|
02 May 01 - 04:05 PM (#454104) Subject: Mudcat Orient Express From: Lonesome EJ (Cast of Characters needed...spies, sleuths, thugs, rich tourists, femmes fatale, Gestapo, anarchists, etc) PARIS 1938 "Boarding now the Orient Express..Departing Paris for Budapest - Bucharest - Istanbul and points between! ALL ABOARD!" The Conductor's words reverberated in the hollow tunnel that housed the sleek, silver, steaming length of the Orient Express. Paul Villeneuve folded his copy of the Paris Morning paper and lifted the two items of baggage that sat by him on the platform: One was a large leather satchel, the other a slender black violin case. He showed his paper to the conductor, who smiled and offered to assist him to the first class car. Villeneuve refused the help, and raised himself onto the steel step with a grunt. The train was packed, and loud with the chatter of the excited departing passengers. It was with some relief that Paul found his car, but with some trepidation that he discovered it was to be a dual-berth. He locked the sliding oak door, pulling the curtain closed across the small window in it. Likewise, he covered the exterior window. Snapping open the satchel, he shuffled quickly through the papers before extracting a folded envelope. He opened this. At the top of the cover sheet were the words Preliminary Study for Production of Thermonuclear Device. Paul looked up nervously as the latch on the door turned against the lock. Quickly, he unsnapped the instrument case to reveal an ancient violin. Villeneuve refolded the envelope and stuffed it into the sound hole, and then closed and locked the case. This was his fortune. The violin itself was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, but the formula! The Russians had promised him Millions after a bidding war with the Germans, the British, and the Americans. He would take the train to Budapest, where Stalin's agents would whisk him to Moscow and his fortune. He smiled as the door slid open, more in self-satisfaction than in greeting. The Porter rapped at Mr Villeneuve's door promptly at noon, holding the tray of Wine and Pheasant under Glass that the scientist had requested. After the third unanswered knock, the Porter called his name. Perhaps, thought the man, he is in the Club Car. I'll leave his dinner for him. The door slid open, and the porter dropped the tray to the floor, where the contents spilled into a pool of blood. Villeneuve's eyes were still shock-pried in death, his shirt front red with the blood that had spilled from the long wound in his throat. Clutched in his hands was the leather satchel, apparently his only piece of baggage. |
|
02 May 01 - 04:11 PM (#454113) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: MMario "Blast!" thought the Porter to himself. "It took me three weeks to finish getting the blood stains out of the seating and carpet from the LAST time!" He prepared himself for another of "those" trips. |
|
02 May 01 - 04:37 PM (#454143) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: JenEllen Annette Marceau stood in the bucking passageway of the traincar with the epitome of feline grace. She rocked gently on the balls of her feet, and appeard to be a solid form that the traincar rolled around. She had her back to Villenueve's compartment when she took her compact out of her purse. Slightly tilting the mirror, she could see over her shoulder to the compartment door, and she applied her lipstick as perfectly as if she were watching her own lips and not that door.
She saw the man peer from the door, come out with Villenueve's violin case, and run down the hallway behind her. She made no move to stop him, and she spoke only to her reflection in the tiny mirror. **the delicate sub-titles around her feet= "Ah, he has it! I'll get him for this!!** ~A.M. |
|
02 May 01 - 04:42 PM (#454148) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: MMario I love it! a text adventure with sub-titles! |
|
02 May 01 - 04:46 PM (#454150) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Bert "Oh my Gawd" muttered Inspector Higgins of Scotland Yard. "Here's me, on me way to Affens for me 'olidays and I get a call to look into the murder of some Froggy Spy" **Subtitles - "Oh dear, This poor Frenchman has been murdered" |
|
02 May 01 - 04:47 PM (#454151) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: mousethief Father Boris Popovich, a tall, broad, effusive man with a swishy black cassock, shiny black shoes, and a bushy black beard that hung halfway down to his waist, clutched a small black leather suitcase as he lurched down the corridor, his gold pectoral cross banging against his chest like the clapper of a great Russian church bell. He realized that going back to the Soviet Union was likely certain death for an outspoken cleric such as himself, but he hoped he could do some good among his frightened flock before he was hauled off to the Gulag. And even there he hoped he might serve his God before starvation and cold closed his eyes for the last time. Thinking such melancholy thoughts, he hardly noticed the man with the violin case slam into him, bounce against the bulkhead with a muttered apology, and continue down the corridor the old priest had just come up. Then he heard the scream that he couldn't ignore, and will always remember. |
|
02 May 01 - 04:54 PM (#454158) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: MMario The Porter lay moaning on the floor of the passageway, arms and body curled around the towels he had been fetching to clean up the blood; legs attempting to return to a fetal position. His encounter with the man with the violin case (and especially with the swinging violin case) had left him in no condition to finish his shift.
