|
Give feedback - positive or negative Join the Ransack Discussion List |
This Sourcebook features Avengers fiction written by Caroline Miniscule. The fiction maintains the flavor of the original programs and is rated G or PG unless otherwise identified. All photos used for illustrative purposes maintain their original copyright and are for entertainment purposes only.
|
| VI.
I. The dowager strutted down the Parisian train platform on four inch heels. Her ankle-length gown was old and faded, but the ostrich feathers on her pinwheel hat more than made up for it. Her aged face was covered with white powder, her eyes were buried in oceans of eyeliner, and her lips were rouged almost incandescently. She passed a poorly dressed wretch on the platform, who winked at her impudently. She bestowed a glance on him that would curdle milk, and swept onward to the first class compartments. The wretch was a tall man, about six foot two if he’d been standing straight up instead of slouching. His turtleneck shirt would have been black had it been clean, as would his trousers. He had a couple days worth of beard stubble on his chin, and a beret jauntily placed on his head. Steed scratched at his beard stubble absently, and then climbed into a third class carriage. He wouldn’t make his move into the first class until they were well underway. II. Emma Peel leaned her chin on the fly-in-amber handle of her cane and peered around the first class compartment. Madame Truffaut and Mr. Reynard were seated opposite her. Beside her, having offered up the window seat to her when she’d entered the compartment, was Herr Edlon. Madame Truffaut’s maid was obviously in a third class compartment as befitted her social status. It had not been hard for them to discover where Madame Truffaut lived, nor when she was due to return to that home, in the company of Mr. Reynard and Herr Edlon. The hotel concierge had been most accommodating when Steed had shown him his credentials. Herr Edlon was busily writing in a notebook, while Madame Truffaut and Mr. Reynard made desultory small talk. Emma reached out and poked Reynard’s shoe with her cane. ‘’You speak French very well, young man,’’ she said, in her best Katherine Hepburn imitation. ‘’But you are English, aren’t you?’’ Mr. Reynard gave her a smile showing dazzling white teeth. ‘’Indeed I am, Madame. Though I have lived much of my life in France. Allow me to present to you my card.’’ He handed over a piece of white pasteboard. ‘’Philip Reynard. Art Acquisitions, Incorporated.’’ Below that was an address on Harley Street. Prestigious indeed. ‘’You are an artist, Monsieur?’’ asked Emma. ‘’No, Madame. But I assist the artist in selling his work, and collectors in obtaining masterpieces. I have been in business for twenty years.’’ ‘’How fascinating,’’ said Emma Peel. ‘’I myself have no use for art. But...’’ At this point, the door slid open, and the very disreputable John Steed, or Jean as he now called himself, entered the compartment and insinuated himself between Emma and Herr Edlon. ‘’Excusez-moi,’’ he said, ‘’Excusez-moi.’’ Everyone stared at this man who so obviously did not have the price of a ticket - let alone that of a first class ticket. Emma poked him in the ankle with her cane. ‘’This is premiere class, you!’’ she said brusquely in French. ‘’Leave immediately or I shall call the conductor!’’ ‘’Do not get your knickers in a twist, grand-maman.’’ said Jean insolently. ‘’Why should I not ride in premiere class? I’m as good as any of you.’’ ‘’Outrageous!’’ Emma snorted. ‘’You insolent puppy! You worm!’’ ‘’Ah, grand-ma, calm yourself. Look, you need me here. When you get to your destination, who will carry your bags for you? Me. And acquire for you a taxicab? Me. I will do all this for you, so calm yourself.’’ ‘’No, you garlic-breathed...’’ ‘’Madame..Madame, calm yourself,’’ said Philipe Reynard soothingly. ‘’Here, mon brave, come out with me into the corridor.’’ Jean looked at Reynard assessingly, then shrugged sinuously. ‘’Very well.’’ III. ‘’Well, mon brave,’’ said Philip Reynard once they’d gone out into the corridor, bracing themselves against the swaying of the train, ‘’You are looking for work, eh?’’ Jean shrugged. ‘’That is putting it a bit strong, Monsieur. I would not say that I was looking for work.’’ ‘’But you are looking for money.’’ Jean straightened up, his eyes glittering. ‘’Oh, yes?’’ ‘’Do you know the region of Château Rouge? It is in Soissons’’ ‘’Of course.'' said Jean (automatically thinking, ''Ah, Soissons. Who broke the Soissons vase, as the classic riddle has it..'') I know all the regions around here. Like the back of my hand.’’ Mr. Reynard nodded. ‘’That is good to know. I may have a use for your services, mon brave. In a couple of days you could make enough money to ride first class on trains for the rest of your life.’’ ‘’What do you want me to do?’’ Jean demanded. ‘’For that kind of money I would do anything.’’ Reynard smiled. It was not a nice smile. ‘’Where is there a bar near the Château Rouge?’’ he asked. ‘’Not in Soissons.'' ''The nearest local village is Vauxbuin,'' Jean said, casting his mind back to his WWII days. ''The bar there is called Le Sanglier Bleu.’’ ‘’Very well, mon brave. Meet me tomorrow night at Le Sanglier Bleu, and I will tell you what you must do. Now...’’ he reached into a walled and pulled out a twenty franc note. ‘’Go back to third class, and do not draw further attention to yourself. Understand?’’ Jean plucked the twenty franc notes from Reynard’s fingers. ‘’I am the invisible man, Monsieur. Until tomorrow night.’’ IV. Jean and Jeanette huddled together over a small table in Le Sanglier Bleu. ‘Jeanette’ had hair down to her waist, a rather revealing blouse and stovepipe trousers. She wore circular glasses over her eyes. They both spoke very quietly in French. They knew that if they spoke in French, no one would try to pay attention to their whispered conversation, but if snatches of German or English were heard, ears would tune in immediately. Also it was imperative that Reynard not know they could speak other languages. ‘’How far are we going to go with this masquerade?’’ Emma asked. ‘’I don’t think we should break into Madame Truffaut’s house. There’s no need to frighten her.’’ ‘’Not to worry, Mrs. Peel. We find out exactly what plan Reynard has in mind, and then we put an end to it immediately. The only one who is going to get frightened is Mr. Reynard’’ Emma’s lips curved. ‘’Good.’’ Steed rolled himself a cigarette and lit it. ‘’Would you like one?’’ he asked Mrs. Peel. She wrinkled her nose at his smoke. ‘’No, thank you.’’ Steed puffed meditatively. ‘’Perhaps it would be best if Reynard did not see you first thing, Mrs. Peel. We could play more of a game with him if you entered the scenario at a different time. Go to a corner table, will you? He should be here any second.’’ Emma nodded and rose. She could tell Steed had suddenly got a plan in mind and when his mental cogs were spinning she did what he told her to do without asking questions - if it had been she who’d had the plan he’d do the same for her. It was almost ten minutes later that Reynard walked into the pub. He pulled up a chair to Jean’s table and sat down. He leaned very close to Jean. ‘’Now, mon brave, here’s exactly what I want you to do.’’ V. The knocking on his hotel room door was like the rat-tat-tat of a machine gun, if Reynard had only had the prescience to know it. He opened the door to a woman who would have been lovely if only her hair hadn’t been disheveled and her eyes wide with panic. ‘’Monsieur, Monsieur, you must come at once,’’ the woman hissed at him. Reynard blinked. ‘’What are you talking about? Who are you?’’ She shoved her way into the room. ‘’My Jean, my Jean who was to do a job for you. It has gone catastrophically wrong. You must come!’’ Philip Reynard gazed at her in shock. If things had gone wrong the last thing he wanted to do was go with this woman. If les flics were on their way, he wanted nothing to do with them. On the other hand, if he didn’t go...Jean would undoubtedly betray him to les flics. ‘’Yes,’’ he said. ‘’I come. Wait here while I get my jacket.’’ Reynard went into the other room (for he was staying at a three star hotel in a two room suite) and picked up a Luger, which he tucked into the waistband of his trousers. He pulled his jacket on and rushed into the other room. ‘’All right. En avant.’’ ‘’Come, Monsieur, I have my little car.’’ hissed Emma. She climbed into the driver’s seat of the ground hugging Deux-Chevaux and Reynard perforce climbed into the passenger’s seat beside her. Emma took off in a squeal of tires and very soon Reynard was grasping the dashboard with white knuckles. When they arrived at le Château Rouge Reynard practically fell out of the Deux-Chevaux and kissed the sweet, sweet, unmoving ground. ‘’Quickly, Monsieur. Vite, vite!‘’ Reynard entered Le Château Rouge right behind her, and stopped in abject horror. In the center of the room was a pile of paintings....covered in blood. In one corner of the room Ulrich Edlon lay, his clothes in shreds and literally swimming in blood as if in an abattoir. Jean slouched against the divan, a straight razor in his hand. It was covered in blood, as was his clothing. ‘’Holy Mother of God,’’ shrieked Reynard, staring at the blood spattered paintings. ‘’What have you done?’’ Jean started up. ‘’It is of the paintings you are most concerned? Do you not see what has happened here? He came in... that man... while I was about to make off with these paintings. He attacked me! I had to kill him!’’ ‘’Did you have to do it so....completely?’’ gasped Reynard. ‘’My God, what of Madame Truffaut? Where is she?’’ Jean flicked the straight razor towards the ceiling. ‘’I had taken care of her first, of course. She’s in her bedroom. She is also completely dead. But she’s one you wanted dead, isn’t she?’’ Reynard’s hands were on his face in an unconscious imitation of Munch’s The Scream. ‘’Of course,’’ he gabbled. ‘’Of course. But now... now... and who is this woman?’’ ‘’That is Jeanette, ma poule,’’ Jean said, flicking his straight razor at her. ‘’Now, Monsieur, as you can see things have changed.’’ ‘’Yes,’’ said Jeanette, ‘’and before we go any further..’’ All of a sudden she laid hands on him, quicker than he could react to, and suddenly she had his Luger. She backed up, one arm across her breasts, the other with elbow cocked and resting on her arm, while she held the Luger pointing toward the ceiling. ‘’You won’t be needing that, Monsieur,’’ Jean said. ‘’It is all very simple. I need more money.’’ ‘’Money?’’ gobbled Reynard. ‘’Money? What good is money going to do you now?’’ ‘’Money will make it possible for me to escape, Mr. Englishman,’’ Jean said, stepping very closely to Reynard and placing the cold edge of the straight razor against his throat. Reynard stretched his neck in unconscious imitation of an ostrich. ‘’I...I have no money with me,’’ squeaked Reynard. The cold edge bit just a little bit. ‘’You must have some money.’’ ‘’Yes, yes, I have lots of money. But not on me.’’ squeaked Reynard. ‘’Very well...’’ At this moment, Jeanette shrieked. ‘’Look,’’ she screamed. ‘’Look!’’ They turned to look at the staircase leading up to the second floor. Madame Truffaut stood there, blood pouring from a gash in her throat. She stood there, pointing at Reynard. ‘’You!’’ she shrieked, in a surprising powerful voice for someone whose throat was cut from ear to ear. ‘’My curse upon you, you evil man! Two in this house with throats cut, you worm! Make him the third!’’ Jean swiveled to look at Reynard. He brought the straight razor up. Reynard screamed, turned and ran. Jean sprinted out of the house after him, saw him running madly up the street, and slowed to a halt. He watched until Reynard disappeared in the distance, followed distantly by a black clad man and woman who had detached themselves from the shadows, and then turned and went back into the house. Emma was assisting Madame Truffaut in wiping the red paint from her neck, while Edlon was dabbing at his own face with a handkerchief. Steed went to a decanter of whiskey on the sideboard and poured drinks for them all. ‘’He probably hasn’t stopped running yet,’’ Steed said happily. ‘’When he does, Officers Baptiste and Joubert, who are right behind him, will arrest him for conspiracy to commit theft and murder. Mrs. Peel, our job is done.’’ ‘’And a job well done, Steed,’’ said Emma, lifting her glass to his. ‘’You were marvelous. Chilling.’’ ‘’I did rather enjoy myself,’’ he admitted. They turned to Madame Truffaut and Ulrich Edlon. ‘’We are very grateful to you,’’ Madame Truffaut said in French. ‘’The cochon, he deserved the horror he went through tonight.’’ ‘’Only too happy to be of service, Madame.’’ said Steed. He nodded at Edlon. ‘’Herr Edlon. The police interpreter remains upstairs. We will leave you to discuss the Edlon Collection between yourselves.’’ ‘’I am forever grateful,’’ said Ulrich Edlon, looking at Emma Peel. She smiled at him, and then took Steed’s proffered hand. ‘’Gute Nacht, Herr Edlon,’’ she told him, and she and John Steed walked out of the house and back towards the rented Deux-Chevaux. Steed gazed at it for some seconds. ‘’Are you sure you don’t want me to drive, Mrs. Peel?’’ he said hopefully. ‘’Get in, Steed,’’ she replied, and slipped into the driver’s seat. Steed laughed and got in beside her. Very sedately she let in the clutch and they were on their way. ‘’Let’s drive by Reynard,’’ she suggested. ‘’Assuming he’s still on the road. A last final wave?’’ Steed shrugged. ‘’No more than he deserves. Drive on, Mrs. Peel. Drive on.’’ |
Please support this site
 Be the Best You Can Be $13.56 Order Now
|
