Eighth Chapter
Fear can humble even the strongest among us (said Oom Schalk Lourens) and force them to their knees, but it will never break those who do not fear death.
That same night, eating and drinking too much at a wake of a dinner, the widows Agnes and Gladys finally had a heart to heart over the young traitor they lost their hearts to. Gladys went first.
“The day before he disappeared,” she confessed, “I gave him a hundred pounds in cash.”
Agnes nearly exploded. “A hundred pounds?”
“He said it was a matter of urgency but really just a loan…”
“I gave him a hundred and fifty pounds!” Gladys exploded. “He said he must have it immediately, swore he’d pay it back!”
“Oh, Agnes. What was his story?”
“Don’t oh Agnes me, what did he tell you?”
“He said he was investing in the diamond mine.”
“Two hundred and fifty pounds?”
“What did he tell you?” Gladys demanded.
“Well…the same story, basically.”
They glared at each other. And started giggling.
Gladys: “You’re not simply a slut, you’re a dumb slut!”
Agnes: “Look who’s talking!”
When the drunken silliness subsided, the drunken sadness kicked in. They were still survivors. Eventually there would be other young men, who would probably find it somewhat harder to separate the widows from their money.
So the widows gave Gerrit Johannes two hundred and fifty pounds as a parting gift.
Why did he ask them for it? Interesting question. It could’ve endangered the entire operation, he must have known they’d never keep a secret for long.
Two hundred and fifty pounds. A considerable amount of cash in those days. Gerrit Johannes certainly didn’t need it for train fare, conductor Van Aswegen arranged the first-class compartment through sympathetic friends at the railway service. Gerrit Johannes didn’t invest it in new clothes either. Not so you’d notice, anyway. The three-piece suits provided by the widows were still more than adequate.
He spent it on the fake diamond, perhaps?
Surely not all of it?
Let’s say he paid twenty pounds for the cleverly disguised glass and thirty for the workmanship of the fake diamond, that’s fifty. It leaves two hundred. He could use some of that for boat fare to Australia, yes, if he intended to sell the real diamond over there. But that would make the worst kind of business sense, since the best buyers for such a magnificent stone were in Europe.
Why did Gerrit Johannes need so much cash?
He told the widows it was an urgent matter.
What could’ve been that urgent?
The train was still at the station. Bernardus van Aswegen was keeping his word. He was giving Grootjan and Kleinjan time to get away with the diamond.
Captain David Lawrence didn’t hear everything the train conductor said, his heart was beating too hard.
“I’d say four or five men on horseback, they were obviously after the stone,” Bernardus van Aswegen lied, “but no harm done, thankfully they never reached your compartment, Captain. I believe we have Lieutenant Connery’s quick thinking to thank for that.”
Lieutenant Connery, face painfully swollen and still groggy, tried to but couldn’t remember a specific act of bravery on his part. “I think…I wanted to reach the Sergeant on the roof.”
The Captain tried to speak. “I understand, thank you, but…”
“The Sergeant deserves a medal, may he rest in peace,” said Bernardus van Aswegen. “I saw him fight two of the attackers. I tried to get up there to help, Detective Sergeant Wilson was doing the same thing, but then the stowaway came out of nowhere and shot Wilson.”
The Captain tried to speak again.
“Where is this stowaway?” asked Detective Constable Blair with Detective Constable Thatcher behind him in the compartment door. They looked indignant and fierce, dedicated officers of the law eager to avenge their fallen leader even though Thatcher didn’t quite look the part in his sleeping cap and gown.
“He’s in my compartment in second-class, tied up.” Bernardus van Aswegen spoke quickly. ”I managed to hit him before he could shoot again. I have two volunteers guarding him. ”
“Why are we standing here talking?” the Captain shouted. “Why is this train not moving? Conductor! Blow your whistle!”
“Begging your pardon, sir.” Lieutenant Connery kept his voice steady. “The attackers murdered two of my men and a detective -”
“I know that, Lieutenant! Did the attackers achieve their objective?”
“No, sir.”
“You know what that means?”
“Begging your pardon, sir –“
“They could come back, Connery! They could bring reinforcements!” The Captain was spitting a bit now, and he aimed it at Bernardus van Aswegen. “Conductor! We have orders to deliver Miss Emily’s Smile to Durban! Will you please do your duty? Immediately!”