**sub-title "oh GOD, I hurt, I hurt, I hurt" |
|
02 May 01 - 05:02 PM (#454162) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Bert The Inspector, in his haste to get to the crime scene, trips over The Porter, accidentally kicking him in the goolies. The Porter yells "YEEEAAAGHHHH!!!" **Sub-title - "oof" |
|
02 May 01 - 05:05 PM (#454164) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Naemanson Subtitles! ROFL Bert's subtitle! ROFLMAO!! The dwarf was not pleased. He hadn't been away from the circus more than a few months but that had been enough to convince him that the world was full of insane people. Now the idiot with the violin case had thumped him on the head while passing him. Honore Bette had reason to be pleased with himself. He had made such good progress on his studies that the Institute had awarded him a full doctorate in Anthropology and Physiology after only 6 months of correspondence courses. Now he was treated as no more than an inconvenience in the hall. Well, he wasn't going to put up with it. He turned and followed the ill-tempered lout.
|
|
02 May 01 - 05:09 PM (#454167) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: JenEllen Maybe it was in the satchel?? Non, would he be smart enough to figure that the violin would be stolen? What was a girl to do?? What girls have been doing for centuries, that's what... She peered around the corner to see the growing crowd at the door of the compartment, she took a deep breath, and she walked towards them. "'Allo Monsieurs. What is going.." she looked into the compartment and fainted.
|
|
02 May 01 - 05:13 PM (#454174) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Bert JenEllen, you forgot the sub-title "Klonk" |
|
02 May 01 - 05:17 PM (#454176) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: mousethief I forgot the subtitle on my earlier scene. Let's say... um... "Mère de Dieu!" Alex |
|
02 May 01 - 05:17 PM (#454177) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: JenEllen Isn't that the sound of a chastity belt hitting the floor, bert?...she's more of a .... **mon dieu** GLHAO |
|
02 May 01 - 05:25 PM (#454184) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Bert The train pulls to a shuddering unscheduled halt at the little station of "Poelle des oeufs" and a man with a violin case jumps off and runs into the station. Inspector Higgins is hot on his heels yelling "OI YOU!" **Sub-title - "Monsieur! Attendez!" |
|
02 May 01 - 05:43 PM (#454203) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Lonesome EJ Bruno Kattscheidt sat on a cushioned seat in the Salon Premiere, the exclusive tavern in the Club Car of the Orient Express. He tipped his beer mug straight up to finish the dregs of his Uberbrau, when a brass doorkey tumbled from the bottom of the stein and struck his right front tooth with a sharp metallic note. Lifting his fat fist as if to quell a belch, he snagged the key and dropped it in his shirt pocket. He turned his eyes to the bartender, who gave him a sly wink, and said "that will be 9 francs" which meant that Villeneuve was in Cabin 9. Bruno used his thumb and forefinger to remove a small paste of beer-foam from his walrus-like moustaches, and flicked the detritus onto the expensive Turkish carpetting. He stood up, his stiff lederhosen creaking against the barstool. He stopped into the washroom, where he had stashed the Luger behind the Watercloset tank. He checked that there was a round in the chamber, then went about retrieving the silencer from where he had hidden it down the front of his leather shorts. The bulge it had produced had enticed a French Waitress at Cafe Montmarte to comment "ca von votre appendage plus grande!" (* What a Dandy!) He now found it had shifted position somewhat, and he was having some difficulty disentangling it from his underhosen. It was at this point that the door opened, and Father Popovich entered, took one look at the fat German with his hands in his shorts, muttered "zoprosky anatolyanof" (*May God grant success!) and backed out. Kattsheidt assembled the deadly weapon and stalked down the hallway toward Villeneuve's berth. He gradually be came aware of a hubbub in that direction and quickly pushed the pistol into his shirt, briefly revealing the tattoo of an eagle, the twin letters "SS", and the slogan Blut und Eire. Resuming a cheery appearance of ignorant bonhommie, he stepped to the doorway saying "vat is zis kaffe-klatch for?" It was then that two porters emerged carrying the French Scientists limp body. |
|
02 May 01 - 05:48 PM (#454206) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: mousethief LEJ, your translations are hilarious. |
|
