The Hounds of Winter, Chapter Three: A Cautious Waltz

Saturday, 19 February 1870
Hotel Imperial, Kärntner Ring 16
Vienna, Austrian Empire
1:15 am, local time

Santos-Dumont was a man of his word: He'd delivered their luggage to the Hotel Imperial as promised … to the best Bridal Suite in the house. Exhausted by the breakneck pace they'd set from London, Josephine merely smiled and let Quentin get them installed. All she wanted, and was near ready to kill for, was a hot bath, a good meal, and a proper bed.

"Thank God for civilization," she said reverently when she found the attached bathing facilities. "If I am not done in an hour, Quentin, pull me out lest I drown."

"I'll alert the lifeboat service." Quentin's grin had a slightly wolfish cast as Josephine shut the bathroom door with a soft laugh. Left to his own devices, he took a quick tour of the suite. There were a lavish sitting room with fireplace, a matching bedroom with a four-poster bed big enough to stall a loose horse in, and a dining area in the sitting room's spacious bow window. Quentin was no stranger to luxury but the level displayed here was a little more than what he was accustomed to. Still, there were benefits. Quentin looked for and found the bell rope to summon the floor attendant. It took nearly an hour for the hotel to fulfill his order but by the time Josephine exited the bath in a thick Turkish bathrobe, the hotel staff had delivered several serving carts loaded with the finest food that Vienna had to offer.

"I don't know about you, but I'm hungry," he said, pulling out her chair. He couldn't quite tell if the pink in her cheeks was from the bath or a blush, but that didn't stop him from taking a discreet sniff as he pushed her chair in. Hot water and rose soap and something indefinable. The kiss he stole in Paris came back to hit him in the gut. Oh yeah. I'm ready to eat. Quentin released her chair and took a seat opposite. "Bon appétit."

He'd ordered rare roast beef, oysters, and all the sides he could think of in addition to champagne and wine. He poured them a glass of both and tucked into the food with relish. He watched her as they ate. She had an appetite as hearty as his, going for the meat over the fancy sauced stuff and favoring the vegetables as much as the bread. She made no apologies for her appetite either. A body needs food to fuel it. It don't give a rat's ass for niceties when it has to travel rough. Quentin was glad he didn't have to make polite excuses for it on her behalf. He also saw that she didn't require small talk and instead simply got through the serious business of eating in blessed silence. In many ways, travelling with Josephine Arceneaux was like traveling with a man, which would have been a harsh insult to most women though he was certain she wouldn't find it so. That was not to say there weren't limits, but he was fairly certain the socially tedious observations needn't be adhered to. At least in private, he admitted. It made for an engaging train of thought.

"Thank you." Josephine sighed and leaned back from the table. What the bath had begun, the meal completed and the rigors of the past two days fell away. "All this high living will make me soft, Quentin, but that was simply lovely." She glanced at the clock on the mantel. "It's getting late. We shall have to pick up Panculescu's trail in the morning, but I am fairly certain that it will not be difficult to find him. He will not be going anywhere without that explosives car and that is sitting in the railyards waiting for the connecting train. Tomorrow we will ride it to Bucharest. On the way, we might find out more about his associates and who they work for. If nothing else, it will be an added bonus to send to the Colonel before we delve deeper into the occult activity he's sent us to investigate once we've arrived. Have you any thoughts or suggestions?"

"Well, you might want to get out there a little bit early, just after dawn. Check out the train. There's likely to be guards on it later. But for now, I think what we gotta worry about is the sleepin' arrangements. I know we're supposed to be married an' all, but that ain't real."

"Much about this business isn't real, though the stakes most certainly are." Josephine had wondered about the arrangements herself but held off mentioning them as she was interested in how Quentin would approach it. He stays on task. Business before pleasure, Jo. "I think you are right. We should verify the train car and its contents before we leave Vienna. For all we know, Panculescu may have exchanged it for another."

"I doubt that. But if we're gonna sneak aboard the train or send the Colonel a telegram about what's goin' on, we should know what's goin' on." Quentin noticed that Josephine's head had started to tilt and she had begun to sway ever so slightly. Overindulged a bit, I suspect. He pulled off his napkin and put it on the table. "But. Sleepin' arrangements. Well, as a gentleman I will offer you the choice: bed, couch, or servant's quarters."

