Jane Vows Vengeance

Her stomach rumbled loudly.

“Tummy trouble?” asked Walter. “Something you ate at dinner?”

Something I didn’t eat, Jane thought.

“Just a little indigestion,” she said. “I think I’ll go to the dining car and see if I can get some milk. Do you want anything?”

“A bottled water would be nice,” Walter said.

Jane stood up. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

Leaving the compartment, she shut the door and looked for the sign indicating the direction of the dining car. It was already ten o’clock. She hoped it would still be open.

The doors all along the corridor were closed. As Jane walked by she heard voices coming from several of them. A bark came from behind a door on her right: Miriam and Lilith. She bared her teeth at the door and growled.

I heard that! Lilith’s voice came through clearly. Jane ignored her, hurrying on to the next car.

In order to reach the dining car she had to pass through several coach cars. Here the passengers who had not booked compartments made themselves as comfortable as possible in the cramped seats. Many of them had simply fallen asleep sitting up, while others had attempted to make beds of a sort by stretching out across two seats. Jane avoided looking at them, finding it odd to be seeing people in public at their most vulnerable, when they were unaware of being watched.

She passed through the door at the far end of the car and found herself in the dining car. A handful of people occupied the tables along either side of the car, and another half dozen were lined up to purchase items from the to-go counter. Jane joined the queue.

“I find railway travel induces insomnia,” said a monotone voice.

Jane turned to see Bergen Faust standing behind her, dressed in the same dark suit she’d seen him in at each of the tour group’s gatherings. His hands were behind his back, and he peered at her with unblinking eyes.

“Do you?” Jane said. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

“I never have been able to sleep in moving vehicles,” Bergen continued. “The motion interferes with the workings of the inner ear.”

“It sounds terrible,” said Jane. “Tell me, did you enjoy the tour this morning?”

“It was very educational,” Bergen replied. “I learned a great many things I had not known about the heraldic ornamentation of Georgian-period andirons.”

“That does sound … marvelous,” Jane said.

“It is a fascinating subject,” Bergen told her. “I understand you visited the Church of St. Apollonia.”

“Yes,” Jane answered, surprised that Bergen would pay her comings and goings any mind. “It’s really quite lovely, although I’m sure not as interesting as the andirons.”

“Few things are,” Bergen agreed. “I believe it’s your turn.”

“Excuse me?” said Jane.

“Your turn,” Bergen repeated, nodding slightly and looking past her.

Jane turned around to see that while they’d been talking the line had moved forward. The girl behind the counter smiled wanly. “What may I get for you?” she asked.

“A bottled water,” Jane said.

“Will that be all?” the girl asked.

“Yes,” said Jane, taking some money from the pocket of her pants.

She accepted the water from the girl, and when she’d received her change she turned to go. “Well, good night,” she said to Bergen.

“I’ll walk with you as far as your compartment,” Bergen said.

“Aren’t you going to get anything?” Jane asked, looking back at the bored girl behind the counter.

“No,” Bergen said. “Why?”

“I just thought …” She let the remainder of the thought die unspoken. “Never mind.”

There was no polite way to rid herself of Bergen. Now she could think of no plausible excuse for not returning to Walter. As if to emphasize the predicament, her stomach growled again. She and Bergen walked in silence until they reached the door to her room.

“Here I am,” Jane said.

Bergen tipped his head. “Until tomorrow,” he said, then continued on.

Jane opened the door and slipped inside. Walter was still on the lower bunk, reading a book. She handed him the bottle of water. “I understand you saw some exquisite andirons on your house tour this morning,” she said.

Walter took a sip of water. “Ran into Bergen, did you?”

Jane laughed. “Such an odd little man.”

“He reminds me a bit of Dwight Frye,” said Walter. “The actor who played Renfield in Dracula opposite Lugosi. I’ll never forget the scene in the asylum when he’s trying to eat a spider and the orderly takes it away from him.” He widened his eyes and held his hands up, fingers wiggling. “ ‘Flies! Flies! Who wants to eat flies? Not when I can get nice, fat spiders!’ ” He shuddered. “That completely creeped me out when I was a kid. The whole movie did. But of course once my mother told me I couldn’t see it, I had to.”

“Miriam forbade you to see Dracula?” Jane asked.

Walter nodded. “Not just Dracula,” he said. “Any vampire movie. She had a real thing about vampires. I don’t know why. I guess they freaked her out or something. I wonder if she’s still spooked by them.”

I think it’s the other way around, Jane thought.

“Anyway, that’s who Bergen reminds me of,” said Walter. “Renfield. Do you suppose he eats spiders?”

“No, but he ordered black pudding at supper, and that’s just as bad,” Jane said.

Her stomach clenched. I’d eat a spider right now if I had one, she thought grimly. She had to feed soon, but she’d run out of excuses for leaving the room. Besides, until the other passengers were asleep it would be difficult to find somewhere—and someone—suitable for her needs.

With much difficulty she climbed into the top bunk and tried to read. She’d brought with her for the trip a battered paperback copy of Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita. For years she had been trying to get through it, and had begun and abandoned it at least a dozen times. Each time she got a little further into the book than she had on the previous attempt, and now she was up to page 239. She was determined to finish it once and for all, even if it killed her.

She made a valiant effort but fell asleep after reading fewer than six pages. When she next woke up, the compartment was dark and Walter was snoring below her. A glance at the small travel clock Walter had set on the narrow shelf beside the beds read 1:37.

Jane got down from the bunk as quietly as she could, found her shoes, and slipped them on. She opened the compartment door and went out into the hallway.

The lights in the corridor had been dimmed for the night, but Jane had no trouble finding her way to the coach car. There the overhead lights had also been turned down, and the car was bathed in shadows. Here and there the glow of an e-book reader or the screen of a laptop cast light on the face of its user, but mostly the passengers slept as the train raced through the night.

Jane walked the length of the car, looking for a suitable candidate. With the majority of the people asleep, she allowed herself more time than she usually did when hunting to look at the possibilities. It felt a bit like perusing the produce section in search of the juiciest peach. This thought amused her, and she had to stifle a giggle. So inappropriate, she admonished herself.

Not seeing anything she liked, she walked into the next car. This one was less crowded, and there were far fewer lights on. In fact, there was only one, and it belonged to a girl who had fallen asleep while listening to her iPod. Encouraged, Jane went from seat to seat, examining the occupants.

She found him in the middle of the car. He was young—she guessed not yet twenty-five. On the seat beside him was a backpack, and open on his lap was a copy of the Lonely Planet guide to Ireland. He looked to be in good