02 May 01 - 06:49 PM (#454259) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Amos The lanky stranger in the oversized trenchcoat strode in a desperate rush through the small waiting area in the gare des oeufs de Pollet and drew himself up inside the doorway leading out into the small town. He clutched the violincase to his chest as though trying to shrink himself into it, and peered up and down the cobblestone road that led from the station into the town. He ducked back, startled and alarmed by the sight of three uniformed gendarmes -- one thin, one sturdy, and one as overblown as an English rosbif lagging behind in the race toward the station from the plaza, guns drawn and the gleanm of the hunt in their eyes. He looked desperately around and saw no avenue of escape, no place to hide. "S'cre bleu et mille sabords de tonerre de Brest!" (subtitle: Darn!) he muttered under his breath, and with a few long strides he crossed the waiting area and threw himself across the platform in time to catch the last car of the shiny train as it slowly drew away into the misty French night on its way to the mysteries of Istanbul. His flapping trenchcoat followed him up the steps and into the car, and the strange visitor, his strange prize tightly wrapped in his strange arms, disappeared into the ever-so-strange future of the Orient express. Only a mournful whistle from the invisible engine drifted back to there a huge round gendarme, sweating and panting, caught up with his two colleagues, drawn sidearms useless at their sides, staring into the foggy night at the afterimages of the mighty train. |
|
02 May 01 - 07:09 PM (#454276) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: katlaughing "Oh, dahling, do put out the light!" said Miss Penny Wainscoat. "I am trying to sleep...what are you...oomph!" As she fought against the strong hold against her mouth, quelling her rising scream, her fingers scrabbled behind her, reaching for her hatpin near her cosmetic case. Still the stranger sought to strangle her. Just in time, she latched onto the hatpin and sank it into his hand causing him to shout, "Oh mio dio, tu figlia di [a] pedinare!" *Oh my god, you daughter of a dog!* Grabbing the violin case, he'd set aside when he slipped into her compartment, the man dashed into the corridor, sucking on his now bleeding hand. Miss Wainscoat fixed her sleeping mask and settled under the covers. |
|
02 May 01 - 07:28 PM (#454294) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Morticia Dame Cricklebat half-roused herself from her gin-sodden sleep."Carruthers," quoth she," Carruthers! What is that gharstly din?" Carruthers moved lumpily in the bottom bunk, and murmured "Oh,Paul" before returning ever more snugly into the arms of Morpheus.Dame Cricklebat harrumphed with a sound not at all unlike a vexed hippopotamus and then, her precious Stradivarius clutched to her ample bosom, drifted back into her dreams of stardom and a 22" waist. |
|
02 May 01 - 08:09 PM (#454333) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Lonesome EJ Carruthers, once awakened, found it very hard to get back to sleep. He was a bit angry as well, for the dream of the Public School Boy's Swimming Team had been delightful. Oddly Paul had been on the team...Paul, balding and with his middle-aged paunch, had seemed strangely out of place in the tight Speedos and goggles. How Carruthers missed him, his delicate way with the finches, his light hand with the spice when preparing Mornay Sauce, his impassioned Juliet when he and Carruthers would read the Balcony Scene together on those damp nights in Croyden. "Oh, Paul," he murmured again, but the only sound in return was a sudden snorting in-take of breath on the part of the Dame. A spot of Sherry was what he needed. He left the berth, closing the door silently behind him, and nearly butted heads with a tall stranger carrying a violin case as he turned a corner in the passage. The stranger hurried on silently, while Carruthers called "Well, EXCUSE me!" and under his breath "uncouth lout." Something wet was warm against his wrist, and as he entered the Club Car he examined it; a small bead of crimson blood. |
|
02 May 01 - 08:30 PM (#454353) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Naemanson Honore Bette followed quietly, a small unseen presnce in the shadows of the car. He had seen the attack on Penny Wainscoat and noticed that the stranger had not been interested in Dame Cricklebat's Stradivarius. He had also noticed the stranger's lingering gaze on the somnolent form of Carruthers. As he slipped down the swaying corridor he stumbled against the lithe graceful form of Annette Marceau. she spoke to him but he couldn't understand a word. Finally he drawled, "Yaw'll havta 'scuze me ma'am"* and slipped past her. Damn! The stranger had disappeared.