Josephine rose and the room started to spin. She shut her eyes, braced against the table, and waited for her head to clear. Too much wine. You have gotten soft. "Bed. Please."

Quentin quickly went to Josephine's side. He didn't touch her but she could sense him standing close, the heat of him palpable. The room tilted again and this time it had nothing to do with the wine she'd drunk. Or rather, it had. Déjà vu struck her then and she had no intention of repeating her fiasco with Ezekiel. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Should have asked for water. Tipsy like a damned green girl. You're better than this. Gritting her teeth, Josephine steeled herself upright and opened her eyes. "I shan't keep you. It's late. Thank you for dinner, Quentin. Sleep well."

"Should I sweep you off your feet," she heard Quentin say, obviously amused. "Or should I let you stumble on to bed on your own?"

"I'll be fine, thank you." The wine had her in its grip now and Josephine knew she could do nothing but to make the best of it. Gathering her dignity, she pushed off the table and turned for the bedroom door, despite feeling as if her head were floating several feet above her shoulders.

Quentin could right see right off that she'd never make it.

"Far be it from me to allow you to make an ungallant exit," Quentin murmured. He swept Josephine up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way. Hell, she don't hardly weigh nothin'. Ain't wearing near nothin', neither. The scent of roses was stronger, carried by the warmth off her skin. Her head lolled on his shoulder, her pulse beating delicately on her neck. He lay her gently on the bed, leaning over the tantalizing promise of her in her bathrobe … and stepped back, pulling the bedcovers to her chin. He sighed, clearing his nose of her scent, and pondered what he'd do next. He jammed his hat on and left the suite to find relief. The concierge would know exactly where to go for this sorta thing. Hell, he may even send them up to the room. Servants quarters, I think.

Through her wine-fuddled haze, Josephine felt her feet leave the floor and Quentin's arms kept her from floating completely through the ceiling. She was hideously vulnerable but she couldn't summon up more than a vague sense of alarm over it. Was she in mortal danger? Instinct insisted she was not and she knew she could handle anything less dire. So Josephine let go her concerns and let events go where they may. It had been quite a while since she'd last relinquished control so thoroughly and when Quentin chastely left her untouched she was keenly disappointed. Then the bed swallowed her up in its soft embrace and sleep took the bitterness away.

Saturday, 19 February 1870
7:03 am, local time

Sunlight streaming in through a crack in the heavy curtains woke Josephine. She blinked a moment, trying to remember where she was. Her bathrobe was a telling clue and everything came back in a rush. Beyond her bedroom door she heard the faint clink of cup against saucer. Grimacing, she sighed and threw back the covers. Time to face the music, Jo. She didn't speculate what might be waiting for her as she made herself presentable. It would do nothing to change the outcome. Smoothing her hair back and her bodice down, Josephine held her chin up and walked through the door.

The hotel staff had cleared the dinner debris from the night before and had reset the table with a sumptuous breakfast. The curtains lay open and the morning light gleamed on the china and the silver … and on the woman sitting at the table pouring herself a coffee. Josephine swept her with a look and recognized her profession at once, as well as an opportunity to put her finger on the pulse of certain events. Quentin was nowhere to be seen but sounds of splashing water betrayed his location.

"Bonjour, Madame," Josephine said politely and took a seat opposite. She kept her expression pleasant and completely free of disapprobation. "I trust everything is well?"

The woman hid her surprise well, although her gray eyes widened. "It is. And I hope for you as well?" She smiled lightly. "Breakfast? Your," and she hesitated just a moment, "brother is bathing." Her English was clear despite her accent, her words bespeaking a higher class of professional.

"Yes," Josephine said with a little smile and poured herself a coffee. Viennese coffee was not a treat to turn down lightly. Josephine savored the aroma a moment before taking her first sip. "And I trust my brother saw to it that you lacked for nothing as his guest?"

The woman gave a graceful nod. "Yes. He was the perfect gentleman." She helped herself to a bit of toast and gently opened an egg and spooned a bit onto the toast. "We did not wake you, did we? If so, I must apologize."

