"... That Has Such People In It!"

An Eroica / Sleepy Hollow Crossover

by Heather Sparrows
Email: kargoo at arcor.de

Bonn, Germany, Summer 1783

The boy went to the window and looked out. He had been locked in his bedroom since late morning. At least it had been light then. Now the sun was going down, and soon it would become dark.

The hours had seemed like ages to him, and he still did not know what he had done wrong. His father had brought him in, had closed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock. At first, he had not dared to move. His father might come back soon and punish him. Time passed, but his father did not come back. So the boy knelt down and prayed to the Virgin Mary and to his patron saint, as his nurse had taught him to do. She had told him praying would comfort him when he felt alone and afraid. And he felt alone, bewildered and afraid now. Too much so as to be soothed by prayer, actually.

Everything had looked well at first. His father had been in a good mood. He had given order to saddle his son’s pony and his own horse for a ride. The boy had felt happy. Usually, his father rarely even spoke to him. It had been worst during the last winter, when his mother died.

But on this day, his father had even mentioned how well the boy was managing his pony, although the child himself found nothing special in this. He could not remember how he had learned to walk, and the same went for riding.

They had taken the path along the fields and meadows, where peasants were working. They greeted their master, Graf Friedrich Anton von dem Eberbach, and his son Klaus devoutly when they rode past.

Father and son followed the path into the woods. Graf von dem Eberbach spoke about the military academy near Berlin Klaus would attend as from next week on. Berlin was far away, and secretly, the boy thought he would miss old Anna, his nurse, and Franz. Especially Franz. But he would never have told his father. His father’s will was law for everyone around him, to be obeyed without any question. Klaus was six years old now, and he was expected to become a soldier. So he would go and become a strong soldier. His father would be pleased with him. Crying and feeling sad was something for women, not for men, especially not for soldiers, that much he had learned from his mother’s death.

They reached a clearing. Graf Eberbach dismounted and sat down on a felled tree. Klaus saw that they were not far away from where Franz had his hut. Franz Gillessen was his father’s gamekeeper. Klaus had been lonely, the sons of the servants who lived in the Eberbach household being all much older than he was, about twelve years and more, or still in their swaddling clothes. So it had not been difficult for the friendly, outgoing young man to win over the child. He had taken him on walks into the woods, something Graf Eberbach had noted with a frown, but not forbidden. Klaus admired his friend. Franz was strong. He could carry heavy logs or crates without effort, he rode like the devil and could shoot very well. When he would be a man, Klaus wanted to be like Franz.

He asked his father for permission to go up to the hut and look whether his friend was at home.

"Go ahead." Graf Eberbach said. "If he is at home, tell him I will have a word with him later."

When he arrived at the hut, Klaus called his friend’s name and knocked, but no one answered. Maybe Franz was not at home, maybe he was in the small shed behind the hut and had not heard the boy calling. Klaus went to the shed. The door was closed. If Franz had been at home and working there, it would have been open. So the boy turned to go back and tell his father that the gamekeeper was not at home.

He heard a sound. A few weeks ago, he had played hide and seek with Franz, and he had found his friend just because the man had made a little noise. Maybe Franz had heard him calling anyway and was playing a trick on him now. Klaus tiptoed back to the shed door and opened it carefully —

Franz was there alright, with another man. To the child it looked as if they were wrestling. They both were naked.

Klaus stepped back. This was another Franz than the man he knew. He realised that he should never have seen this. It belonged to a strange world, the world of grown people —

Franz became aware of the boy and withdrew hastily from the other man. He seemed angry and baffled.

"Klaus! Mein Gott, Junge, was - ?"

He had intended to ask the boy what he was doing here, but did not finish his sentence. There were steps outside. The voice of Graf Eberbach. "Gillessen! Where are you?"

The two men in the shed groped for their clothes, but Eberbach was already in the doorframe, behind his son. The boy was too young to understand what he had seen, his father understood at first glance. With one movement, he threw the boy aside, took his riding crop and began to thrash the two men.

Klaus got up from the ground, numb with shock. He had fallen when his father had pushed him aside. His father’s anger frightened him. If he was beating the two men, they must have done something very bad. Neither Franz nor the other man dodged the blows or did anything to stop his father. They stood and received their punishment.

Graf Eberbach finally stopped thrashing and beating the two men. "Gillessen," he said, his voice low with anger and contempt, "and you, Heppner. You will leave my property within an hour. And if I ever see one of you again, I’ll shoot you like rabid dogs."

He grabbed his son’s arm roughly and pulled him away from the two men, away from the hut.

Klaus had not dared to speak to his father, to ask what had made him so angry. He was sure he himself must have done something very bad as well, because his father had ridden straight home with him and locked him up. He thought about what it could have been, but he could not say.

He was hungry and thirsty, and his bladder was full. What had happened? Had his father changed his mind and had shot Franz and Heppner anyway, as he had threatened to do? Or had they been thrown into prison? Bad people went to prison. Maybe they would send him to prison as well —

The key was turned in the lock and the door opened. His father came in, followed by Pastor Leuchtenberg, the priest of the local parish. The two men looked very serious, when the child stood to greet them.

"Klaus," his father said, "I will have to ask you a few questions. You know from Pastor Leuchtenberg here that it is a sin not to tell the truth."

"Ja, Herr Vater."^*

"Franz Gillessen sometimes took you with him on his walks into the woods. Did he take you to his hut as well?"

"Ja, Herr Vater."

"What did he do with you? Tell me!"

The child frowned, trying to remember.

"He showed me how to whittle. He can whittle a chain. And a flute. Or a little man. — And we played hide and seek."

"And in the woods?"

"We saw a deer. And a fox. And he showed me good mushrooms and bad mushrooms."

The two men looked at each other. Then Graf von dem Eberbach continued brusquely: "Did he ever take out his organ and show it to you?"

Klaus shook his head. He knew what his father meant. The organ which you were to touch only to make water.

"Answer me, boy!" Graf Eberbach snapped.

"Nein, Herr Vater." The boy flinched, hearing his father’s sharp tone.

"Did he ever touch you, take you up into his arms?"

Klaus’ frown deepened.

"Nein, Herr Vater." he answered. "I’m not a little boy anymore." he added as an explanation. Franz would never have done such a thing, he was sure about that.

"Did Franz Gillessen ever touch your organ?" Graf Eberbach continued relentlessly.

"Nein, Herr Vater." The boy shook his head as an added confirmation of his words.

He knew he had told them the truth, but neither his father nor Pastor Leuchtenberg seemed to be satisfied. Graf Eberbach bent down to his son and gave him a hard and stern look, as if he were to read the boy’s thoughts. This frightened the child. He had told what he knew, as best as he knew, and neither his father nor Pastor Leuchtenberg would want him to lie. So what was it they wanted? He felt upset and frightened, and he did not want to cry. So he looked away from his father, down to the floor.

"Look at your father! Why are you looking away, boy?" Pastor Leuchtenberg said sharply. He was a big heavy man with a deep, thunderous voice.

Klaus looked up again. He was trembling now. His father turned away from him, as if disappointed.

Pastor Leuchtenberg came up to the boy, staring down at him through round glasses. Their lenses reflected the last evening sun. It was as if he had no eyes at all. Just blinding mirrors.

"What Franz Gillessen and Karl Heppner did and what you have seen was a mortal sin. In the Bible, such people are called Sodomites. Their crime puts them apart from humanity."

Klaus could not avert his eyes from the blinding mirror glasses, but neither could he prevent a tear from rolling down his cheek.

"Will they go to hell?" he whispered. He did not want his friend to go to hell, and he also had liked Heppner. In his eyes, they had always been good men. But Pastor Leuchtenberg and his father must know better. Perhaps the devil had already taken the two men down to hell. He had heard stories from his father’s servants about people being so bad that the devil came up in person to take them away.

"And your soul, boy, has been corrupted by the very contact you had with Gillessen and by what you saw!" Pastor Leuchtenberg continued.

The child was beyond crying now. He stared at the priest with what was pure horror. He was too young to understand every word of what the clergyman said, but the big man looming sternly over him was enough to make it clear that he himself had done something very bad.

"Will I go to hell too?" Klaus brought barely out the words.

"Not if you pray to the Virgin Mary to ask her son’s forgiveness! Not if you take the Holy Confession!"

Graf Eberbach and the priest took the child to the chapel and made him confess that he had sinned, witnessing two men together, committing an unnatural act of the flesh. Klaus repeated the words Pastor Leuchtenberg said, although he did not know the meaning of all of them. But he obeyed his father and the priest, hoping they would leave him alone and he was not to go to hell.

Pastor Leuchtenberg absolved him and made him pray the Pater Noster and the Ave Maria over and over again. About two hours later, the exhausted child collapsed.

*****

During the last week Klaus spent in his father’s house, the incident was never mentioned again. It was as if Franz and Heppner had never existed and nothing had happened. Klaus would have liked to ask some questions burning in his heart and mind, above all the question how such friendly people like the two men could be so bad, but nobody would have been there to answer his questions, and he was too young to put them into words anyway.

A week later, he had begun to forget. There were other things to cope with: Beginning school and his training to become a soldier.

Graf Friedrich Anton von dem Eberbach was proud of his son, when Klaus came to take leave from his father. The boy was tall and strong for his age. He would need to be disciplined early, and the military academy would take care of this. Klaus had a good mind, as far as his father could tell, and he had briefly considered the idea to let him take up a career as a scholar or a clergyman. But it was family tradition that the eldest son of the Eberbach line choose a military career. Besides, as Klaus was the only son, he would also have to marry and to beget children to ensure that the family name would live on. No, it was good as it was. The boy would have a good future as an officer ahead of him.

The incident with the gamekeeper seemed as forgotten by father and son as if it had never happened. Six-year-old Klaus did not know about forgotten fear and unanswered questions to come back and haunt him.

He went through a hard school at the military academy, and became a good soldier. He learned to ignore feelings of hunger, thirst, and pain. Feelings like sadness did not exist. The only thing that mattered was duty: to your superiors, to your country and the king who represented it, to your family.

He fought in some wars and learned to kill. Klaus von dem Eberbach seemed fearless, and in command, he demanded the utmost of his men. They feared him. He never socialised, and his demeanour was always brusque, if not rude. He had nothing but contempt for weakness. But as he never demanded less than the utmost of himself, he was also respected. Barely in his twenties, he was known and feared as "Iron Klaus".

At the same time, a high-ranking official noticed the young man’s potential and assigned him to his first secret mission, which he accomplished excellently. From this time on, Klaus von dem Eberbach worked as an agent for the German Crown. Among other things, his special training included foreign languages, history and economy of the neighbouring countries.

Klaus von dem Eberbach was a sharp-witted, highly trained secret weapon. And a difficult man. Nevertheless, he had never any trouble working together with other agents or contractors either from his own or from other countries. Until he met a young British nobleman, Dorian Red, Earl of Gloria. The Earl was suspected to be one of Britain’s most accomplished art thieves, but sometimes he put his abilities into service for his country.

Von dem Eberbach, meanwhile promoted to be a major, hated the foppish, affected young man almost at first sight. What he could not account for and what bewildered, almost frightened him, was the horrible rage the Earl unleashed in him. Klaus could not ignore that his rage masked a deep sadness. He would have chosen not to work with the damned Englishman, but their paths would cross again and again ...

"I swear, Gentlemen, I don’t know anything about construction plans my father made! — Please —"

The frightened dark eyes of the girl who had spoken searched the black masks of the three men surrounding her. She was securely bound to a chair in an empty cellar room in her father’s house. Her father and mother were lying upstairs, dead. They had killed themselves, leaving her alone ... One of the men held her brother, a boy about five. He had seen their parents kill themselves, and he was beside himself from fear, struggling against the man who was holding him, beating at him with his fists, kicking and biting. The man beat the child into his face with full force to silence him.

The girl gave a scream when the man hit the boy, and the blow she received split open her lip. Half of her face felt numb. But it helped her come back from a place of screaming insanity. She had to stay sane, to stay alive, to help her brother ...

"Please." she whispered. "Leave him alone. He’s just a little boy."