Bernardus van Aswegen nodded, pleased. At least no attempt was being made to telegram some police outpost to go after Grootjan and Kleinjan.
Lieutenant Connery and the two detectives didn’t speak either, but their faces betrayed them, and they were all thinking the same thing: Captain David Lawrence is an utter coward.
In the conductor’s cramped compartment Gerrit Johannes allowed Johnny Zulu and Manny Porra to fuss over him. Manny Porra cleaned the swollen cut on his cheek while Johnny Zulu brewed him coffee on a small gas cooker.
“Mister Gerrit, you don’t like sugar, ja?”
“If you put sugar in my coffee I will hurt you, Johnny.”
“Please, Mister Gerrit, we must please put sugar on this hole in your face. Sugar is magic.”
“I don’t want sugar on my face, Manny. I hate sugar.”
Manny Porra giggled. “You are bad man.”
“You’re calling me bad? I said keep the machine-gun quiet.”
Johnny Zulu grinned. “It’s very quiet now.”
“Jislaaik, boys. We have to live on the other side of this, orright? There’s going to be enough trouble, we don’t want everybody coming after us.”
Johnny Zulu turned serious. “They always come, Mister Gerrit.”
Manny Porra wasn’t giggling now. “We see them come, we always kill them, Mister Gerrit, please don’t worry.”
Gerrit Johannes had heard enough about their nightmare past to know they meant every word. To avenge what had been done to them, they must have cut more than one throat. As an orphan and child soldier he had done hard things himself.
We see them come, we always kill them, Mister Gerrit. He trusted them to a certain extent and yet he had this feeling, like someone walking over his grave, that they would kill him too if they had to. And, although they saved his life in the mudslide, he would probably do the same to them if he had to.
He was about to say something when the train conductor’s whistle blew, some distance away, taking them by surprise, and then the train shuddered into motion.
Johnny Zulu chuckled. “Captain’s not wasting time putting dead people in the ground.”
“Ja-nee,” Gerrit Johannes said wryly, “looks like he’s in a hurry to go throw them in the sea.”
The door slid open.
“Wait outside,” Bernardus van Aswegen coldly told Johnny Zulu and Manny Porra.
They didn’t like it but they didn’t argue. He slid the door close behind them, held out a hand. Gerrit Johannes gave him back his conductor’s pass key to all the doors on the train.
“Can I have my revolver now?”
“No. I don’t like throat-cutting, Gerrit. It’s rude. What did they use?”
“Short axe, miner’s best friend. It’s my fault, I said keep the machine-gun quiet.”
“You look lovely. You’re going to have a nice big purple cheek.”
“Thank you. Miss Emily orright?”
“She’s keeping her door locked.”
“The Captain?”
“Busy cacking in his trousers. We’re running away to Durban now.”
“He didn’t even wake up when I sneaked in.” As he spoke the lie, Gerrit Johannes saw himself actually doing it, moving quietly past the snoring Captain in the dark compartment, looking for and finding the wooden box holding Miss Emily’s Smile; even as a child he knew you always lie better when you yourself believe it. “I could’ve taken his clothes, everything.”
“Where did you find the key to the box?”
“I didn’t.”
“Please tell me you didn’t break the diamond box.”
“Come on, it was easy, I opened locks like that when I was six years old. I just slipped the stone out, slipped the fake in. He’ll never know the difference.”
If the bearded giant knew Gerrit Johannes was lying he didn’t show it. “I swear on my mother’s grave, son, we’re not going to lose against monkeys like that again. I had to give the Lieutenant your Webley. He says he’s going to shoot you with it.”
“I’ll get it back, don’t worry.”
Bernardus van Aswegen looked at him. “We don’t have to see it through now. We can jump off somewhere in the dark. You and your lady can take another train somewhere, disappear. We got what we came for.”
Gerrit Johannes smiled. “I’d like to see the sea.”
Bernardus van Aswegen turned solemn. “We have to go, Gerrit.”
“What’s wrong?”
Something made Bernardus van Aswegen hesitate now. For some reason he didn’t want Gerrit Johannes to know about the telegram.
“Don’t push your luck,” he said. “What if Miss Emily finds out we have the diamond? She’s going to kill you.”
