into his pocket and produced three five-dollar notes with a grin.

  The porter took the bills and stuffed them into his coveralls. “And what can I be assisting you with, good sir?”

  “I wish to know what’s in that crate.” He nodded to it.

  The porter gave it and him alternating glances, but didn’t respond
.

  “Oh, it’s nothing nefarious, I assure you, just curiosity. We’re old pals, and he has no face for poker. His excitement over the package is strenuous to my anxiety, a real killer at my age. I just can’t bear the wait for his big reveal. It’s a matter of my health, you understand.”

  “Certainly.” The porter nodded along. “Those locks are really something.”

  “That they are. Maybe you could drill a hole in the box. He won’t be upset about it, not at you anyhow. I will gladly accept his ire for an early peek at the prize.”

  “I saw a drill that would do just the trick. If only I could remember where.” He stared at the doctor with a coy grin.

  “Oh, right.” Wells took the money from his pocket and peeled off another fiver. “Memory properly refreshed now?”

  “Very. You come back and see me in the evening, after dinner’s served. I’ll let you know what’s in there and even give you a looksee at it yourself.”

  ***

  The dog squirmed and yipped in Irina’s arms. She tried to shush the animal again and scratched him behind the ears. “I must apologize, he normally doesn’t act this way. He’s only ever been around Polish and Americans. Perhaps it is your accent?”

  Saxton laughed lightly. “Well, he is French. They’re not exactly known for good taste.”

  Irina’s lips settled in a sour line. “My mother was French.”

  “Bollocksed that one, didn’t I?” Saxton’s eyes turned to the ceiling and he cleared his throat. “I’m sure she was a magnificent lady, and far above the standards your father was used to.” The words had sounded different in his head.

  “From insulting my mother to my father? I thought English gentlemen were notorious for their charms.”

  “Unfortunately, not for our use of our own language. Apologies, my dear. I think I’ll excuse myself, the lighting in my compartment is more flattering to my embarrassment.”

  “I should be impressed that I’ve made you blush. I didn’t think the English were capable. I must be getting back to my car, anyhow. I do hope to see you this evening at dinner, perhaps I have other relatives for you to insult.”