"Think, girl." The man who seemed to be the leader sounded impatient. "If you don’t know anything, think! Your father must have hidden the plans here in this house. Is there a hole in a wall, the floor or the ceiling somewhere? A secret room? You’d better think hard, young lady!"

She wracked her brain, but to no avail. She would have told them anything to end this nightmare, to make her parents live again, to be upstairs, safely in her bed —

"There is nothing." She shook her head. A sob escaped her. She bit her lip.

The third man had been silent so far, just standing by, looking greedily at her through the eye slits of his mask. She was not very attractive, tall and bony. But she was very young, and most probably a virgin. Besides, she had beautiful eyes, now full of fear. It was amazing how beautiful even the most ordinary women became in distress ... It was wonderful to see the tears run down her cheeks, he thought. She wore only a night-shirt which opened at the front, and one of her small, firm breasts was showing ...

The interrogator clicked his tongue.

"You are a very stubborn girl. Very stubborn."

"Maybe we haven’t asked the young lady nicely enough?" the lecher cut in. "Maybe not the right way?" He exchanged a glance with the interrogator.

"It might show her how serious we are." the man who had asked her questions agreed. He nodded to the other man, who approached her, his mouth grinning below the mask.

She did not know how long it lasted. Three men took turns with a body, which after a while was no longer her own. She went away, far away. Not to a place of insanity, but to a sunny garden with old trees —

The pain brought her back. Something had hit her leg below the knee, and it exploded in a pain which set her brain on fire.

"Don’t pass out on us, young lady! Where could the plans be?"

She heard someone scream and found that it was herself. "I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know — please — God!"

Her interrogator clicked his tongue once more. His voice sounded very angry when he spoke again. "You must know something! You are old enough to know! — But - maybe we’ll have to ask your little brother -?"

She opened her mouth to say something, but her voice failed. Her brother was still held by the man who had beaten him. He was no longer fighting now, just sobbing, looking at her with uncomprehending eyes. During the last few hours, he had seen too many things he was too young to understand.

"It’s your fault, young lady." the interrogator said. He nodded at the man holding the boy, who tore off the child’s night-shirt -

She had never thought possible what she saw now, and her brain refused to register it. She wanted to go away, far away to that good place she had been before and stay there. Forever. But she had to stay here, she had to help Johnny —

She tore at the ropes binding her, when something exploded in her head.

*****

She must have lost consciousness. Finally. It was dark. No men. — Johnny? Where was Johnny? She called the boy’s name.

An inarticulate whimper answered her. There was light, a hint of light from a small window. She could see the boy. He was huddled into a corner.

She found that she had been bound to the chair again. When she struggled against the ropes, the chair creaked and swayed. She kept on struggling. The chair finally collapsed, but there was that pain in her right leg again, striking her brain like lightning. She thought she would not be able to crawl up to her brother, but somehow she managed. He did not recognise her, beat at her and tried to crawl away, whimpering —

She must have passed out or drifted away again, when the smell woke her. Something was burning, and when she strained her ears, she could hear a crackling sound. The house! The house was burning, and they were locked in the cellar!

She did not know how she managed to reach the window, break it and push the boy out, how she managed to squeeze through the tiny window and drag herself and the boy away from the burning house, a long distance away, to a hedge, where she curled around her brother, who had given up all resistance.

//No longer think. Never think again. I want to sleep forever -//

Darkness.

The tall girl sat at the window in the apartment which had been her home during the last year. Her bad leg rested on a small stool. The man with the mask must have broken it while interrogating her. It had healed, but it had remained stiff at the knee and gave her trouble when the weather changed. She walked with a cane.

The boy, her brother, was playing in a corner. Since that fatal night, he had never been the same. He had been in a stupor for a long time, apparently not recognising anyone, not even her. Helpless as a baby, unable to control his bowels or his bladder, unable to speak, to eat alone, not walking, just crawling. If he moved at all and was not sitting in a corner, staring vacantly into the air. When he slept, he always awoke screaming.

When the stupor had lifted from him a few months ago, she had been happy and full of hope. But she soon realised that her brother would never again be the boy she had known before. He now saw people nobody else could see and talked to them. He permanently lost pieces of clothing and his toys. She had tried to teach him the alphabet, but as he seemed to be in another world most of the time, not much came of it. She remained glad, however. It was as if his soul had decided to come back from wherever it had been hiding, as if he had decided to live again. He did no longer wake up screaming. He recognised her, the doctor, the Veiled Lady. And he spoke again, calling her by her name, Josie.

The Veiled Lady had done a lot for them. She had always been there when the girl needed her, when she woke from her own nightmares, or when she needed help with Johnny. But this would be over now, because of the new doctor.

The first doctor the Veiled Lady had provided had been a friendly and gentle old man. Johnny had responded well to him. But some weeks ago, the Veiled Lady had brought bad news. The doctor had died. The new doctor did not get on well with Johnny, although he tried. The girl had not liked him right from the start.

Last week, Johnny had come down with a slight fever. When called, the doctor had been in a bad mood and very impatient. He had treated the boy roughly, and Johnny had closed up, turning away, ignoring him. His order to sit up and open his mouth ignored three times, the doctor had pulled the boy up from the bed. Johnny screamed, and the doctor had beaten him across the face.

Something in the girl had snapped then. Once again, she had been in the cellar with the masked men. Everything had become black for a moment, and when she could see and feel again, she found she had slammed the doctor against a wall, clutching his throat.

She had released the man immediately, trembling with anger and shock. She knew, if she had blacked out for a few moments longer, she would have killed the doctor. This was no exaggeration. She was as tall as an average man, and she had taken to lifting a small but heavy box for an amount of time every day, strengthening her arms and hands considerably.

She knew it was utter madness, but it had helped her cope with the anger she lately felt more and more. At first, she had only felt sadness and shame about what the men had done to her and Johnny. And fear. These feelings were still there, but now they were mixed with anger. If someone tried to touch her now, she would go for his throat, kick him into the groins, thrash him with her cane.

She would have liked to find and kill the masked men. And she had more fantasies about what to do with them than she would ever have thought herself capable of. The anger helped her cope. On the other hand, it made her restless. She would have to find a new way to live. And what ways were there to live for her? She could become a whore. After that night in the cellar, what did it matter? — But no. She knew she would never again allow a man to touch her. So the more respectable way of living, being a good man’s wife, bearing and educating his children, was out of the question as well. Besides — who would take her? She knew very well that she was not pretty, and now she had a stiff leg on top of that.

Moreover, she would never leave Johnny. His condition had improved so much, maybe his mind would heal completely, but she did not really believe it. Be it as it may, he was everything she had in the world. — What could she do? What options were open to her? Damn it, many things would be much easier if she was a man!

It was madness. But she would have to become a man to protect her brother and herself. And she better be good at it.

A coach stopped in front of the house, and the Veiled Lady got out. Very well. The girl had made her decision. She would leave with Johnny. After what she had done to the doctor, she felt she could not longer benefit from the Veiled Lady’s charity and kindness. She and Johnny owed their lives to this woman, who had never revealed her identity. Now, however, the girl would have to fight on her own...

The tall young man stood in front of the desk in the big study, holding his hat in his hands. The boss had taken him in only a month ago. He looked younger than his seventeen years, his features were sharp, but fine as a woman’s, the boss thought. He was well educated, and his shyness surely would vanish when he became more experienced. The boss had seen other young men grow up in his service. All in all, the youth seemed fitting for the position as the third clerk on the docks. He had a good mind, and this mattered more to the boss than the young man’s stiff leg.

The boy who had come with the youth had begun to walk around the large room, looking at the paintings and artefacts adorning the boss’s private office.

"Johnny!" the young man called him back sharply, but the stocky, grey-haired man behind the desk shook his head.

"Let him have a look."

The girl had managed to take up the life of a man. Under the name of Charles Iverson, she worked as a clerk at the docks. Everything had gone smoothly, as smoothly as it could go under the everyday fear of giving away that she was not a man by a gesture, by her inexperience. She knew very well that her co-workers did not take her seriously, but as long as they treated her like they would treat any inexperienced youth new to the job, it didn’t matter. She had nothing but her determination, her will to survive, to make a living for her brother and herself.

Johnny had taken his sister’s metamorphosis into a young man very well, whereas a child in his right mind would have had difficulties. To Johnny, it did not matter. During the day, he was in the care of a woman who looked after the children of people who had to work for their living. Mostly widows or orphans, who could not care for their children or younger brothers and sisters themselves.

Circumstances had begun to look a bit better for Charles Iverson and his brother. Until that morning. Somehow, Johnny had escaped from the woman’s care and had shown up at the dock. He often ran away and roamed the streets until he found his "brother". How he did it, remained a mystery, but he always succeeded.

When he had shown up this morning, the foreman in charge had been Dick Jones, a morose, violent man. On earlier occasions, other workers had simply shooed Johnny away, had carried him carefully out of danger, or had even brought him to his brother. Jones, however, had kicked the boy to frighten him away. He did not know that the little one was Iverson’s brother, and had he known, he would not have cared.

Anyway, no one would have been able to foresee the young clerk’s violent reaction. Seeing the foreman kick his brother, Iverson dropped his pen and hurried out to the foreman. He pushed the bull of a man away from Johnny — and the next thing he knew were two burly workers holding him back. He was trembling, and the knuckles of his fists were bloodied. The blood had not been his own.

One of the senior clerks came down from the office, and first the foreman, then Iverson himself had been sent to see the boss. This was why he was here now. Maybe it would have been a good thing to work here. But he could not stand anyone beating up on Johnny. So this would be the end of his employment —

"Charles Iverson." the stocky man with the piercing grey eyes said, looking up from the papers on his desk. "My congratulations. You have good fists and good reflexes. No one ever managed to break Jones’ nose before."

The young man remained silent. He looked straight into his employer’s eyes. That was an iron rule. Look them into the eye. If you have to take something from someone take it. But never show you are afraid. It was hard. Terribly hard.

The boss did not seem particularly angry. The incident seemed to amuse him more than it annoyed him. And behind the sharp look was something like — acknowledgement of what the young man had done.

Nevertheless, Iverson feared that the boss would sack him, even worse, look straight through his disguise. Her breasts were small, and she bandaged them firmly. She wore wide clothes and made her voice deeper. Her tall frame and wide shoulders fooled most people. But would her appearance fool the boss, as they called him? She had never heard his real name, and she suspected that his business was not all on the right side of the law —

"Johnny?" the boss said gently, alarming the young man. The boy went over to the boss. He seemed neither upset nor afraid. Again, there had been a change. He was no longer afraid of people. Instead, he looked at them as if he could see things they did not know about themselves or wanted to hide. If he had done this with the foreman, it must have unnerved the bully very much.

"The big man kicked you." the boss said to the boy. "Where?"

"Leg." Johnny answered. "And there." He pointed to his backside.

"Does it hurt more now than when he did it?" the boss asked. "We must make sure that he hasn’t broken one of your bones."

"I looked at him." Iverson said. "And he walks normally. So I think —"

"Doesn’t hurt much now." Johnny confirmed.

"It was not necessary to kick you." the boss said thoughtfully, more speaking to himself than to the boy. "He deserved what he got."

Johnny was no longer interested in the subject. He pointed to a human skull sitting on a book on the boss’s desk. The boss took the skull and handed it to him. The boy turned it over in his hands, before looking at the man.

"What’s that?"

"It’s the head of a dead man." the boss answered. "It is called a skull."

Johnny held the skull and looked at it for a while.

"You kill that man." he then said to the boss. It did not sound like a question, but like a statement.

"Johnny!" Iverson took the skull away from the boy and put it on the desk again. Probably his brother was even right —

The boss laughed.

"What is it with you?" he said to Johnny. "You are a remarkable boy. With a lot of imagination."

"He is not in his right mind." Iverson said, matter-of-factly.

"He is remarkable." the boss repeated. "Now, what am I to do with you both, Iverson? — I’ll make you an offer. I have other business. And you look as if you were the right man for it."

"What business, Sir?"

The boss stood.

"You’ll see. Come with me. Take the boy along."

*****

That day, the boss offered Iverson a position as the second manager of one of his brothels. It was a brothel for men with a taste for young and exquisite members of their own sex.

