After a dizzy moment in which you recall your last conscious memory and wonder where the devil you are, realisation dawns—and it may be blissful, as at Jallalabad or in the cave in the Bighorn Mountains, when I knew that the hell and honor were behind me, and it was bed-time and all well—or you may come round hanging by the heels from a cottonwood with the Apache Ladies Sewing Circle preparing to tickle your fancy, or strapped over a cannon muzzle with the gunners blowing on their fuses.
Having known the last two I can tell you that waking to find yourself bound hand and foot on a camp-bed underground, while alarming, ain’t too bad by comparison, and when your smiling captor inquires after your health and offers refreshment … well, hope springs eternal, you know. For Willem von Starnberg was bending over me, all solicitude and sounding absolutely light-hearted.
'The guv’nor was right, `Never forget that fellows like Flash-man always come at you when least expected, usually from behind.' Should ha' paid more attention to the old chap, shouldn’t I?' He put a hand behind my head, and I yelped hoarsely. 'Splittin' to beat the band, eh? No wonder, Zoltan fetched you a dooce of a clip; you’ve been limp as a dead fish for hours. Care for some schnapps?'
'Where the hell am I? What … what’s happened?' My voice came out in a quavering croak as he removed the flask from my lips, and as I struggled into a sitting position with his help, my questions trailed off in amazement as I took in my surroundings.
We were alone, in an enormous cavern of what looked like limestone, grey stone at any rate, but with an odd sheen to its towering walls. We were at one end, close by the black mouth of a tunnel from which ran wooden rails bearing a couple of ancient wheeled bogie trucks; the rails ran for about thirty yards into the cave to what looked like a cleft in the floor, and there must have been a bridge once, for I could see that the rails continued on the other side of the cleft before being lost in the gloom. The place was like some cathedral made by nature, huge and empty and utterly silent, and staring up I saw that high overhead there was a fissure in the roof fringed by a tangle of growth from the world outside, and this was the only source of light, glistening dimly on those gigantic smooth curving walls. The floor of the cavern was smooth too, and innocent of loose rocks or rubble, as though some giant housekeeper had swept the great chamber clean.
But the wonder of the place, that made me catch my breath even in my groggy condition, was the little lake that covered almost half the cavern floor on the far side away from the rails. Very well, ’twas only water, a natural bath in the stone, but never was water so still or clear or silent. The surface was like glass, extending perhaps thirty yards in length by twenty across to the far wall, and in its crystal depths, undisturbed by current or eddy, you could make out every detail of the stone bottom ten feet down, as though no water had been there at all. No fish could have swum in it, or weeds grown; it was immaculate, like some enchanted mere of fairy tale, an ice-witch’s mirror in the heart of a magic mountain.
Only by the tunnel mouth where I lay were there signs of human occupation: a rough stone fireplace and utensils, palliasses and camp-beds, plain chairs and table, a couple of packing-cases, and a litter of stores and gear. But like ourselves, these worldly things seemed out of place and dwarfed in the awful majesty of the cavern. The cold was fit to freeze you to the bone.
'You’re in an old salt-mine in the Saltzkammergut, in the mountains above Ischl,'[19] says Willem. 'Jolly little tomb, ain’t it? Hark-away!' He had raised his voice, and the echo came back in an eerie whisper, 'harkaway … away …. away …', fading ever so softly in the unseen reaches of the cavern. He stood cocking an appreciative ear, very trim in riding boots, breeches, and shooting jacket, and none the worse, it seemed, for the free-for-all shooting match which was the last thing I remembered.
'We’re near the surface here,' says he, 'but God knows how far the tunnels go below. The place hasn’t been worked for years. D’ye know, when I was a nipper I pictured salt-mines as hellish places where slaves with red- rimmed eyes waded knee-deep in the stuff. But it’s rather grand and spooky, don’t you think? Splendid bolt-hole, too, for clandestine plotters like the Holnup. My lads were camped here for a week, but I’ve had to send ’em off now, thanks to you.' He perched on a packing-case, cradling his knee, and gave me his quizzy look. 'When did you twig I was the fox at the hen-roost, then?'
'Cut me loose first!' croaks I, but he only grinned and repeated the question, so I told him about finding the tampered cartridges, and he swore and slapped his thigh, laughing.
