Part 20 (1/2)
And then there was the smell of toast. The smell of golden b.u.t.ter melting on toast. The smell, he almost persuaded himself, of beautiful, ruby-red strawberry jam melting into the golden puddles of melted b.u.t.ter . . . It gave him a sharp memory of home.
He pushed back the tartan blankets and got out of bed. He was starving. But then-on the other side of the door, a strange man with a grand dressing gown, who had extracted him from the bathroom the night before, would almost certainly be waiting, wanting an explanation. Charlie hesitated-but not for long. There was nothing else he could do, so he pushed the door open.
The man was not immediately there. The little corridor with compartments leading off of it was empty. Apart from his own, the doors were closed. First Charlie turned left. The corridor seemed quiet, but then, at its end, Charlie came up against an extremely large man in a very grand uniform, holding a rather long gun, and standing legs apart across the door to the next car, with his back to Charlie. He was as black as Dad, and nearly as big. Given the choice of either tapping this huge, armed man on the small of his back (which was about the highest Charlie would be able to reach) to ask for information, or going the other way, Charlie decided pretty easily that going the other way was a very good idea.
At the other end of the car there was another large man, in the same sort of uniform, but apparently gunless. He stood astride the doorway, like his companion, but he was facing Charlie, so there was no avoiding him. Charlie put a polite smile on his face, and wondered what on earth he was going to say. But he didn't have to wonder, because as he approached, the guard saluted smartly, turned on his heel, and gestured for Charlie to pa.s.s.
Charlie had never seen a railway car like the one he now entered. For a start, it was one big room: no rows of gray plastic seats, no little rooms off a corridor, no luggage racks and aisles. It was just one grand, old-fas.h.i.+oned sitting room, with embossed leather sofas and armchairs, a grandfather clock, a fireplace, a piano, piano, oriental carpets, beautifully polished wooden paneling (teak and mahogany, though Charlie didn't know that, as both these woods came from trees that had long since died out, and their wood was very rarely seen nowadays) and a painted ceiling, and three chandeliers. The bookshelves had little bal.u.s.trades at the bottoms, to prevent the books from falling off when the train went around curves. Sitting in one of the armchairs, taking his toast and bacon from a tray on a side table and reading a newspaper, was the gentleman, looking very fine in a yellowish tweed suit with big checks, for all the world as if he were at home. oriental carpets, beautifully polished wooden paneling (teak and mahogany, though Charlie didn't know that, as both these woods came from trees that had long since died out, and their wood was very rarely seen nowadays) and a painted ceiling, and three chandeliers. The bookshelves had little bal.u.s.trades at the bottoms, to prevent the books from falling off when the train went around curves. Sitting in one of the armchairs, taking his toast and bacon from a tray on a side table and reading a newspaper, was the gentleman, looking very fine in a yellowish tweed suit with big checks, for all the world as if he were at home.
Charlie blinked.
The gentleman looked up. His hair was very black and s.h.i.+ny, and so were his eyes.
”Good morning, my little friend,” he cried, putting down the paper. ”How did you sleep? Edward!”
Edward came in. He was pale and extremely polite. The gentleman told him to bring more bacon, toast and milk, and strawberries and cream, and cake. Edward bowed and set off.
He must be a servant, thought Charlie. He had read about servants in books, but he had never seen one, or met anybody who might have one. How terribly old-fas.h.i.+oned! He was fascinated.
”Sit down, my dear boy, and tell me why you locked yourself in my bathroom. I wouldn't have minded,” said the gentleman kindly, ”except that I usually lock myself in there until the train has left, so I was a little discommoded . . . ha ha . . .”
He started to laugh.
”Discommoded,” he said wheezily. ”Do you get it? Discommoded. The commode is the WC, discommoded means put out or made uncomfortable, and I was discommoded-banned from the WC, and put out.” He laughed a lot.
”Sorry,” said Charlie. He could see that it was a good joke, but a bit complicated, and he preferred jokes that didn't have to be explained. No doubt he'd like that one if he were older, and knew about commodes.
”Never mind,” said the gentleman. ”So who are you?”
”Charlie,” said Charlie. That was an easy question.
”Last name?” said the gentleman. ”Ah, no, perhaps not . . . And going to . . . ?”
”Venice,” he said.
”No ticket?”
”No,” said Charlie, shamefaced. Well, it would be pointless to pretend he did have one. If the man was going to hand him over to the guards, a lie now would make no difference to anything, so he might as well tell the truth.
”Why not?” asked the gentleman. ”No money, no time to buy one, on an adventure . . . ?”
”Yes,” said Charlie.
”Wonderful,” said the gentleman. ”Well, if it's not too luxurious for you, please join me in my car until we reach Venice. I'm sure you will have plenty of other discomforts as you go about your business, so perhaps a little comfort now would be acceptable.”
At just that moment Edward brought in a tray of comfort that was so acceptable to Charlie, particularly the toast, the melting b.u.t.ter, and the ruby-red strawberry jam, that it needed no discussion. Though he was most interested in the food, Charlie did notice that the tray was gold, the cutlery was silver, the plates were of porcelain, and the mango juice was in a heavy crystal gla.s.s-i.e., the best of everything, in the old-fas.h.i.+oned way. Normally, these things would be in museums.
Something was bothering Charlie. Ah, yes!
”Why do you you lock yourself in the bathroom?” he asked. lock yourself in the bathroom?” he asked.
”Ah,” said the gentleman. ”Danger of a.s.sa.s.sins.”
This perked Charlie up. ”Are you in danger from a.s.sa.s.sins?” he asked.
”Oh, yes.”
”Why?”
”Oh, you know. They love blowing things up and shooting people and so on. And I'd rather not.”
Charlie wondered if this man thought a.s.sa.s.sins always wanted to blow everybody up, or just him. He couldn't quite work it out, but then Edward came in and said, ”Excuse me, Your Majesty,” and suddenly everything looked much clearer, in a fairly complicated sort of way.
”Are you a Majesty?” cried Charlie.
”I am King Boris of Bulgaria,” said the gentleman.
”Crike,” said Charlie. There weren't many kings left, and he felt rather pleased to meet one.
”Your Majesty,” said Edward again, in a very deferential yet rather stern manner.
”Yes, Edward, what is it?”
”Members of the staff of the railway are expressing an interest in a small boy found last night on the rails, and put aboard the train, but now no longer apparent, Your Majesty,” said Edward suavely.
”Are they?” said the king. ”What will they do with him when they find him?”
”Hand him over to the police, Your Majesty, for having misrepresented himself as a bona fide pa.s.senger who had lost his family when in fact he is a mere stowaway and a jackanapes, Your Majesty.”
(Charlie smiled. Jackanapes reminded him of Julius.) ”Dear oh dear. Well, he's probably no longer on the train, I'd have thought,” mused the king. ”Would've disembarked, wouldn't he? Anyway, where could he hide?”
”Exactly, Your Majesty.”
”Of course if I see him, I'll inform the authorities. Tell them so, Edward, won't you?”
”Of course, Your Majesty. Good day, Your Majesty.”
The moment Edward had withdrawn, King Boris started to giggle.
”When I was a little boy,” he said, ”about your age, I was traveling on this lovely train and my father, King Ferdinand, went to dinner and told me to keep the blinds of the compartment down, but I didn't. I peeked out. And one of the conductors spanked me. I like cheeking the conductors!” the king said with an air of conspiracy.
Charlie giggled.