Iverson was at a loss what to do. He thought of Johnny. How would the young men react to him, how would he react to them? How could he prevent them from touching his brother? And how would they ever accept a young man their own age as a figure of authority? And what would the first manager think about him?

But it was an opportunity. A living. The brothel had a high standard. The young men working there were not only attractive, even beautiful, but also looked healthy and kept themselves clean. The rooms were luxurious, the sheets clean, the customers were carefully chosen. So Iverson accepted the boss’s offer.

The first manager kept an iron rule. He was called Paul Sykes. Having met him somewhere else, Iverson would never have guessed the man’s profession. He was middle-aged and looked like any ordinary accountant or clerk working with a "respectable" firm. He was in charge of two more brothels, ordinary ones, one sitting across the street. Iverson needed not to worry. Sykes was a professional. When he had convinced himself that Iverson worked well, he took the newcomer under his wings and helped him a lot .

Naturally, the young man tried at first to protect his brother from his surroundings. But it proved impossible to keep the curious child away from the young men and the women across the street. When he tried to lock the boy in, Johnny became restless and aggressive, whereas he was happy when he could visit his friends. Iverson made it very clear that no one was to touch the boy. He was backed up by the boss and Sykes, but this became less and less necessary.

He found himself becoming more comfortable in his position. At least during the day. At night the frightened girl came back, throwing him into an abyss of self-doubt, fear and despair. Was it right to work here? What if they were caught by the police? What if they found out he was a woman?

Sometimes, he was in the cellar with the masked men again. There was no god to pray to. Drinking did not help, only made him sick. Sometimes, when it was very bad, he vaguely thought of killing himself, but what would become of his brother? When the demons came at night, he could only sit behind his locked door, sobbing, rocking himself back and forth, biting his hands to prevent himself from screaming and waking Johnny or somebody else.

But he could not hide from his brother how he felt. Somehow, the boy seemed to understand. One night Iverson had forgotten to lock his door. Johnny slipped in, one of the women from across the street in his wake, a tall, slender young African called Elizabeth.

Iverson rose to throw them both out, before the woman would discover his secret, but without a word, she took him into her arms, in no way astonished to find the body of a woman. She brought comfort and rest for many nights to come. Ashamed and bewildered at first, he accepted the gift gratefully. He was young, and Elizabeth’s gentle lovemaking took some of the pain away. He also found out that it felt good to give back the gentle tenderness he received. Johnny’s choice had been right. She became Iverson’s lover. And his friend and confidante. His secret was safe with her.

A bit later, Johnny brought in a black mongrel puppy from the streets. By now, Iverson had come to accept his brother’s gifts. He kept the puppy, and it grew up into a huge dog. He trained it as a watch dog. When it died, he kept one of the puppies it had fathered. Thus he was never seen without a large black dog at his side, which earned him the name Dog Man.

*****

Years passed. Sykes died, and Dog Man took over his position as the main overseer of the two brothels, as the boss suggested. He and Elizabeth were lovers. Dog Man also had taken in his lover’s brother, Ares, as a doorman. The tall African became another of this closest confidants.

Johnny began to grow up, to become a man. It became impossible to keep him away from the young men and the women. They taught him, and Johnny enjoyed it. Iverson was furious when he found out, but Elizabeth and the boss calmed him down. He finally relented.

But Johnny also started to roam the streets and to prostitute himself. Apart from making him sad, it also got Dog Man into trouble with the pimps who controlled the street boys, and it was not easy to find an arrangement.

Dog Man tried to talk to his brother about it, explaining to him that it was not necessary, that it was dangerous in the streets, that in God’s name he could work at the brothel together with the other young men, but Johnny refused.

"Have to go out." he said. "This is all I can do."

Dog Man scolded himself for his weakness, but he did not have the heart to lock his brother in, or even to refuse the coins Johnny brought to him day after day.

Major Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach was sitting in a corner near a window in his favourite public house. From his position he had a good view of the large room. The inn was frequented mostly by military men like him. Here he could enjoy being alone among people, because everybody minded his own business. The officers he knew had given up long ago inviting him to join their company for a drink or a talk. They had either respected his wish for being left alone by encountering his cold, inaccessible attitude, or they had learned to do so by his blunt rudeness.

Today, however, he would not be allowed to drink his beer and smoke his pipe in peace. The innkeeper had just placed a tankard on the table, when the Major noticed a young cadet, still half a boy, carefully making his way through the crowd. Klaus eyed him with suspicion. He had never seen this young man before. Must have been newly transferred to Bonn. Regular, open features, healthy complexion, tall, blonde hair.

The young man looked around as if he was trying to find someone. He was intercepted by the innkeeper, Mr Hünten, and exchanged a few words with him. Mr Hünten pointed to the corner where Klaus was sitting. Unbelievable. This cut-throat bastard of an innkeeper pointed him out to a complete stranger!

The young man came up straight to his table now. The Major’s fingers closed around the butt of the pistol in his pocket. He was off duty at the moment, so he wore a civilian’s overcoat. But he never went anywhere without a weapon.

The cadet stood to attention and saluted.

"Major von dem Eberbach?"

"None other." Klaus replied brusquely. "What is it, cadet?"

"The Town Commander wants to see you, Sir." the young man said. With a look at the untouched tankard of beer he added "It is most urgent, Herr Major."

Klaus raised the tankard and downed half of it, grimly staring at the cadet.

"Very well. I’ll call on him at once. — Wegtreten^*!" he snapped, and the cadet retreated hastily. No doubt he had heard stories about the terrible Major, who could frighten grown men, and maybe he had asked himself whether these stories were true. Tonight, he would have something to tell his comrades, Klaus thought grimly.

He emptied his tankard, unperturbed by a few officers who had followed the brief encounter with interest and were now laughing at the cadet’s hasty exit. He got up, threw a few coins on the table, and motioned to the innkeeper.

"A word, Hünten." he said when the man had hurried up to him.

"Här Majur?^**"

"If I see you pointing me out to a stranger ever again, I’ll rip your head off!" The Major did not speak in the local dialect, which he did when he was in a better mood.

"But Sir, I thought it was important!" Hünten tried to defend himself.

"You heard me. Good evening, Monsieur Hünten."

He left the innkeeper standing at the corner table, shaking his head, and went out into the street..

The door slammed shut behind him, and he took a deep breath of the cool, clear night air. The day had been stiflingly hot, but now there was a cool, refreshing breeze coming up from the Rhine.

"Verdammter Narr!^*" the Major murmured and went on his way to the main barracks near the Sterntor. A few whores eyed the tall, broad-shouldered man with the noble face. The Major stood over six feet, and had the matching physique, moving purposefully but with the grace of a predator. His green eyes and the mass of brown hair he wore at shoulder length, kept together with a leather string at the back of his neck, did not only make him attractive in the eyes of whores. He was a sight to look at, but the whores thought better of it. His purposeful steps and grim face did not invite an approach. There were other men around, not that good-looking maybe, but certainly more accessible.

The guards at the barracks saluted him, when the Major brushed past them. A few soldiers off duty were standing in the inner yard, talking to each other. Their conversation stopped, and they hastily stood to attention. The Major did not approve of lax behaviour. It made him angry. And no one who had ever been a source of anger to the Major wanted to repeat that experience. Except that unbelievable Englishman, Klaus thought grimly.

The Commander, a rotund grey-haired man with a moustache, looked up from the papers on his desk, when there was a short rap at the door. Major von dem Eberbach walked in briskly as usual and stood to attention.

"Ah, Eberbach." the Commander said, taking a few documents from the heap of papers on his desk. "You will make a journey to England. Germany, England, and America need your service in a mission of utmost importance."

//Of course, you old fool. I know that song and dance! But Germany, England and the New World together? What can be that important to send me away when the French possess the other shore of the Rhine?//

"Details, Sir?" Klaus looked at his superior.

"You have heard about Josef von Eyssen?" the Commander asked.

The Major thought for a moment.

"The inventor who vanished? I have heard about him."

"Yes, it was a long time ago." the Commander continued. "About thirty years. He was a brilliant young man, developed some mechanical improvements for warfare. And from one day to the other, he seemed to have vanished into thin air. Of course we investigated his disappearance, but for a long time to no avail."

The Commander paused, putting the tips of his fingers together.

//Now come to the point, you overstuffed capon. Why are you bothering me with something which happened thirty years ago?// Klaus thought, but he said nothing.

"We have just learned that he went to England to work for the British Government. We had suspected something like this, but could never verify it so far."

Klaus frowned. Now things became a bit more interesting.

"He married a Briton and had a child with her. About twenty-five years ago, he went over to the New World. He was wanted in Britain, because he secretly had worked together with the French."

"Double traitor." Klaus murmured.

"It gets even better. Von Eyssen must have made some really dark connections in America. We have learned that he and his wife were murdered twelve years ago. Their house was burned down. The culprits were never found."

"Sounds like a revenge act from a criminal organisation." the Major remarked. "You know there are organisations in many big cities in Europe and America, which make a business out of crime. There are organised gangs of beggars, thieves, smugglers, pimps. There are rivalling organisations. They fight each other about territories and shares. And their methods can be very cruel. — But you said von Eyssen had a child?"

"Two, by the time he was murdered. A girl and a boy. - Police constables found two charred bodies in the burned-down house. They believe them to be von Eyssen and his wife. No trace of other remains. No clues about what happened to the children." the Commander answered. "British Intelligence has learned recently that von Eyssen had developed plans for a new kind of ship in America." he went on. "A ship moving under water, propelled by a new kind of machine. You can imagine, Eberbach, what this means, should such a ship actually be constructed!"

The Major’s frown became deeper.

"The country which can build that kind of ship would have every advantage over other countries in sea warfare!"

"Exactly." The Commander nodded. "The plans had been thought lost, destroyed when the house burned down. But new developments show they have surfaced again, and the French are after them as well. The President of America would not like to see them in their hands. Neither does the Alliance, especially the King of England."

"But who could have the plans? The criminals who killed von Eyssen and his wife? Or von Eyssen’s children?"

"This is what you will have to find out, Eberbach." the Commander said.

The Major’s face was immobile.

"Very well, Sir. But America is a large continent. And with England and France after the plans as much as we are —"

"Oh well, there are not so many places the plans could be!" the commander said. "And Britain and America are our allies in this endeavour. It is planned to build the ship together."

Klaus gave his superior a sceptical look, which the Commander ignored.

"You will ride to Hamburg immediately and take a ship to Dover from there." He handed the Major some papers. "Your passport and further documents. From Dover you will go straight to London, where you will receive further instructions and meet the British agent who will accompany you to the New World —"

The Commander stopped for a moment. He braced himself. Now came the real hard part. Eberbach was very headstrong and temperamental, and he would not take this well. He saw the necessity of the decision his English colleague, Mr Carter, had made. But Carter never was the one to tell the Major ... The commander was an old soldier, but he did not look forward to what would come now ...

"Who is that British agent?" Klaus had become suspicious, seeing his superior hesitate.

The Commander cleared his throat.

"We as well as the Britons think it useful to have someone with — experience in — opening locked doors to find the plans. Perhaps it will be necessary to — steal them —" he ventured, trying to sound calm in the futile hope this would rub off on the Major.

When the Commander hesitated to name the British agent to work with him, Klaus had known that fate had burdened him with that insolent, arrogant, conceited, disrespectful, goddamned pervert thief again. But he took a secret pleasure in making his reluctant superior say the name. He knew he was to take dangers straight on in the service of whoever reigned the country, which was falling apart, changing. That was his work. And if the French caught him, he knew they would not kill him quickly. They would try to find out a lot, before they would let him rot away in one of their prisons or work him to death on one of their ships or in one of their quarries. And whoever had employed him might no longer reign then or would not move one finger to get him out anyway. He knew that his superior knew these things as well. And sometimes, the Major thought he was entitled to play this little game in exchange for his services. He would not let his superior off the hook.

"Who is it?" he insisted with the deceivingly calm half-smile that made his subordinates fall over themselves to carry out his orders. Or run for cover.