“She won’t. She loves me.”
“Love leaves by the back door when poverty knocks at the front door.”
“I have two hundred pounds the widows gave me. More than enough to buy a farm in Australia. We orphans learn about having a backup.”
The bearded giant grunted. “You think you have all the answers, what if you don’t know all the questions yet? I say let’s get off now.”
“Bernardus, if someone like you disappear the Captain will start asking questions. Why is our conductor missing? Think about it. If that coward gets suspicious he could fuck up the mission before the box reaches the English king. Think about it.”
Bernardus van Aswegen stood thinking about it, staring through the gun slit at the dark sweeping past. The train was increasing speed.
Gerrit Johannes winked at him. “Let’s make sure the fake diamond goes all the way to England. Don’t you want it to sit in the king’s fancy crown? A useless piece of rubbish and we’re the only ones who know. Glorious. Think about it.”
He probably thought he’d get a smile for this smooth effort. No such luck. With a grim face Bernardus van Aswegen took the telegram from his pocket.
“Got this from the station master,” he said. “The Prime Minister sent it for the Captain’s attention. He probably sent it to every station on the Durban line.”
“Really? Botha himself?”
“I’m going to burn it. I don’t think the Captain should read it.”
“Why not? What’s it about?”
“It’s about Miss Emily and you running away on the train. And wanting a fire at every station.”
Gerrit Johannes grabbed the telegram. “How did they…? I never told anybody…”
“You said she worries about her family. How much do they know?”
“Her mother. She’s a hopeless gossip. I’m going to kill the old bitch!”
He said it in Afrikaans, of course: Ek gaan die ou teef doodmaak.
Bernardus van Aswegen shook his head. “You’re the one who’s going to get killed if lieutenant Connery has his way. Your friends slaughtered his machine-gunners like sheep.”
Gerrit Johannes slowly read the telegram. “What’s this about stations showing a light?”
“I don’t know.” The point is it’s getting too dangerous, Gerrit! You have to get off this train!”
“Why? We’re the only ones who know about the telegram.”
“Lieutenant Connery wants you dead, I’m sure the two policemen agree with that…”
“They’re in first first-class.”
“Two angry policemen who lost their dead chief. You think they’re lying on their bunks mourning him? I bet you they’re walking up and down like lions looking for raw meat.”
“I can sort them out. What kind of weapons are they carrying?”
“It doesn’t matter. You are not getting the Webley.”
“Miss Emily has the cutest little shooter you’ve ever seen.”
“I’m not laughing, Gerrit.”
“Orright, I’ll ask Johnny Zulu and Manny Porra to help me.”
Bernardus van Aswegen glared at him. “You leave those throat-cutters out of it. We’ll do it my way. You do exactly what I tell you to do or I’m not taking you anywhere.”
“Thank you, Bernardus, there’s a place in heaven waiting for you.”
“Fuck off.”
The fire in the drum lit the faces in the gondola and the skin of the balloon. Neef Berg dropped the coiled rope and the station master caught it, cursed in Afrikaans at the two railwaymen to help him pull the balloon down.
“We must help them land! It’s official business! Get the rope, you fat useless pigs!”
It seemed to work. The railwaymen grabbed the balloon’s mooring rope.
Suddenly a strong gust of wind yanked the rope out of their hands. The balloon swung away and the gondola thudded into the water tower. Willy tried to hold on but started falling. Neef Berg grabbed him before he could leave the gondola.
“The rope! The rope!” the station master spat at his men.
They caught the rope again and managed to steady the balloon somewhat. It hung at a steep angle above the ground, straining against the wind, a strangely magical and huge object against the background of the small railway station.
“Mister Prime Minister!” The station master shouted up at Botha, ignoring Willy completely. “It’s an honour! Thank you for your telegram, I hope the fire was strong enough!”
“I’m not the prime minister! He sent me! My name is Berg!”
“Sorry, Mister Berg! We thought Louis Botha was coming! How can we help?”
“Did you water a train tonight?”
“Armoured train,” Willy added.
“Yes, we did! I gave the telegram to the train conductor! I’m sure he’ll give it to the Captain!”
Neef Berg gave Willy an uncertain look.