"Oh no, not at all. I quite slept myself out." Josephine spooned up some soft eggs from a chafing dish and added a side of ham, toast, and jam. She settled with her plate and smiled at the woman. "You speak English very well, Madame. Where did you learn it?"

"I travelled with an English noble for half a year," she stated with no emotion after a delicate fork of food. "I travelled frequently until I had to come home." She tilted her head winsomely, her lovely face a mask. "So what brings you and your brother here to our rugged and wild country?"

"Business, actually." Josephine was tempted to say airship but restrained herself.

"Is he?" The woman gave her a polite smile. "I rarely get to know much about my engagements. What business is he in?"

"My brother is in the tobacco business and is hoping to expand his enterprise here," Josephine smiled. "This usually translates to my following him from pillar to post and smiling at everyone and not intruding when he conducts business. It can be tedious at times, but I do enjoy the travel. Where did you travel with your Englishman? I've been many places but I've yet to see Greece."

The best deceptions always had an element of truth in them and genuine regret colored her tone. She had so wanted to tread the same ground as Alexander and Homer, but the troupe had been ordered north again.

"Many places around the Continent. I was decorative, my dear, not a tourist." Her lips twitched with gentle amusement as she waited for the woman to absorb the meaning of her words. She gestured her fork at the suite. "I've have seen some lovely suites."

Josephine nodded, acknowledging the point, and set her coffee aside. A bit of candor on her part might net better results. She looked the woman in the eye. "I am Josephine. Thank you for spending your night with him. I hope treated you well."

"He did." She gave Josephine a warmer, more open smile. "I am Rodika, but foreign men seem to be more comfortable calling me Roxanne. I will answer to both since you are Englisher. Be assured that your brother was very thoughtful of me." She took a sip of coffee, stroking the gilt and swirls of the cup absently. "He allowed me my bath first and kindly invited me to breakfast."

She looked to the bath room and then to Josephine. "It is lovely to meet you. But I have never had a sister thank me before. It is what I do. . .what he paid me for, Josephine. I will finish breakfast and be out of your way." She neatly put the rest of her coddled egg onto the toast with a bit of sausage and consumed it with gentle relish.

There you are, Josephine thought. Finally. "Please do not hurry on my account. The only topic the bankers and investors want to discuss is money and finance, with no real thought for a woman's feelings or interests. I have not often had the opportunity to talk with another woman when travelling with my brother and it is so lovely to speak with you. For instance, your name is very pretty. It isn't Austrian, is it?" she asked in such a way that Rodika could refuse the invitation toward confidences if she chose.

Rodika shook her head as she folded her napkin. "No, Slavic." She gave the other woman a puzzled smile. "Why would you want to talk with me? Is this not awkward?"

Slavic. Not Russian, Josephine thought. That might be useful. "Not for me, although I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. My father always did tell me my one besetting sin was curiosity. It quite makes me forget my manners," Josephine admitted. "But I am not scandalized if you are not. And in truth, I find you interesting."

She did, really. The emotions that the Slavic woman had behind her eyes made Josephine reluctant to bring their conversation to a close. Something's there. I know it. She straightened in her chair and gave Rodika a sincere smile. "Won't you stay?"

The woman eyed her stoically, her face smooth and even. "I am not a lover of women," she stated softly, her voice gentle and restrained. "I wish to make that clear before I accept your invitation."

"Neither am I." Josephine smiled just as gently and shook her head. "And thank you."

 *****

Quentin walked in from the servant's bath, swathed in a Turkish bathrobe and drying his hair with a separate towel, to the sound of women's laughter. Upon seeing Josephine and Rodika at the table he turned, his oaken tanned skin blushing just a shade darker before he continued.

"Miss Josephine," he said with more suaveness than he felt. "I see you've met Miss Roxanne. She's helping me get abreast of the locals and their culture."

He sat down and began filling a plate with food. It took him some seconds to recognize the double-entendre he'd just made. "That is to say she's helping with local customs."

Though Rodika's face stayed serene, the gray eyes crinkled slightly. "I have been charmed by your sister," she said with a coquettish tilt of her head. "And by your morning attire." She leaned back against her chair, regarding each of them in turn.

"Your accents are charming," she noted with a rise of an eyebrow.