"You know who it is, Eberbach." the Commander tried. He knew he could order the Major away, but he would not admit to having been cowed by his difficult subordinate. "Dorian Red, the Earl of Gloria."

The Major’s face was stone, but it was the quiet before the storm.

"I thought as much." was all he said.

"Very well, Eberbach, that will be all." the Commander said hastily. He wanted the Major out of his room before the explosion. "You should be on your way soon. Good luck. And safe journey. — Wegtreten!"

The Major saluted and left the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

The Commander mopped his brow.

*****

The guards in the anteroom stood to attention when the Major stormed out. But they were neither fast enough nor brisk enough. He turned around to them.

"You call this standing to attention, soldier?" he snapped at the nearest one.

"Jawohl, Herr Major!" The soldier tried to stand as straight and immobile as possible.

"I thought as much. ICH SAGE: ES IST EINE VERDAMMTE SCHLAMPEREI!^* - You will join Major Losch’s cadets tomorrow morning at five. He will teach you to stand to attention. And tell him who sent you!"

"Jawohl, Herr Major!"

Klaus turned to the other guard.

"And you will join him, soldier. There is a spot on your uniform, and your boots are dirty. Looking at you, the French soldiers must think we are a bunch of marauders. YOU ARE A DISGRACE!"

"Jawohl, Herr Major!"

The soldiers stood to attention like wooden dolls for the rest of their duty. They had been inexperienced. More experienced soldiers would have known what to expect when the commander sent for Major von dem Eberbach at such a late hour and would have avoided giving the Major any reason for complaint.

*****

Klaus hurried straight away to the small guest house where he had a room when he was in town.

"Schmitz!" he bellowed.

"Här Majur?" Herr Schmitz, the owner of the guest house, a short, stout man in his forties, came from the cellar, carrying a few bottles of wine.

"Have my horse ready, I’ll leave immediately."

"Jawohl, Här Majur." Schmitz was not surprised about his lodger leaving at this late hour. It happened more than often. "Ich schecken dä Fränz en de Stall, on et Lisbeth mäht Üch jet für ongewähs zorääch."^**

"Thank you, Schmitz." The Major packed a few clothes and enough money to take him to Hamburg. When he came down again, there was Lisbeth, his host’s sixteen-year-old daughter, with a bundle which she handed him with a curtsey. Klaus knew that she and her two younger sisters had a crush on him. It was annoying and irritating, but he thanked the girl politely and took his leave from the family.

When he left, he heard the girls giggle behind his back, and the voice of Lisbeth: "Su ene staatse Käl!"^*

"Staatse Käl" indeed! The Schmitzens were good and honest people, but they should keep their daughters at bay.

****

A quarter of an hour later, the Major had left Bonn and was riding towards Cologne, still seething. For the next few days, he rode at a brisk pace, changing horses at regular intervals, giving himself a five hour rest every night. Normally, riding hard soothed his temper, but not this time. He was outraged. With the French in his country, he was sent to America to retrieve some construction plans for a ship of which God only knew whether it could been built anyway! — And what did these conceited British asswipes think, sending this vagabond, this thief, this disgrace of nobility on an assignment together with him? Again! Did they think him so thick that this decadent fool would be able to steal the plans right away from under his nose? He did not set much store by what his superior had said about Britain being his country’s ally in this endeavour. Neither did he trust the Americans. — But what made him rage inwardly like a wounded tiger was the pain he felt in merely thinking of the Englishman. A pain he always felt in regard to Lord Gloria and never could account for. He would have torn his heart out if it would help him to get rid of that pain ...

He was still angry when he reached Hamburg and boarded the ship taking him to England. Officially, he was travelling as Friedrich Paulus, a rich German on an educational trip.

He brooded during the whole journey across the Channel.

The White Cliffs of Dover came into view. It was raining hard, which did not improve the Major’s mood. He rented a horse and went on his way to London immediately. God help the highwaymen who would dare to cross his way ...

The next day, he reached London and checked into an inn near Gower Street. As instructed, he sent a message to Carter & Ravendale, a firm of lawyers. He and Lord Gloria would receive further instructions for their journey to the New World from Mr Carter, who was in charge of the British part of their assignment. Their meeting was scheduled for the next day at eleven in the morning in Mr Carter’s office in Oxford Street.

The Earl of Gloria was puzzling over an especially difficult lock. Being a master thief — one of the best, if not the best — demanded constant training. And learning. The locksmiths kept building new locks, which became more difficult to pick every time, and he had to keep pace with the developments. Sometimes he thought about building a lock himself and sell it. This would save him and his people some effort ...

He had just found out how the mechanism worked, when there was a knock at the door, and Bonham, his second-in-command, looked in.

"Messenger for you, M’lord."

"Thank you, Bonham. I’ll come down."

The messenger was a young man in travelling clothes, who identified himself as an employee of Messrs Carter & Ravendale from London.. He stared for a moment unabashedly at the Earl, before he remembered his good manners. Lord Gloria was indeed a picture to stare at, a tall, slender figure in an electric blue dressing gown, enhancing the colour of his eyes, a lion’s mane of golden curls framing his handsome face and falling down to his shoulders.

He took the note the messenger had brought, broke the seal and read the letter.

"Thank you." he said. "Tell your employer I will be there. — Oh, and you must be exhausted from the journey, hungry and thirsty. Go to the kitchen and let Jones give you a good meal."

The young man bowed.

"Thank you, Milord."

When he had left, Lord Gloria rang for his accountant Mr James, who also acted as his personal valet. Mr James entered, a ledger under his arm. He was a short, thin young man with quick blue eyes and wavy black hair, which constantly fell over one eye. He looked worried and wary.

"The figures for this month, Milord —"

Lord Gloria shook his head impatiently.

"I don’t want the figures now, Mr James. I want you to pack for a long journey."

Mr James’ visible eye became even more wary.

"Milord?"

Lord Gloria twirled around in a cloud of electric blue and gold.

"We’re going to London, Mr James!"

"Again?! We’ve been there only last month, Milord! And the prices the innkeepers ask for a halfway decent accommodation — they should all be hanged! And while they’re at it, they should also hang all the cloth merchants, the tailors and the shoemakers! I barely managed to pay all their bills, and —"

"- and then we’re going to New York!"

Mr James slammed his ledger on a small table flanking the big open fire. A vase toppled and spilled its contents of expensive Dutch tulips and water on the carpet.

"Milord — will you listen to me for once! Moneywise, we are in no condition to go either to London or to New York!"

"Oh!" was all the Earl said, retreating a step from the mess of broken china, flowers and water on the carpet. "Ah, it was that ugly vase from Grandmother anyway. No great harm done."

He did not show it, but lately he worried about his accountant. Such violent outbreaks were not like the Mr James he knew. Come to think of it, his Jamesie had been rather wary and reticent lately. Less tearful temper tantrums — a blessing in itself — but stronger objection to the Earl’s plans. A sulky, stubborn resistance that could not be charmed away by His Lordship. Such an outbreak, however —

He caught himself. His accountant was worried for no reason anyway.

"His Majesty the King of England wants us to go to New York." he explained.

Mr James had snatched up his ledger from the table when the vase had toppled. Now he clutched it against his narrow chest.

"So?" His voice and demeanour were still wary. He seemed in no way placated by the news that His Majesty the King of England himself would pay for their expenses.

"Last time, it took His Majesty half a year to pay!" he grumbled.

Lord Gloria ignored his objections.

"We’ll go to London first to receive instructions and to meet up with the Major." He spoke lightly, although he was well aware that his words would provoke another outbreak.

"The Major?!" The small accountant’s one visible eye widened in horror. "That horrible German? No way! You will not go to New York with that violent, ill-tempered moron!"

This was a bit much even for Lord Gloria. He would not tolerate such disrespectful behaviour from one of his employees — even if the employee in question had been his lover for some time. He did not like it, but Mr James must be shown his place.

Hands on his hips, he towered over the small accountant, his eyes blazing blue galvanic fires. His ancestors had commanded thousands of men — or at least a bunch of pirates — and he, the last Earl of Gloria to date, commanded a highly trained group of thieves. He could play other tunes with his accountant, if necessary.

"Mr James," he said. "This is my house. And in this house it is I who decides where I’ll be going, whom I’ll meet, and whom I will take with me. Besides, I will not tolerate anyone speaking ill of Major von dem Eberbach in my house. — Now go and pack my suitcases. You will accompany me!"

For a moment, Mr James met the two blue flames with a glare of his own.

"I am no serf, but a free man." he said.

For a moment, there was a tense silence, then Lord Gloria’s stern demeanour lessened a bit. He sighed.

"I know that, Mr James." he said. "But it would be very kind of you to do as I asked. Please?"

He came closer to his accountant, who for a moment seemed at a loss whether he should throw himself into the Earl’s arms or run away. The moment passed, and James stood his ground.

"Very well, Milord." His tone was icy, forbidding any closeness. He turned abruptly and left the room.

Thoughtfully, Lord Gloria twirled a strand of his curls around his slender fingers. James was strange lately, that was for sure. He discarded the thought with a shrug. It was much more pleasant to look forward to meeting the Major again ...

*****

Mr James packed the numerous clothes and shoes, fragrant oils and perfumes and countless other items the Earl would want for his journey. He was trembling with rage, a rage not directed especially towards Lord Gloria, but more towards himself and the situation he was in.

He might act foolishly more often than not, but Mr James was no fool. He knew quite well that the Earl had done more for him than anyone else. He had taken James in from the streets, had paid men who taught him to read and write, and how to behave in the company of educated people. He had given money for his training as an accountant, and had taken him in as a part of his household.

His mistake had been to make James his lover as well. Working for a bully who had taught him how to steal and how to prostitute himself, James had thought it better not to have any feelings at all. But it had been impossible not to bloom in the radiant sun of the beautiful Earl’s attentions, not to open his heart to his friendliness, not to admire his wit and beauty.

James had never thought that he, the little runt, who had managed to develop into a pretty young man, would be the Earl’s only lover. But he had deceived himself in thinking this would not affect him. His self-deceit had worked well, as long as he had Lord Gloria’s full attention when he was with him. But after a while, James realised that he bored the Earl. At the same time he began to notice Lord Gloria’s other lovers, young, roguish noblemen, mirroring the Earl’s beauty and lack of fidelity.

James understood that the Earl not only collected beautiful works of art, but beautiful and interesting men as well. Caesar Gabriel, a young genius, speaking a lot of languages, a brilliant art historian and mathematician, beautiful as a young saint — interesting for two months, then no longer. James would never have said so, would never have dared to approach the young man about it, but he saw the hurt and bewildered boy behind the genius and could understand him. He realised that he felt the same. And it made him furious. Why wasn’t he able to enjoy the privileges of being a member of the Earl’s household, to be the Earl’s accountant, and to be content with that? Hell, he was even "Mr" James, where Bonham was just Bonham, and Jones was just Jones, whereas the other members of the Earl’s group of thieves were just called by their first names. Why did he want more? And what he needed wasn’t just a man’s body from time to time. A man for a night could be bought, and no one knew this better than Mr James. Why did he want someone who would listen, share joy and trouble with him, and maybe his bed? And why did he want this someone to be Lord Gloria, of all people?

He was furious with himself, about his indecisiveness. He could not leave the Earl’s services, because he still felt deeply for him, in a mixture of gratitude, admiration, and attraction. Some would have called it love, maybe. And with the Earl’s fatal attraction to the German Major, it had become impossible to leave. James had sometimes wished deep down in his heart that just one lover would become bored with the Earl and leave him, would make him feel just once the sadness of being rejected. The terrible German might do just that, should he ever yield. But he was too much of a punishment, way too dangerous. James knew how headstrong Lord Gloria could be in obtaining something he wanted. Some people went to Africa to chase lions and tigers. James thought this was madness. And the same madness possessed his benefactor and employer in chasing the Major, whom James regarded as much more frightening than any predator would ever be. Thus he saw it as his duty to protect Lord Gloria from himself — another foolish idea he scolded himself about.

*****

Bonham shook his head, when the Earl and his accountant climbed into the coach to travel to London. The Earl was all happiness about a new assignment, together with the Major, and he looked beautiful in his new dark blue suit, his eyes sparkling. Mr James followed sulking, his face a small thundercloud.