Willy shrugged. “I was hoping a station master somewhere would give it privately to Lawrence. But what the hell. As long as he gets it.”
“There was a shooting!” cried the first railwayman, clinging to the rope.
“What happened?” Willy shouted back. “Did someone get hurt?”
“I’m not sure! We had nothing to do with it!” The station master was quick to provide cover for himself and his workers.
“When was this?” Neef Berg demanded to know.
“Ten, fifteen minutes ago!” shouted the station master. “Two riders from nowhere! Looking for something on the train!”
“Did they get anything!”
“No! Nothing! They didn’t go into the train!” the station master insisted.
“Old commando types!” the second railwayman added.
“Bloody hell,” Willy whispered.
“I think they were chased off!” the station master embroidered.
“Thank the Lord, that’s why the prime minister wanted an armoured train,” Neef Berg said. “We can stop worrying, Sir William.”
Willy couldn’t. “Someone will try at another bloody station. With more men. It won’t end.”
The balloon creaked ominously in the wind. It wanted to leave. The railwaymen held on to the rope.
“Is the wind getting stronger?” Neef Berg asked.
“Yes, but still on our side,” Willy said and called down to the station master, “The wind! Is it blowing seaward?”
The station master cocked his head like a dog listening. “Drakensberg! It blows that way!”
The Drakensberg mountain range was definitely seaward.
“We have to leave!” Willy couldn’t hide the urgency in his voice. “Immediately! We have an appointment in Durban!”
The first railwayman laughed with childish delight. “Never! You’re flying to the sea in this tent?”
Willy ignored him, opened the burner. Neef Berg knew he had to talk fast now.
“I need you to send a telegram for me! To the office of the Prime Minister, Pretoria! Message to read: Proceeding well! Hope to return shortly! Neef Berg!”
“Proceeding well!” the station master repeated. “Hope to return shortly! Neef Berg!”
“Thank you!”
“My pleasure, Neef Berg! Honour to serve you!”
Willy fired the burner and said loudly, “Let go of the rope! Stand back!”
The railwaymen dropped the rope. The balloon leaned alarmingly and then started climbing slowly. Neef Berg started reeling in the rope. Willy gave the burner a long burst. They rose into the moonlight and the balloon tilted in the rising wind.
“Proceeding well, hope to return shortly,” Willy said wryly.
“What did you want me to say? We’re turning back? I have orders to help you find your wife. Provided she really is on that train.”
Willy looked close to tears. “She must be. Where else would she be? They want to get to Durban. If this wind holds we can outrun them to the sea.”
Neef Berg stared at the sky. “What if the wind changes its mind?”
“Then we’re not going to the bloody sea, are we?”
At a wagon window Lieutenant Michael Connery stared furiously through the gun slit at the passing night. Behind him the bodies of his machine-gunners and the police detective lay under blood-soaked blankets. The stink of blood still hung in the air and his riflemen tried to drive it away with smelly pipes and cigarettes.
Usually the hypnotic clack of train wheels on tracks had a lulling effect. Not tonight. No-one in the wagon felt like sleeping. The wagon set aside for Connery and his men had turned into a funeral parlour reeking of blood. He believed he knew who had been the main cause of it and he wanted something done about the bastard.
Preferably with his own Webley revolver, now stuck not Connery’s belt.
Connery had been trained to obey orders; what he needed tonight was a commanding officer, a strong decisive one who would command him to avenge what happened. He no longer believed Captain Lawrence was that officer.
When Connery first heard he would be serving under a war hero, he actually glowed. Captain David Lawrence! What an honour! He immediately sat down and wrote his parents in London a letter, boring them with the whole reported story of the Captain’s heroism.
Something indeed did happen to David Lawrence during the war, but Connery now had reason to doubt the official story. The eye wound could easily have been self-inflicted. Connery had seen terrified men hurt themselves badly to get out of the war. One blew his good hand off with a shotgun. What he witnessed tonight was certainly not the actions of a brave soldier wounded in battle.
Connery did not want a boring drawn-out investigation once they got back home. He wanted action. He wanted blood, an eye for an eye, and on this train burrowing through the dark he only trusted himself to deliver quick and bloody vengeance.