'I’ll be damned! That’s what comes o' bein' too clever by half—oh, and bein' in awe of your fearsome reputation! Ironic, ain’t it? I gave you a harmless pistol by way of insurance, but if I’d given you a loaded one, Franz-Josef would have been with his fathers by now. Or if you’d come on the scene a minute later, even … oh, aye, we had the lock picked and I was about to go aloft when you arrived with your little snickersnee, curse you, and then that damned sergeant and his sentries, and we had to shoot our way clear, and lost two good men—one of ’em your pal Gunther, you’ll be desolated to learn. Ah, well, c’est la guerre!'
You’d have thought he was describing a rag in the dormitory, chuckling with hardly a sign of irritation. Oh, he was Rudi’s boy all right, cool as a trout and regarding me with amusement.
'So there it is!' cries he. 'Franz-Josef lives on, two of my boys don’t, there ain’t a hope of a return match with half a regiment round the place by now, I imagine—supposin' F-J hasn’t decamped for Vienna already. The conspiracy is kaput, I’ve had to disperse the best band of night-runners I ever hope to see, and four weeks of dam' good plannin' have gone down the bogs.' He jumped down from his seat, and stood before me, hands on hips. 'Yes, sir, the guv’nor was right. You truly are an inconvenient son-of-a-bitch. Still … no hard feelin’s, what? Not on my side, leastways.'
Call me a sceptic if you will, but I doubted it. I’d come within a whisker of cutting his throat, ruined his plot all unwitting, and cost him two men dead—and he didn’t mind a bit? No, this could only be cat-and-mouse in the best Starnberg tradition, and his claws would show presently; in the meantime, with my innards turning cartwheels, I pretended to take him at face value.
'Glad to hear it,' says I. 'Then you won’t mind cutting these infernal ropes.'
'Certainly … by and by,' says he. 'When my arrangements for departure are complete. Austria’s a trifle warm just now, you see, what with two dead desperadoes under the Emperor’s window, a sentry with a slit weasand, and those two mysterious visitors, Flashman and Starnberg, vanished none knows whither. It wouldn’t surprise me,' says the sardonic pup, 'if they started lookin' for us, which is why I intend to be over the Italian border by daybreak tomorrow. I’ve no inclination to grace an Austrian gallows—or rot in a Brandenburg fortress, which is what’ll happen if Bismarck ever learns the truth of our little soiree yestre’en. He’d have my ballocks for breakfast.'
That settled one thing. 'So last night was off your own bat! Bismarck had nothing to do with it?'
He stared. 'With our gallant attempt to snuff Franz-Josef’s wick, you mean? Good lord, no! My word, you do have a low opinion of our worthy Chancellor!' He grinned at my bewilderment. 'I see I’ll have to explain. Two months ago the Holnup learned that F-J was comin' to Ischl without his usual retinue, and would be a sittin' bird for assassination. Plans were laid for a night attack on the lodge, but Bismarck got wind of it from a spy in the Holnup council, and devised his great plan for guardin' the Emperor, just as Kralta and I told you. What he didn’t know, when he entrusted it to me, his loyal agent,' he went on, looking waggish, 'was that I happen to be a great- nephew of Lajos Kossuth himself, and have been a member of the Holnup since boyhood. And that in choosin' me to guard the great booby he was playin' into our hands, makin' our task even easier by handin' me on a plate the golden opportunity that every Hungarian patriot has been prayin' for this ten years past. You may be sure,' he added, 'that we’ve identified the spy in our council, and have left him strictly alone … for the time being.'
He paused, and just for a moment the bantering manner dropped from him like a cloak. The boyish face was set and his eyes were far away as he said softly: 'And we were so close. Another moment—another few seconds —and the blow would have been struck that would have freed Hungary from the Hapsburgs forever. Holnup … holnuputan!'['Tomorrow … the day after tomorrow!'] He gave a deep sigh, and slowly unclenched his hands—and then he was himself again, shaking his head at me in mock reproach. 'You really have been an uncommon nuisance, you know.'
For some reason, despite my fears, this infuriated me. 'Because I stopped you from committing murder? Why, you dam' fool, I saved your lousy life, more like! Bismarck would have had more than your ballocks—he’d have had your neck!'
He regarded me pityingly. 'Oh, ye of little faith! D’you think I’m a half-wit? It was all arranged—once F-J had kicked the bucket we’d have fetched you out o' the house, quiet-like, tapped you gently on your great fat head, laid you out beside the royal corpse with a bloody knife in your hand, and left you to explain matters when you woke up.' He regarded my expression of stupefied horror with cheerful satisfaction. 'Of course they’d have hanged you—if they hadn’t finished you off on the spot. But don’t you see, I could then have pleaded injured innocence to Bismarck,