The Earl’s second- in-command was worried about James as well. It had not escaped his attention that the accountant had become more distant and ill-tempered lately. Bonham would have preferred Lord Gloria to take him along. James looked like trouble ...

The Major arrived at eleven o’clock sharp. He had had a dreadful night full of dreams he could not remember. Not that he laid any store by dreams, it merely annoyed him that he seemed to begin sleeping fitfully and dreaming a lot when he knew he would meet that thief again. Seeing that the Earl had not yet arrived did nothing to improve his mood.

Mr Carter was a small, thin man with a narrow, cruel mouth. Everything about him was grey — his hair, his suit, his skin. His eyes seemed to have no colour at all, and his face looked incapable of any emotion. Nevertheless, he seemed as annoyed as the Major about having to wait for Lord Gloria.

The clock on the mantelpiece showed five minutes past eleven, when Mr Carter’s secretary finally announced the young nobleman.

The Earl knew how to stage an entrance. For a very short moment, the Major felt a warmth in his heart, as if the sun had broken through the clouds on a grey, overcast day. Lord Gloria was dressed in a light grey suit with a dark red vest, tight pants, riding boots matching the colour of his vest, showing off his long legs. A lion’s mane framed his finely sculpted face, just as the Major had remembered him.

"You are five minutes late, Lord Gloria." Mr Carter said sourly.

"I apologise." the Earl answered lightly. "Je suis très désolé.^*" It was obvious that he was not désolé at all, and this annoyed Mr Carter.

"You are not wasting my time, Milord, but the time of His Majesty the King." he said icily. "You are already familiar with the assignment, Major von dem Eberbach. So you will fill in Lord Gloria." He took two envelopes from his desk and handed one to each man.

"A passage on the ‘Pride of Britain’, bound for New York. You will leave tomorrow. In New York you will meet your colleagues, agents Ichabod Crane and Johannes Hardenberg. You will find details in here. — The ‘Pride of Britain’ will leave from Dover Harbour at ten o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. So there is no time to loose. — Good morning, Gentlemen."

He left the room, indicating that their meeting was over.

*****

The Major briskly hurried down the steps and left the building. He was already on his way to the stables to rent a horse. The Earl’s soft voice stopped him.

"Major von dem Eberbach?" He pronounced the name correctly. He had always done so, the Major registered grimly. He turned.

"Was?!"

Lord Gloria stood on the entrance steps, an amused smile curling the edges of his lips.

//That damn idiot!// Klaus thought. //Every single step he does, he seems to think there is some painter ready to paint him, because he is so good-looking! Who does he think he is? Some Greek god?// He could have bitten himself for thinking such nonsense. Here he was, wasting time because of that damn fop!

"Aren’t you supposed to inform me?" Lord Gloria asked.

"When we’ve arrived." the Major snapped, turned and was on his way again. The Earl followed him. They went down Oxford Street and reached Charing Cross Road. A small figure at the corner let them pass and then followed, cautiously trailing a few steps behind.

Dorian turned around.

"Come on, Mr James. We have to leave the hotel and be on our way to Dover. So we better rent a coach. Now come closer and say good morning to the Major. He won’t bite you!"

The Major’s mood had not improved when he became aware that the Earl had brought his accountant and personal valet. Of course it would work as part of the cover. If the Earl would play his role as an eccentric British nobleman and art collector, it would be fitting that he brought his own servant. On the other hand the little troublemaker would slow them down.

"That’s what you say!" he growled at Lord Gloria. In his eyes, Mr James was even worse than the Earl. Greedy, stingy, and a disgrace for the male gender. He knew that this dislike was mutual.

Mr James glared defiantly at the Major. Then his one visible eye darted longingly to the bowl of a beggar sitting at the next corner. A few pennies were in it.

The Earl knew his accountant very well. Having passed the beggar, he knew exactly what the small man was about to do.

"No." he said firmly.

Mr James pouted and left the beggar alone.

They reached the stables and arranged for a horse and a small coach. The Major was glad that he would have some time to himself before being on a ship together with Lord Gloria and this little abomination the Earl called his accountant. He left for Dover almost immediately.

*****

They met in Dover early the next morning at a guest house. The room was almost empty, but the Major had again chosen a table in a corner near a window, where he had a good view.

Lord Gloria looked a bit tired. Mr James was outside, occupied with the Earl’s luggage.

The Major indicated him with a move of his head to the window.

"You want to take him along?"

"He has been a bit — sad lately." Dorian answered. He ordered some bread and cheese.

"You’ve got to eat something." he encouraged the Major, then he referred back to the subject. "I think he needs a change. And travelling is educational."

//Oh Herr, gib mir Gedul,.// Klaus thought. //Und gib sie mir schnell!//^*

He lowered his eyelids and smiled for a moment. To a spectator, it would look as if the two gentlemen were having a pleasant conversation. To someone who knew the Major, it would mean to run for cover quickly. Lord Gloria only found it most attractive.

"This is no educational trip for your favourite pet, Lord Gloria. No gift to placate him when he is sulking about some trivial idiocy! This is serious. Damn serious for you as well as for me! Send him back home to his books!"

The Earl shook his lion’s mane, smiling. But then he became serious.

"Believe me, I know this is no game. But I do not see why he should not be with me. He could prove useful."

The Major thought that Mr James would be nearly as useful as a festering boil in a bad place, but he kept himself back from saying so. He would try to keep as calm as possible not to endanger the assignment. And he’d better begin with it now. He really did not know why Lord Gloria always made him that angry. Maybe because the Earl was obviously studying him, scrutinising him, and leaving no doubt about his thoughts —

"Did you tell Carter you want to take him along?" Klaus finally asked.

"Of course." Dorian answered primly. "He had no objections."

//Hundsfott, verfluchter!^**// Klaus thought.

"I have objections!" he snapped.

Dorian gave him a hard stare. His eyes blazed. The Major found himself thinking that Lord Gloria looked like an angry Greek god. Maybe Helios, the Sun God —

//What am I thinking?//

It was just for a moment, then the Earl relented.

"Of course he’ll learn nothing about what we will be doing." he said soothingly.

The Major snorted. He did not doubt that Carter had agreed to the Earl taking his servant along. And he could do nothing but put up with that. If British Intelligence decided to oblige every whim of this butterfly behaving like the spoiled youth that he was ... It was not Carter who protected and pampered Lord Gloria, that much was for sure. It must be someone in a higher place. And it was easy to guess why, the Major thought grimly.

The innkeeper brought their meals. The Major eyed his pie, bread and cheese suspiciously. He hated strange food. Dicke Bohnen mit Speck^*** would be better now, even at this early hour.

They ate in silence. Mr James showed up shortly, and was sent away on another errand by the Earl.

After the meal, the Major took out his pipe and tobacco. He scowled at Lord Gloria, lit his pipe and blew foul smelling smoke in the Earl’s direction. Dorian coughed and waved it away.

"What are you smoking? The stuffing of your mattress?"

The Major gave him his reptilian smile.

"Let’s get some fresh air." he suggested, ignoring Lord Gloria’s last remark.

*****

They walked in silence for a while, until they had left the immediate harbour area and had reached the town itself. It was still early, and not many people around. Klaus scanned the area sharply, but there was no one near them who looked suspicious.

"We are to find plans for a new weapon." he finally began. "A kind of ship which is supposed to move under water."

"Now, this sounds really interesting." the Earl said.

"Fifteen years ago, the man who made the construction plans went over to the New World with his family. He was of German origin. Thirty years ago, you English had apparently offered him enough, so he had left Germany for England."

"And what made him leave for the New World fifteen years ago? A new offer?"

"Maybe. But the New World brought him no luck. Twelve years ago, his house in New York was burned down, he and his wife were killed. At least this is what New York Police assumes from the two bodies they found in the ruins. Their two children have disappeared."

"Mysterious!"

"It was believed that the plans for the underwater ship had been destroyed together with the inventor’s house. But now Mr President apparently has heard from some source that the plans still exist. And neither the Alliance, nor your King or the President would want them to fall into Napoleon’s hands."

Lord Gloria twirled a strand of his curls around one finger, which he often did when he was thinking.

"There are many open questions. Why did the children disappear? Are they still alive? How old where they when the family was killed? Could they have the plans?"

The Major emptied his second pipe at a cornerstone.

"More questions: Why did the people who have the plans lie low for twelve years? Did they obtain them just lately? Are the inventor and his wife actually dead, or is it all a deceit?"

"Maybe our American contacts know more." Dorian said. "This Crane seems to be a clever man."

The Major frowned.

"I have never heard of him."

"He wrote a book about criminal deduction. He surveys the place of a crime to find hints about the criminal. He writes about how to treat objects found at the place of a crime. He dissects crime victims to find their cause of death."

The Major thought for a moment.

"This sounds like a clever man indeed." he agreed. "You would have to watch out for this fellow!"

Lord Gloria smiled.

"That’s why I read his book. You should read it as well. I’ll give it to you. For our long voyage. — And the other one? Do you know anything about him? The name sounds German."

Klaus shook his head.

"The only person of that name I have ever heard of was a Frankfurt merchant working for us. He was killed by highwaymen on a journey to the North. His wife and son, a boy of about twelve, had been with him. They found the man and his wife in the woods, as well as his two servants and several highwaymen. All dead. No trace of the boy. But that was about fifty years ago. It would surprise me if our man had something to do with this family."

Dorian looked out at the sea. The day promised to become fine, and the ocean was considerably calm.

"It is all so mysterious." he said dreamily.

The Major gave him a cold look.

"Stop playing the simpering fool! I know you’ve got more brains than that!"

Lord Gloria bowed mockingly.

"Why, thank you, Major."

"What annoys me," Klaus went on, ignoring his companion’s last remark, "is that we have no clue where to look for the plans. And besides, we might be watched by your own people!"

Dorian laughed. It sounded pleasant, even to the Major’s ears.

"Carter would like to see me hanged rather than not." he said. "Of course he does not trust me. But I’m useful. And he has nothing in his hands to use against me. — My dear Major, I am quite aware that we are in the line of fire, doing the dirty work which others will claim as their own. But beggars can’t be choosers, can they?"

The Major looked at him, and Dorian felt himself reminded of Ares, the God of War. Major Eberbach would be a perfect model for a painter taking on that subject.

"This is the task we have." he said grimly. "Good to know that you finally understand. — Let’s go back."

When they arrived at the inn again, Mr James was eating a frugal breakfast of a crust of bread and a glass of water. He glared reproachfully at the Earl, obviously angry about being sent on an errand, while Lord Gloria went away with the Major. Dorian said nothing, just held his accountant’s gaze. After a moment, Mr James lowered his eyes to his plate.

The "Pride of Britain" was a small, fast ship, and they were the sole passengers. The captain, a man named Mainwaring, his first officer Mr Robinson and the crew seemed trustworthy and honest enough, and they knew how to sail a ship. This satisfied the Major, who was not looking forward to at least a month on a ship together with a foppish pervert and a sick miser prone to delivering pathetic scenes at every given opportunity. With the good crew, however, they would stand a small chance should they be attacked.

Although they both had never undertaken a long sea journey, neither the Earl nor the Major became seasick. When asked later about their voyage to America, they both would say that here had been nothing out of the ordinary.

Had they not been such taciturn men, Captain Mainwaring and his first officer would have told a different story. The strange German, whose name was Paulus, was up at dawn every day. He had a small keg full of water brought to his cabin and was said to lift it and put it down again at least a hundred times. He used to give Mr Robinson and the Earl fencing lessons, chasing them both mercilessly around the boat deck. The crew thought him mad, and they were afraid of him, because of his enormous strength, his agility, and his short temper. He surely was strange, even for a rich German.

When he was not driven around the deck by the German, the Earl spent his time with knife throwing, as if he were at a carnival. Although he was very good at it and never endangered anyone, this was what unnerved the Captain most of all. He was an honest, straightforward old soldier, and eccentric behaviour was hard to take for him. Not to mention that the Earl was as agile as every sailor, climbing around between the masts and sails, up to the lookout every day. He was a gentle, friendly man, but he upset the crew even more than the German, because they were convinced that a man being as pretty as a woman would bring them bad luck.