Josephine looked down to hide her amusement, then dared a careful glance at Rodika. What had Quentin told her? From the moment Rodika had said "brother", Josephine had been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Well, thank you, darlin'," Quentin drawled, to hell with the accent. At this point, why not? "But could you tell Miss Josephine here about what you were tellin' me about the train station earlier? The big one."

"What in particular do you wish for me to tell?"

Mostly I was trying to change the subject. "Why about that fine large railyard they've got. And how we could get a good look around at it."

Trainyard, West of Vienna
9:30 a.m. local time

"Stay close and if anyone asks, you do all the talkin'. My German's passable but no one's gonna take me for a local."

"Mine would place me west of the Rhine," Josephine ducked through the gap in the fence and held the loose board aside for Quentin. "Too French for German ears."

"At least you sound like you're from Europe."

"Touché."

They paused as a train growled by, sheltered from its passing by pallets of lumber stacked along the fence. When the way was clear they crossed the tracks and began moving through through the long lines of freight cars resting on the sidings.

"What were the car numbers?"

"39B-17." Josephine pulled the numbers from memory. "Chemins de fer de Paris à Lyon et à la Méditerranée. Look for the abbreviation CFPLM."

"Or sniff for the smell of garlic."

Josephine stifled a snicker but couldn't help rubbing her nose. The spirit gum adhering her mustache pulled a bit and the hair tickled. At least she was dressed properly for crawling through the yards. Two men slouching across the tracks wouldn't attract nearly the amount of attention that a bustle-gowned woman with her escort would. "Look for track 53."

"It says '53' over there. I'm guessing 'Bahngleis' means track?"

"You've good eyes." Josephine settled her cap tighter on her head and turned her coat collar up. Trains rumbled and clanked on the tracks nearby, sometimes unnervingly close. Josephine and Quentin had to stay alert for the linemen who would be on foot ensuring everything ran smoothly. In a yard as busy as this, they had to hide several times to escape notice. It made for some nerve wracking minutes before they were finally able to pick the locks on car 39B-17 and slip inside.

It was dim but not completely dark. A line of small windows ran down the roof of the boxcar and enough light made it past the dirt to allow them to examine the labels. Josephine was thankful for it. Striking a match in here would be rather unwise.

"Well, so we're here. Could put a quick end to this you know," Quentin said, eyeing the boxes of explosives.

"If we do that now, we'll tip our hand and we'll never know what party these explosives were for." Josephine frowned as she quickly scanned the labels on a stack of crates. "This car will be coupled to a train going to Budapest and Budapest is on our way to Bucharest, where our main mission lies. Let it ride, Quentin."

"Let it ride or let us ride? Which leads to another question. Are we goin' to board the train this car's gonna be attached to? Because otherwise we're gonna be sitting her a long time while this car goes all the way to Bucharest and it will likely be searched before then."

"Both." Josephine moved to the next stack in line, going over the labels quickly. "We're here to verify the contents and follow where it goes. The train will take us and the car south where we were ordered to go. Is there a problem here that I am not comprehending?"

"Well, should we get tickets, or just figure out somewhere to sneak onto."

"Tickets." Josephine swept the rest of the car, hoping in vain for a loose lid that would allow her to look inside the crates. There being none, she pulled the pry bar she carried from her pocket and chose a crate most likely to be overlooked. "Help me get this lid up?"

He leaned close and took the pry bar. "Don't worry about how the crate looks too much. There's probably several that have been looked into before us."

Another train rumbled by and they pried up the lid under cover of its noise. It was filled to the top with balls of damp yellow-white fluff.

"Gun cotton," Quentin confirmed.

A sickly sweet scent like ether tainted the air. Her head starting to swim from the fumes, Josephine gently replaced the lid, matching the nails to their holes. "I've seen enough," she breathed.

HOW TO SPEAK FRENCH

Bon appétit = Bone ah-puh-tee= Good appetite Sound clip
Bonjour = Bone-zhoor = Hello, Hi, Good morning, How are you? Sound clip
Touché = Too-shay = An expression acknowledging a telling remark or rejoinder. Sound clip
Chemins de fer de Paris à Lyon et à la Méditerranée = (see sound clip) = Railway from Paris to Lyon and the Mediterranean Sound clip

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