*"Get the hell out of my way, tall Froggie!" |
|
02 May 01 - 09:28 PM (#454383) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: CarolC The lighting in the cafe car was subdued. Smoke hung thickly around the heads of a dozen or so passengers.
The woman on the small stage at the far end of the car played dark and sultry strains of music on her accordion. From the corner of her eye, she could see a strange little man entering the car with an angry but furtive look on his face. He tried to adopt a casual demeanor as he made his way slowly toward her. "Ah... mon petite cabbage", she thought (*my little friend). And she smiled as he tucked a compartment key into the top of her fishnet stocking. |
|
02 May 01 - 10:46 PM (#454412) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Caitrin At the back of the car, a young lady in a smart black dress sat mostly unnoticed. The rather vulgar man in the seat across from her continued to leer, but he could be easily ignored. "Now, where is he?" Celeste thought. She was to meet Villeneuve on this train, get the formula, and leave at the next stop. |
|
02 May 01 - 11:07 PM (#454421) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: mousethief Father Popovich sat up quickly in his bunk; hitting his head on the low overhead, "Bouzhe moi!" (*ouch!) he cried out. "J'ai besoin d'une vodka!" (*boy is my throat dry!) he said aloud, to nobody in particular. Gingerly letting himself down from his bunk, his foot touched the floor just inches away from the head of the now-sleeping fugitive. Still half-asleep, he picked up the violin case from the floor, thinking it was his attache which contained his passport and a (too small!) roll of French bills. He eased himself into the corridor, and in the dim light realized he had picked up his violin case by mistake. He reached back in, found his valise, grabbed it, and shut the door once more. Lurching once again down the rumbling passageway, he tucked the violin case into his suitcase, and slowly made his way to the club car. |
|
03 May 01 - 12:34 AM (#454459) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Matt_R An unshaved slob with red hair storms about. Shorts, tennis shoes, and a long military flak jacket storms about weilding a harpoon taller than himself. "ALRIGHT," he screams, "WHERE IS HE?". |
|
03 May 01 - 12:58 AM (#454480) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Bert Meanwhile back in Poelle des oeufs Inspector Higgins has lost the man with the violin case. He rushes back to the platform to see the train disappearing down the track. "Damn and Blast" (* Oh bother) He cries and enquires the time of the next train. "Demain" (*tomorrow) is the answer. So he looks around town for a place to spend the night. The only place in town is "Hotel de Vielle a roue" (*Hurdy Gurdy Inn). He has just retired to his room when there is a knock on the door and a pretty chambermaid comes in. "Can I do anything to make your stay more comfortable?" (* you want sex?) she says. "Gor, can you ever" he replies "come in and close the door" (*Yes) Meanwhile back on the train... |
|
03 May 01 - 03:21 AM (#454517) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Lonesome EJ Napoleon Duchamp felt the gentle nip of the Cointreau on his tongue and sighed. He had been too long without a vacation, too long chasing the felons around the dark underside of the City of Light. He was going to enjoy this trip to Istanbul. His wife Matilde was enjoying a snooze on the seat opposite his, a half-smile on her lips. He stared out into the night, watching the occasional clusters of light from the French villages flicker by. He opened his copy of the new French translation of Hemmingway's The Sun Also Rises with one hand and pulled up the soft woolen blanket with the dark purple stenciling that read "Orient Express Line". Then the door slid open and Dumblier the Porter stuck his head in, his face red, his eyes like the headlights of a Renault Dauphin. "Pardon, Mssr Duchamp, but something terrible has happened. Dr Villeneuve has been murdered." Napoleon considered the unlikely possibility that this was a practical joke being played upon him by Detective Sergeant Roche, like the time a year ago when Roche had pasted a plastic spider to the stem of his Champagne Flute on Duchamp's birthday, but he dismissed the situation as too obscure and complex for Roche's meager imagination. He placed his Cointreau gently upon the table and said "where is the victim?" "In the baggage car", replied Dumblier. "He was murdered in the baggage car?" "Oh,no, Inspector. He was murdered in his cabin." "And you moved the body, you fool!" "The Chief Conductor thought it would disturb the other passengers." "And am I not a passenger? He had no hesitation to disturb me!" Duchamp placed a Gauloise in the stubby holder and lit it, then glanced at his watch. "It is now twelve minutes after ten o'clock. When was the body discovered?" "At quarter til ten, mssr." "The dead man's belongings?" "Still in his cabin, Inspector" "Take me there at once. And have the Chief Conductor bring to me a complete passenger list with destinations. No one leaves this train until their innocence is established beyond un suspicion d'raison. Understand?" Duchamp placed the blanket on the knees of his still-sleeping wife and mumbled "pleasant dreams, cheri," and followed Dumblier through the doorway. In the hallway he was taken aback to see a short, red-headed individual babbling and brandishing a harpoon. "Have him watched," said Duchamp. |