The Earl’s servant was another source for constant trouble. He was permanently seasick, but insisted on leaving his cabin every day, "to get some fresh air". Unfortunately, he never was actually well enough to manage. He hung miserably over the rail, barely able to hold himself upright.

The Captain had seen it coming. One day, the sea was a bit rougher than usual, and the ship swayed heavily. Mr James lost his balance when the ship came up on a wave, he fell forward — and was caught by a strong arm.

Both Dorian and the Captain in their cabins heard a scream and hurried upstairs. Paulus strode up to them, carrying an unconscious Mr James under one arm.

"For God’s sake, keep him in his cabin!" he thundered at the Earl. "Or at least stay near him when he’s outside!"

He shoved the accountant into Dorian’s arms, turned around and strode off.

"Wait!" Lord Gloria called after him.

To everyone’s amazement, the German actually stopped and turned around again.

"Thank you, Herr Paulus. Also on behalf of my accountant."

Paulus growled.

"Next time I’ll let him go overboard. To the sharks, where he belongs!"

Lord Gloria crossed his arms. His eyes darkened. Both men ignored the baffled Captain and the crew members who had stopped their work and were observing the scene. They stared at each other, jaws set, green eyes locked into blue ones. The tension was mounting. The spectators had fallen silent.

Then the Earl smiled.

"You are very kind, Mr Paulus." He bowed slightly, as far as this was possible with the still unconscious Mr James in his arms.

Captain Mainwaring cleared his throat.

"On behalf of the safety of your accountant, your own, that of Mr Paulus and my crew, I must ask you to keep the man indoors." he said.

The German nodded.

"You are right, Captain Mainwaring. I suggest the Cat’ O Nine Tails, though, if he disobeys."

"Captain Mainwaring," the Earl said, "I apologise for my accountant’s negligence. I promise it will not happen again."

The Captain cleared his throat once more. His eyes fell on the members of his crew who were standing idly, watching the scene.

"Now what in the name of hell are you gawking at? Back to your work, your lazy rats, or I’ll have you whipped until your skin hangs in rags from your bones!"

Hastily the deckhands returned to scrubbing the deck, others to coiling ropes, the cook retreated to his pots and pans, and the men who were off duty vanished below deck.

"Now, Mr Robinson," Paulus said, "are you ready?" They resumed the fencing lesson the German had interrupted catching Mr James.

The Earl was left with his accountant, who slowly regained consciousness. He put him into bed again.

"Why didn’t he take his chance?" Mr James asked. He had grown up in the streets, where the law was to find someone weaker than yourself , steal from him and beat him up if he tried to defend himself. The strong had never missed any chance to do so.

Lord Gloria sighed.

"James, he is no savage. He would never kill a defenceless man!"

"I thought my last hour had come, when I saw that this German was holding me." Mr James moaned. "And what about throwing me overboard next time?"

"I suggest you stay indoors for the rest of the journey, if you are not well." Dorian suggested. "Captain’s orders." He pushed away strands of black hair from Mr James’ face, but the accountant turned his back to him, facing the wall.

//Not good.// the Earl thought. //Not good at all, if he reacts this way even when he is sick.// He was puzzled about his accountant’s behaviour, but deep in his heart he admitted that he deserved Mr James ignoring him.

He had been tricked into sleeping with a man at the age of thirteen, a man who had cheated him out of his "pay", a painting Dorian had wanted. Over the years he had come to like sleeping with men, but he never would make any commitment. He had learned from his seducer, who had used him for his purposes. Now he himself collected interesting men and used them for his purposes from time to time, keeping them on the edge, stringing them along. Dorian knew it was a mean thing to do, and sometimes he was disgusted with himself. Could he not do any better than to pass his own humiliation on to his lovers?

For a long time, he had not even recognised he was doing this. His lovers had never complained, maybe had not even felt used in doing him a favour or two. James had been different. Of course, he had not belonged to the crowd of spoiled young noblemen the Earl used to surround himself with. And neither had Caesar Gabriel. Dorian had found it most annoying that Caesar had complained about his behaviour towards him, when he had just grown accustomed to dealing with James’ tearful temper tantrums. It was definitely boring that they both could not understand when an affair was over.

Then he had met the Major for the first time. And after some time he had recognised that the Major, should he ever yield to Dorian’s advances, would have his own, very different ideas about an affair being over or not. There was a hidden passion in the man which might prove destructive. But Dorian could not help dreaming about the wild, noble and elusive warrior, as lithe, graceful and dangerous as a beast of prey. He would never be able to corrupt a man with such a sincerity and innate nobility, which justified the name of "Iron Klaus". And he did not want to corrupt him. Never. He admired and respected Major von dem Eberbach, though the Major never left any doubt how much he despised someone like the Earl. Or did he?

Dorian left the cabin. On deck, he dreamily looked out over the sea.

A bit more than a month after their departure, the "Pride of Britain" reached New York, and the passengers bid farewell to Captain Mainwaring and his crew. The Captain could hardly conceal his relief. He had to admit, apart from the eccentricities of his passengers, it had been a good voyage: No lulls, no storms, no pirates, no battles. But, although no one would have said it aloud, the Captain and his men thought that next time they actually would prefer a storm or pirates.

Lord Gloria and his servant as well as the Major had presented their documents to the customs officers. Mr James, who had recovered miraculously as soon as he had firm ground under his feet again, was busy with retrieving the Earl’s luggage. Lord Gloria and the Major stood on the quay amid a lot of workers loading and unloading ships, carrying crates, baskets, and bales, rolling barrels, pushing carts, lifting heavy loads with cranes. The Major scanned his surroundings, his pipe nonchalantly in the right corner of his mouth, eyes narrowed, very alert. He did not believe for a moment that they would be left alone on the new continent. Someone would be following them — one of Carter’s agents, a Frenchman, even one of his own people. At the same time he was on the lookout for men who might pass as one of their contacts — Crane or Hardenberg. A difficult endeavour, because no one had given them any description of the American agents. Another drawback in this damned assignment. Next time, they could make a fool of somebody else. Lieutenant Bentz, for instance. About time he learned the ropes ...

The Earl stood a short distance away from him, apparently enjoying the sun and the fresh wind, taking in the colourful scenery, the hustle and bustle, the forest of shipmasts, the cries of the seagulls, the shouts of the workers. Today he wore a light grey suit and a canary yellow vest, as the Major, dressed in sombre navy blue, had noted with disdain.

Klaus emptied his pipe impatiently. He had retrieved his luggage — two bags he could easily carry himself — almost ten minutes ago. If the Earl and his lapdog didn’t hurry up, very well. He would wait no longer and try to find a halfway decent inn. After all, New York did not look as backward and godforsaken as he had expected. At least the harbour was as busy as maybe Hamburg or Dover.

Mr James finally had retrieved the Earl’s luggage and his own — all in all a big trunk, two heavy, bulky bags and a small one. He had refused the services of a man with a cart, who would have transported the luggage easily against a small fee. So he struggled along, dragging and pushing the heavy trunk, juggling three bags at the same time, making quite a spectacle of himself.

"Gottverdammter Dummkopf!^*" The Major pushed through the crowd to meet Mr James. He would not have the accountant delay them any further, even if this meant to force Lord Gloria to carry that damned trunk himself! The Earl trailed after him.

"Milord!" Mr James saw the two men walking towards him. The horrible Major looked angry again. Perhaps it would be better to hurry up. He waved at his master and bumped one of the heavy bags into the back of a man who passed him by. The impact almost threw him off balance.

"Watch where you’re going!" he snapped at the man, who turned around.

"What did you say, my friend?"

Mr James realised at once that he had made more than one mistake: First: The man wore a uniform, not that of a soldier or a customs official, but definitely a uniform. Second: He was the wrong guy to snap at. Third: So far, he had thought Major von dem Eberbach the most frightening man on earth. But this man seemed to be even more frightening. He was tall, at least as tall as the Major, with the same wide shoulders and the same proud, arrogant demeanour. Black wiry hair stood wildly around his head, and his eyes were a clear blue, cold and inscrutable, set in a sharp-featured, hard face.

Another man might have been upset and angry at Mr James’s rudeness, but this man was calm, dangerously calm.

Mr James gave a frightened yelp, realising his situation. He would have left the luggage and run for safety, but it was too late. With one quick movement, the tall stranger had taken him by the neck. His lips parted slightly, revealing teeth sharpened to points. Mr James whimpered. //What is this man?// he thought with the part of his brain that was still functioning, not paralysed by fear. //A policeman? What kind of policemen do they have here? Lord Almighty!//

"You seem to have just arrived, my friend." the man with the pointed teeth remarked. His voice was harsh and had the same hard German edge as the Major’s, although his tone was calm. "Did you come with this ship?" He indicated the "Pride of Britain" behind Mr James. His grip was hard but not too much so. Just enough to prevent the accountant from struggling. It did not hurt. Yet. To the people around them, it appeared as if the two men were just talking.

And that was what the Earl and the Major noticed, making their way through the crowd.

"A policeman." Lord Gloria was a bit alarmed. "How can he get in trouble with a constable, as soon as we have set foot on firm land again?"

"I told you not to bring him along!" the Major snapped.

"Be it as it may, I cannot leave him with a policeman!"

"Answer me. Did you come here with this ship?" The grip on Mr James’s neck had increased.

"Maybe, maybe not." the accountant managed.

"Is something wrong, Constable?" a gentle British voice said behind the policeman. A tall young man with a mass of blonde hair and a dark-haired man who looked strict and forbearing had taken posture behind Mr James.

The constable’s uncanny eyes turned to them. He scrutinised them for a moment, but did not move. In a conversational tone he said in German:

"Und müsst’ ich auch wandeln im finsteren Tal ..."^*

He had spoken the words by which they were to recognise their contacts.

"So fürcht’ ich kein Unheil." Lord Gloria continued after an initial moment of surprise.

"Denn Du bist bei mir." The Major ended.

The policeman released Mr James, who had not understood a word and gaped at his employer, the Major, and the constable.

"Follow me." the tall constable now said curtly. He lead them away from the docks into a quiet street where a coach was waiting. A thin barefooted girl in a ragged red dress stood by the horses. The policeman threw her a coin.

"Thank you."

The Major frowned. At a second glance, the "girl" turned out to be a young man, about seventeen years old. His profession was obvious. But although he looked thin, dishevelled and dirty, he did not look underfed or neglected.

The young man lingered around, while they were loading their luggage into the coach. He pushed a mass of unkempt dark hair away from his face, looking intently at the three new arrivals. The Major did not like this at all. But would anyone having them watched by a person behaving that obviously? Even if the boy was not spying on them, his curiosity was annoying.

His look had nothing sultry, though. It was probing, as if he wanted to see into their heads and their hearts.

//What the hell does he want?// the Major thought. His idea about the boy spying on them did not feel right. It was different, as if this boy who had never seen him before could see and know things about him he wanted to be left alone —

//Strange.// the Earl thought. //He is beautiful. And it is as if he knew me just by looking at me -//

Mr James felt as if he had been holding a shield in front of himself for self-defence, and suddenly this shield had been knocked out of his hands.

The boy sauntered up to him.

"Give me some money, Mister?" He smiled.

And Mr James smiled back. Lord Gloria had never seen that smile on him. It looked as innocent as that of the beggar boy. Then Mr James took a small coin out of his pocket and gave it to the young man. The Earl drew in his breath sharply.

"Da brat’ mir doch einer n’ Storch!"^* the Major broke out.

This dissolved the strange spell, and the constable gently pulled the young man away from the three men.

"Off with you!" He pushed the boy in the direction of a lane leading away from the docks. Now a coach driver came hurriedly up to the coach from one of the public houses. Under the grim look of their guide, he opened the coach door. The Earl and his accountant climbed in, but the Major preferred to sit next to the driver.

"He’ll bring you to the hotel. I’ll meet you there in an hour."

The strange, taciturn constable turned around and left without a further word.