Touched by moonlight shining through the gun slit outside the compartment window, Miss Emily sat and stared at the night flashing past. The sound of the train nearly drowned out the sound of the wind. The pocket-watch was hanging by its chain from her neck now. She held her own little Derringer in her hand.
It had one bullet ready in the chamber.
Just in case.
Would she use the bullet on whoever tried to come through that door or on herself?
She was suddenly beautiful in the silver semi-dark. Not just quite attractive the way she’d always been, but beautiful in an extraordinary and haunting way. The tension in her posture and the fear in her eyes had something to do with it. But she didn’t feel beautiful at all. She held the gun tightly, her mind screaming a confusion of nightmare thoughts.
What would happen to her if Gerrit Johannes got killed? How long could she manage to hide in this compartment? What would happen to her if she was discovered? Would she ever see her family again? How could a fabulous diamond named after her smile help them if she died on this train? Why did she ever agree to this insane plan? Just to escape Willy’s wrath? Willy would’ve been very angry about no babies but surely he wouldn’t have had her killed her, would he? Was the love of Gerrit Johannes worth it? Did she really love him back? Did she look a lot older than him? Would she survive this night?
She gripped the gun so tightly her fingers soon lost all feeling.
The train hurtled south over the moonlit land, still picking up speed.
Overhead, moving in the same direction as it slipped in and out of cloud, a silent balloon rode the wind towards the black dragon-toothed mountains standing in the south. If anyone on the train had bothered to look up, the moonlight would have revealed the balloon as a large frozen raindrop soaring through the night.
Neef Berg tried to sit in the cramped space of the gondola, as if that would keep the cold out of his bones. He kept the Spanish shotgun cradled in his arms. Occasionally Willy used a burst from the burner as a light source to check his compass, and he would then pass his hand through the flame as if hoping that could warm his whole body.
“Did you fly one of these in the war?” Neef Berg was trying to make conversation.
“Oh my word, no, I was simply a medical orderly.”
“Ja, I know. But there were so many observation balloons around. Still are, watching for suspicious gatherings of blacks now. Especially in Natal. The Zulus are still angry about their headless chief.”
“I used to watch the army balloons drift in the sky.” Willy smiled sadly. “Never thought I’d actually end up owning an even bigger one.”
Unaware of the sinister presence of his beloved’s husband in the sky above him, Gerrit Johannes stepped from the landing of the first second-class carriage to the landing of the carriage in which Miss Emily was pondering her own death. Bernardus van Aswegen was already there, unlocking the door to the second first-class carriage. The roar of the wind and the noise of the train wheels made it difficult to talk without shouting.
“Stay here! I’ll have a look first!”
“I want to come with you!”
“Nee, domkop! They’ll expect to see the conductor doing his rounds! I’m supposed to before we reach Harrismith station! Lot of passengers getting off there!”
Gerrit Johannes considered a reaction but thought it best to keep his mouth shut. His stomach muscles were hard with nervous tension.
The bearded giant didn’t appear nervous, not so you’d notice at least. He opened the door, hurried inside, closed it behind him again.
He’s not afraid of death, Gerrit Johannes thought, but I don’t want to die on this train. I want to die in Em’s arms when I’m old and stinking rich. The money from the widows will help get us to Australia but it’s not enough. I have to get the fucking diamond. It must be in the Captain’s compartment. He would never let it out of his sight. If Bernardus knew the truth he could get the real diamond for me. Yes, but…if Bernardus knew the truth he would do to me what Lieutenant Connery would love to do.
Gerrit Johannes waited as the train raced on in the night, one hand gripping the carriage door handle, his taut stomach muscles giving him absolute hell.
He thought he heard a voice in the wind.
Miss Emily, he thought, I’m coming.
Behind and above him, on top of the first second-class carriage, two figures clung to the roof. Battered by the rushing air, Johnny Zulu and Manny Porra silently watched over Gerrit Johannes. Not that you’d notice it from their faces, looking for all the world like two naughty children about to raid a forbidden fruit orchard, but he was the only thing on this train they gave a damn about. They didn’t think of the diamond like that, it was only a thing capable of making them rich.
Gerrit Johannes spoke without looking up at them. “We must wait until Bernardus is gone. Be patient, orright? Can you hear me?”
“We wait, amigo,” Manny Porra said.
Johnny Zulu said nothing.