The coach began to move, and soon they were driving along fast, despite a lot of traffic. The Earl took in his surroundings, the people in the streets, the stately buildings. He was enjoying the drive. Mr James sat unhappily in a corner.

"What did I do?" He looked at his employer with frightened eyes. "I gave him money!" the coach jolted, and he was almost thrown from his seat, but this seemed to worry him less than acting against his principles in giving money to a beggar boy.

"How — what made me do this?"

"Don’t worry, Mr James — oops, that was close!" the Earl answered, when the coach swerved dangerously to the left. "I wonder whether the New York coachmen always drive like this. — It was just a few cents. — Oh, we have stopped!"

They had reached a wide, busy street.

"Your hotel, Gentlemen." The coachman indicated a high new building in front of them. "The Independent!"

He helped unload their luggage and drove off, after he had received a generous tip from the Earl on top of his fare.

Before they entered the hotel lobby, the Major looked around carefully. He spotted a man with an eyepatch, who seemed unduly interested in their arrival. Maybe it was just a moron, gaping at the damned Earl. No professional would behave like that.

*****

The "Independent Hotel" was decent and clean, of the sort where a man could bring his wife and children without having to fear for their safety. Nevertheless, the Major insisted on inspecting the three rooms they would occupy.

Lord Gloria stood in the middle of his room, arms crossed, watching the Major climb a chair to have a look at the panelled ceiling.

"What are you looking for?"

The Major motioned him to be silent, which was a mistake. When Lord Gloria wanted to find out something, he would find out. With one quick movement, he joined the Major on the chair.

Klaus nearly lost his balance. Damn, this bastard was so fast, and you never knew what devilish ideas he would be up to the next moment!

"What?" the Earl whispered into the Major’s ear.

"Peeping or listening holes to spy on us!" Klaus hissed back, sorely tempted to push the annoying Earl away.

There was a knock at the door, and both men jumped off the dangerously creaking chair. Mr James, who entered with a pitcher and a washbasin, had however seen them still standing on the chair together.

"Damn, I told you to lock the door!"

Ignoring the Major, Dorian took pitcher and basin from Mr James before the accountant could drop them.

"So kind of you, Mr James. Thank you very much." he said in an even voice. "Could you ask for some hot water now?" He gently pushed the accountant out of the room again.

Klaus snorted. He went to the door and turned the key, before he returned to the ceiling panels. Inwardly he was fuming.

//Damn, I hate it when he does such things! He is looking at me. If he opens his foul mouth to make one of his shameless remarks, I swear to God, I’ll break his nose!// But beneath his anger he felt a longing he had no words for, and this angered him even more.

Lord Gloria did not say another word, however. Sometimes he knew when to stop.

Half an hour later, the Major and the Earl sat at a corner table in the dining room of the hotel. At this time of day it was almost empty. Lord Gloria had sent Mr James on another errand. Now he was to buy a special perfume, which they had not been able to obtain during their short stay in London. He was not expected to be back soon.

The two men had ordered something to drink, when the tall German joined them again. He was dressed in civilian clothes now and greeted them like old acquaintances. They talked a bit about their journey and their stay in New York, like men who had come on business.

When they had finished their drinks, Hardenberg said: "Let’s go now, Gentlemen."

They left the hotel and followed their guide. This time, they did not take a coach. The tall German strode ahead briskly.

The Major caught up with him.

"Who was the boy in the dress?" he asked.

"A street rat. They call him Mad Johnny." the other man answered.

He looked at the Major, and Klaus felt that a warrior was assessing another warrior, a leader assessing another leader, whether he might be trustworthy enough for an alliance. The older man’s look was not intrusive, merely as if he just knew a lot and had a right to know, because he did not want an advantage of his knowledge.

They stopped at the back of a fortress-like building. Their guide unlocked a small iron gate and lead the two men inside, before locking the gate again. A narrow passage between rough brick walls stretched out before them. Hardenberg motioned them to be silent.

"Where are we?" whispered Dorian. "What building is this?"

"The Town District Hall." Hardenberg moved briskly along the passage, followed by Lord Gloria and the Major.

"And where are we going?"

"The mortuary." their guide explained. "We meet Mr Crane there. At work."

During their sea voyage the Major had found the time to acquaint himself with Ichabod Crane’s methods through the book the Earl had given him. It would be interesting to meet the man. In spite of his conservative religious upbringing, the Major saw Crane’s methods as a step in the right direction. It was obvious why Lord Gloria had obtained the book. He wanted to keep a step ahead of the police force. With Crane’s methods commonly accepted and applied in investigation, it would become harder for thieves like the Earl not to be caught —

The narrow passageway ended in a corridor. At the far end stone steps led upstairs, and a faint noise could be heard, voices, the sound of steps.

"What’s upstairs?" Dorian asked.

"Another iron gate. And prison cells." the tall man answered brusquely.

"Mr Crane works in prison?" The Earl was a bit taken aback. Obviously he had expected the investigator to work under more pleasant circumstances.

"Under the prison." Hardenberg corrected him. "It is cooler here."

This was definitely true. And with regard to the place being a mortuary, it was a blessing, the Major thought. Especially in this hot weather.

Hardenberg knocked three times at a door to their left, then another three times. A key was turned in the lock, bolts were slid away and the door opened.

Dorian gasped.

The grotesque figure on the threshold motioned them in quickly. It must be a slender man of middle height, as far as one could make out behind a butcher’s apron stained with blood and other unmentionable things. The head was covered by a blue cap from which dark strands of hair had escaped. The face was dominated by a goggle-like contraption, magnifying one eye grotesquely, while obscuring the other by a kind of telescope. The rest of the face was covered by a white handkerchief. The hands and bare sinewy arms were as smeared as the apron. The apparition held something in his hand which reminded the Major of a medieval torture instrument. The Earl found himself thinking of a painting by Hieronymus Bosch.

In spite of the cool air, there was an overpowering smell of decay in the room. Lord Gloria took out a handkerchief and had obviously trouble not to gag.

"Welcome." Ichabod Crane said. His voice was gentle, his accent British. "I apologise having to meet you under these circumstances. But I’ll be finished with the poor man soon."

The Major took out his pipe and filled it. He stepped closer, taking a look at the human remains on the table. As a soldier, death did no longer frighten him. Lord Gloria stayed near the wall, well away from the dead man. One look at the bare feet and legs, discoloured with decay, had been enough for him. He looked as if he was about to faint.

Crane had put his strange goggles away. He looked at the two men with sharp, dark eyes. The Major was astonished to see a look of sympathy in these eyes when Crane saw the Earl’s obvious misery.

"It is not easy to be confronted with death." he said. "For a long time I used to faint when I saw a dead body." He took a strong needle and a thread and began to close the man’s open chest. His movements were quick and effective.

"You must be joking, Detective Crane." Dorian managed behind his handkerchief. The Major noted with reluctant approval that he tried to pull himself together. "In a profession like yours —"

Crane shook his head. "I had to learn how to overcome my nausea."

Hardenberg stood at the head end of the table bearing the body, arms crossed in front of his chest. His strange eyes rested on Ichabod Crane, and both the Earl and the Major noted a lot of affection in them.

Von dem Eberbach lit his pipe and studied the dead man. It was obvious that the poor wretch had met a violent death, though not as a soldier in battle — He frowned, took a step back, then stepped closer again and studied the dead man’s face.

"Lord Gloria." he said without turning around.

"What is it?" Dorian mumbled behind his handkerchief.

"Come and take a look."

"Oh dear." Dorian sighed and stepped closer.

"See if I’m not mistaken."

The Earl moved reluctantly up to the slab, trying to ignore the body fluids, the signs of decay, the still half open cavity of the body, showing the inner organs. He concentrated on the man’s face.

"O my God, yes!"

"You know him, Gentlemen?" Detective Crane asked.

"Colonel Jerome Latour, one of Napoleon’s best secret service men." the Major informed him.

"I would never have thought to see him again — like this." Lord Gloria remarked.

"What did you find out about his death?" the Major asked Crane.

The Detective indicated the body’s head.

"As you can see, the head has been bashed in, with one blow. And this blow has been administered with great force and in a very precise manner."

Klaus nodded. "Administered by someone who is accustomed to killing, I presume. The murderer must have been tall and strong to work with such force." he added.

The dark eyes over Crane’s mask looked at him with appreciation and interest. Then he lifted a hand.

"Wait. I was lucky enough to find the body undisturbed. And he must have — according to the amount of blood around the body — been killed where he was found. Which was in a northern direction near the river. There were imprints on the ground showing that the man must have been kneeling when he was killed."

"This is the reason why you insist a body never be touched or moved, except by the investigating detective." Dorian threw in from behind his handkerchief.

Crane turned around, and his eyes showed appreciation again.

"Exactly." he agreed.

He finished closing the body, removed the cap, the handkerchief from his mouth, took off the butcher’s apron and washed his hands and arms over a basin.

Although he had noticed already that he had been mistaken in his outer picture of Crane while reading his book, Lord Gloria was still surprised. He had expected a man in his forties if not older, but Crane was maybe in his early thirties. A good-looking man with a fine nose, full lips, high cheekbones, a mass of wild black hair and dark, intelligent eyes. Dorian knew male beauty when he saw it, and his appreciation showed.

Crane seemed a bit embarrassed by the Earl’s obvious admiration. He cleared his throat, gave Lord Gloria a shy, short smile and turned to the Major.

"Thank you for verifying my assumption that he must have been French."

"What made you think so in the first place?" The Major was puzzled.

"His clothes." Ichabod explained. "Their cut and make is different from ours. I asked among tailors."

Klaus nodded appreciatively.

"But can you be sure the clothes he wore when you found him were his own?" Dorian was quick on the uptake.

"They fit him perfectly."

"But why was he killed?" the Major was thinking aloud. "We have no proof that he was after the same thing that we want."

"He was not the first one." Hardenberg informed him. "Another man was killed before. In the same way."

"Is it possible to see his body as well?" the Major asked.

Crane shook his head.

"This was two months ago. I would prefer him to rest in peace. But I drew his likeness." He covered the dead man and took a leather portfolio from a shelf in the background. His movements were quick and effective, although his whole manner struck the Major as somewhat effeminate and prissy. His embarrassed reaction on the Earl’s appreciative looks had been that of a shy girl. This annoyed the Major, but on the other hand he had to give the man that he was very determined and serious.

Crane took a sheet of paper from the portfolio and handed it to Klaus.

"Renard." The Major said after a moment of study, passing the likeness on to Lord Gloria.

The Earl looked at the picture and then at the Major, visibly shaken. "You are right. ‘Le roi des voleurs’ he called himself. The King of Thieves. And now he is dead. Like Latour." He shook his head. "These two men knew their trade." he continued, and there was a slight tremor in his voice. "So the people who killed them are either very lucky or very dangerous."

He looked at the Major again, then at Crane and Hardenberg, and decided to do what he could to make the assignment succeed. The two dead men had been experts in their professions, although working for the other side. Dorian was curious by nature, and he felt an ambition as well as a certain duty towards the two men to be successful where they had failed.

The Major had similar thoughts. He resented France and the French for having invaded his home country, but he had respected Colonel Latour - in a way. Besides, the difficulties of the assignment began to interest him. To find the plans would be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack. And the idea to fight a dangerous, yet unknown enemy drove him on.

Ichabod Crane seemed to have read his thoughts. "I doubt we will ever find the people who murdered these two men. They probably were hired assassins. But I want to find the one who pulls the strings. And I have a strong notion that the two men were killed because they were after von Eyssen’s construction plans."

"But I thought the person who has the plans wanted to sell them to the French?" Dorian asked.

"There may be two or more parties after the plans, fighting each other." Crane continued.

The Major filled his pipe anew.

"From the beginning." he said. "We were informed that twelve years ago, the house belonging to the inventor Josef von Eyssen burned down. Two human bodies were found. The police assumed them to be the remains of the inventor and his wife."

"That’s right." Crane confirmed. "Unfortunately, the bodies were charred beyond recognition. I had the remains exhumed. But with the methods we now have at our disposal, the few burned bones did not tell me anything. I hoped for a ring, a piece of jewellery, something my colleagues might have overlooked. But there was nothing."

His words made the Earl become very pale and press his perfumed handkerchief to his nose again. The mere thought of exhuming and examining charred human bones disgusted him, although he saw the detective’s reasons. His disgust however did not diminish his quick wit.

"There must have been servants in the house when it burned down. Where have they been?" he threw in.

Hardenberg took over. "Von Eyssen must have been a very cautious man. From what we could find out, there have not been many servants in the household. The cook and the maid both had their evening off when the house burned down. We questioned them. Most probably they have nothing to do with what happened. We strongly suspect the male servant of having been in league with the assassins, but he had disappeared, like the two children."

"How did you find out that the plans still exist and have not been destroyed in the fire?" the Major asked.

"A high Government official received an anonymous letter, offering the plans in exchange for a considerable sum. This was early this year." Hardenberg answered.

"It was ignored at first." Crane continued. "Then another letter arrived, and the anonymous writer enclosed a page with drawings, showing that he actually had something to offer. A renowned scientist and engineer was consulted. He confirmed that the page contained fragments of the design for a ship which can move underwater. The third letter contained a suggestion how to establish contact."

"And?"

"Nothing came of it." Ichabod answered. "The Government official answered the letter, signalling that he was prepared to establish contact, but there never was an answer. We assume that the person who tried to sell the plans either became afraid or was prevented from taking further steps."

Dorian sighed.

"So we are trying to find the plans. A start would be to try the von Eyssen children. Are there any pictures of them?"

Detective Crane pulled another sheet of paper from his portfolio.

"Shortly before the tragedy, von Eyssen had a family portrait made. We could obtain a study for this portrait." He handed the paper to the Earl.

The study showed four people, a man in his late forties, strong-boned and tall, with a hard, sharp-lined face. If his likeness was to be believed, Joseph von Eyssen had not been a friendly, outgoing person. His wife had been in her thirties, dark wavy hair framing an oval face. A beauty, her features showing determination and a sharp mind. Next to her stood a boy of perhaps five. He obviously had inherited his mother’s beauty and her dark, lively eyes. The fourth figure in the study was a girl of about fifteen years of age. She was tall and resembled her father strongly, except for the mass of dark hair and the big eyes.

The human figures in the study were elaborately drawn. In contrast, the setting in which they were portrayed remained vague and sketchy. They were grouped around a big table, and there was a clutter of books, papers and what seemed to be mechanical devices around them.

"I would like to see the actual portrait." The Major said, after he had taken a good look at the study which the Earl had handed to him. "I would like to have a closer look at these papers and instruments. Was the portrait in the house when it burned down?"

"No." Crane informed him. "The maid said it was to be delivered a few days after the fire. The artist had it in storage when the family was killed."

"And where is it now?"

"It vanished." Hardenberg said.

"Vanished?" Lord Gloria asked.

"We questioned the painter." Crane continued. "After the tragedy, he was at a loss what to do with the portrait. The whole family having been killed, no one would pay him. He kept the picture with the intent of one day selling it to someone who had no idea of the tragedy behind it. So the portrait remained in storage and he forgot about it."

"And when you reopened the case and questioned him, he found out he did not have it any more?" The Earl waved away a waft of smoke from the Major’s pipe.

Crane shook his head.

"He reported the theft a few months earlier. His apartment was ransacked while he was out of town for a few weeks to visit a relative. He had kept an inventory of the few pictures he had in storage. So he found out that the portrait of the von Eyssen family was missing, but at that time, the theft was treated as a routine case. I only learned about it two months ago, when I was assigned to reopen the von Eyssen case."

"Did the burglars take other paintings?" the Earl asked.

"The von Eyssen portrait was the only item he reported missing." Hardenberg said.

"After twelve years. This is puzzling." The Earl finally put his handkerchief away.

"So let’s repeat the facts." the Major said. "Von Eyssen fled from Germany to England, then to America, because he thought he would find someone who would be prepared to pay more for his inventions. He and his family sat for a portrait. The portrait was finished, but von Eyssen must have made ruthless enemies. Part of his family was murdered, part of it vanished without a trace. Why the murders? What were the assassins looking for? The artist kept the portrait in his possession for twelve years. After twelve years, the portrait was suddenly stolen from his apartment."

"These are the facts." Hardenberg confirmed.

"So the portrait must be important." Lord Gloria joined in. "How do we proceed, Gentlemen? I suggest I’ll visit art galleries and dealers. Maybe, by chance, I’ll be able to have a little conversation with the artist who made the von Eyssen portrait. He might tell me more than he would tell a policeman." His eyes sparkled, he was in his element.

"A very good idea." Detective Crane said.

"I shall try to find out more about von Eyssen." the Major continued. "What do we know about him?"

"Very little so far." the Detective answered. "Twelve years ago, my colleagues tried to find the murderers and the missing persons. They did not look much into von Eyssen’s past. He wrote two books and was an assistant Professor at the University. So it would be a good idea to try and find out more about him."

"Very well." the Major said.

"We have started to observe pawn shops, art dealers, thieves specialised in art." Hardenberg said. "Without much success, so far. We’ll proceed."

"I will deal with the study." Detective Crane said. "Since I started to work with New York Police, I have been making sketches of people who are registered in the files. Criminals and missing persons. It may sound absurd, but I want to compare them with the likenesses of the von Eyssen family. Of course, my files don’t go a long way back, but it might be helpful. We should leave no stone unturned."

"You draw sketches of criminals and missing persons?" the Earl asked. "And you keep a file system? A very good idea!"

"It might be helpful to study how special offenders work." Crane answered, looking intently at Lord Gloria. He knew perfectly well that the Earl studied his methods to keep ahead of the police force, but at the same time he could not help to feel glad that someone understood his ideas. What an irony! His superiors had a hard time to see reason, but this British nobleman, suspected to be a master thief, appreciated his methods.

//Sometimes I think I have fought that lonely battle for too long already.// he thought, before he caught himself.

"More questions, Gentlemen? Any further suggestions? — Very well then. Mr Hardenberg will lead you back. Thank you for coming here."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Crane." Dorian said warmly, shaking the Detective’s hand and giving him his most irresistible smile.

//He is actually making eyes at him!// the Major thought, and at the same time he wanted to kick himself for the anger this thought instilled in him.

Ichabod was embarrassed by Lord Gloria’s obvious admiration, but also flattered. Admiration from other men and the often blatant desire behind it made him still uneasy. Again, he turned to look at the Major.

//He blushes.// the Major thought. //He blushes like a girl!// He saw that Hardenberg’s eyes had become cold and hard as stone. Deep in his heart the Major could understand this. If the Detective and the Constable were a couple, Hardenberg was defending his territory. Klaus found himself thinking that should he ever have a relationship, he would exactly feel the same about a rival as Hardenberg must feel now. But he would never want such a thing —

"We’ll meet again in two days." Detective Crane bowed to the two men, and Constable Hardenberg lead them back into the street.

"We’ll be in contact, Gentlemen." he said curtly and left.

The two men watched the Constable walk away in long strides, before they left the alley themselves. Dorian was still smiling, his steps light, almost dancing, easily keeping pace with the Major, who stared straight ahead, as if annoyed.

"What’s the matter?" Dorian asked nonchalantly after a while. "We haven’t lost our way, have we? I’m certain we crossed this street —"

An icy stare silenced him.

"Just be warned!" the Major said in a menacing tone, which earned him a puzzled look from azure eyes.

"I do not understand —"

"You understand me very well!" Klaus snapped. "Wipe that ‘I-get-what-I-want’-smile from your face. Don’t even think of it!"

Dorian gave the Major a sidelong glance.

"Jealous?" he asked softly.

"Dummkopf!" Klaus hissed, emerald eyes blazing.

"You are even more beautiful when you look like that." Dorian went on.

"Und wenn Ihr das Maul nicht haltet, brech ich Euch den Hals!^*" the Major said in a conversational tone.

"I want to live." The Earl demurely lowered his eyes. "By the way, there is a man with an eyepatch following us. — I would never antagonise a soldier! Or a constable."

"A very wise decision. — Turn right!"

Dorian did not ask any questions, but turned immediately into the street leading to the right, while the Major turned left at the next intersection.

//The only good things about that fop are his instincts.// he thought. //He knows when we are followed and does not ask stupid questions.//

The Major saw that Eyepatch seemed at a loss whom to follow when the two men had separated, then decided to follow the Earl. No doubt Lord Gloria would shake him off, even on unfamiliar territory. Eyepatch obviously was an amateur. But maybe he also was a decoy ... Klaus looked around carefully for other people watching him, but did not find anyone.

He reached the hotel and was half glad to see Mr James. He had feared that the damned little bastard had gotten himself into trouble again.

Half an hour later Lord Gloria arrived. The Major could hear him fussing over the perfume his servant obviously had managed to obtain. And he heard the small accountant’s cold, brief answer. Not good. Not good at all. The last thing he needed for this assignment were two perverts behaving like a bickering married couple.

*****

The Earl and the Major met again in the public room for supper. Klaus noted that Lord Gloria looked a bit exhausted and assumed that the pet accountant was the reason.

"Report." He demanded brusquely of the Earl, who was dressed in navy blue for a change, his vest a silver grey. He smelled of flowers, but not annoyingly so. And the navy blue made his eyes darker. It suited him well, the Major thought.

"Watchdog lost?" he barked.

"Of course." The Earl sounded miffed.

"Anything else?"

"No."

There was an awkward pause. Then Dorian spoke again..

"There will not be any trouble. I promise."

"Then keep your promise." was all the Major said. He found it difficult to accept the fact that Hardenberg and Crane were like the Earl, and most probably a couple. Before he had met Lord Gloria, he had hardly given any thought to such men. There had not been a reason. And now they seemed to be at every corner! The Major would never have admitted it, but he felt as if he had lost his way in a swamp, where the next step could lead him into treacherous depths.

Dog Man stood at the window. It was dark outside, but he had not lit any candles, so his eyes had adapted to the darkness. The big black dog had joined its master, sensing his loneliness.

Johnny had not returned yet, but Johnny had no concept of time. Dog Man knew there was no reason to be worried, but he was. He wished he had never bought the book from the stall of used books. But he had been unable to resist, when he saw his father’s name in his familiar handwriting on the front page. How had the goddamned book come to that bookseller? His father must have given it away, so it had not been burned with the rest of everything the family had possessed. But how had it come to that bookseller? He had found three very thin sheets of paper, hidden in the front and back of the cover. It had struck him like a blow: These papers must be part of the plans the people who had destroyed his family had been looking for!

He had lost his mind for a while, at least this was how he regarded it now. Instead of leaving the whole mess alone, he had tried to find out more. He had even written to a Government official, had even enclosed two of the sheets he had found. But he had never received an answer.

It had been the boss who had shaken him awake. The boss had not been amused. He had informed Dog Man that he might have involved himself in affairs too big for him. The boss did not know why Dog Man had a special interest in the plans, but he ordered him to lie low, at the same time giving him information about his father without knowing it.

"The guy who designed these plans was wanted by the Germans and the Brits before he came over here. And the French might want the plans as well. There might be more to lose than to gain from these papers. A lot of people must have been after them, and probably they were the reason why they killed that guy! — If you know what’s good for your health, keep out of this line of business. If something comes up from this, you will be on your own!"

He had never seen the boss so angry. And afraid. And he wondered how the boss had found out.

Nevertheless, he had promised to obey, for Johnny’s, Elizabeth’s and her brother’s sake, for the sake of his own life. But he had not told the boss that he still had another page of the plans... He was still undecided: Part of him wanted to find out who had wiped out his family, who had destroyed his brother’s life and his own. The other part told him that the boss was right, that he should be glad to be alive and well, and that it was best to leave the matter alone.

Dog Man saw the familiar figure in the red dress come into view. He gave a sigh of relief.

*****

When Dog Man entered his bedroom, Johnny was talking to someone only he could see. He was holding a small coin.

"You have been poor, and you’re afraid of bein’ poor again, of livin’ in the streets, cause he doesn’t want you anymore. But you could come and live with me and Dog Man and Elizabeth and Ares and Dog. You need not be afraid, you know."

"Whom are you inviting to liv