|
03 May 01 - 06:44 AM (#454579) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Gervase Meanwhile, in the salon, a small knot of travellers was gathered around one of the overstuffed armchairs. The elaborate brocade had been savagely hacked as if by a maniac; horsehair and kapok lay all around on the carpet and the very springs of the piece had been laid bare. Through the excited, twittering throng pushed a tall figure with an aquiline nose and an ulster cape, followed by a shorter, stouter companion clearly struggling to keep up. The unlikely pair stopped and stood impassively before the mutilated chair, the tall figure instantly commanding respect. The silence that followed was broken only by the stout man, still slightly breathless. "Well Holmes," he said. "This is a rum do. Do you think you can solve it?" The tall man smiled a thin-lipped smile as he absent-mindedly toyed with a block or rosin with his long, pale fingers. "Solve it, Watson? My dear fellow, even a dunderhead like you can surely see that this is an open and cut chaisse." Sorry, I'll get me coat |
|
03 May 01 - 06:48 AM (#454584) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: GUEST,Roger the skiffler Passenger Announcement: South West Trains regret the cancellation of this service due to hysterical laughter in the cabin. We apologise for any inconvenience caused. RtS |
|
03 May 01 - 08:50 AM (#454660) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Grab The train at platform 2 is the Orient Express, calling at Heaven, Hell, Hades, and all stops to Death. This train is currently running 15, one five, minutes late due to a shortage of staff. Graham. |
|
03 May 01 - 09:34 AM (#454691) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Peter T. He sat by the railway track smoking his pipe, and reading his onion-skin edition of Keats' poems. It was a beautiful morning, and the sun glinted off the detonator clips, and the thin strand of wire snaking off into the clump of woods. He was anxious, for three reasons. The first was that he had forgotten to pack his edition of Keats' letters, and there was a nagging reference he wanted to check, but the chances of him finding an English library in Budapest, were slim. Second, Morzik was late, and though he was somewhat bumptious, Morzik was never late. Third, he knew that Annette Marceau was on the Express, and that he would have to finesse a warning somehow when the train reached Budapest. He heard a sound behind him, ducked down fast, and then saw that it was just a herd of wild ponies cantering across the puszhta. He relaxed again, and there came into his mind Annette's delicate subtitles, and the afternoon when they had brought new life to Pere Lachaise. He remembered another time, in the hut on the island near Stockholm, where she had turned to him and said: "Curioso, I think they are wrong. I don't think it would require that much uranium if the reaction were tweaked somehow. Niels talked about it once, but I don't think even he realizes. Look, turn over, cheri, I need some writing space. No, not that way, magnifique though you are. Let me draw it along your back." And that was when they got the idea. |
|
03 May 01 - 10:11 AM (#454713) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Les from Hull Morzik peered from his hiding place in the bushes. Yes, the fool was there alright, casually smoking his ridiculous pipe and sitting as though he hadn't a care in the world. Finally he had his chance for revenge. He remembered that time in Stockholm, the time with the anchovies. Oh God, he could never smell anchovies without remembering Stockholm. What a fool he had been. But now this would all change. He raised the old Mauser to his shoulder and carefully sighted. His finger gently squeezed the trigger. |
|
03 May 01 - 10:40 AM (#454734) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: MMario Due to the staff shortage the Porter was working, despite lingering injuries. Although the pain might,under other circumstances, caused depression, he was truly quite happy with the current situation. The extension of his duties to cover those coworkers mysteriously missing allowed him access to passengers he would otherwise have had to devise clever ways to visit. Now he would be delivering their breakfasts. With a wide grin on his face he carefully dusted the omelette on one plate with a measured dose of Lytta vesicatoria; then, with even more glee sprinkled the crepes americaine liberally with Amanita Muscaria. Replacing the warming covers on the meals for the lovely Annette and the despicable Carruthers he added them to the tray along with several other plates. Adding a carafe of Blue Mountain Coffee and a steaming pot of Darjeeling to the tray he prepared to further his schemes. |
|
03 May 01 - 10:45 AM (#454741) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Fibula Mattock A shot rang out, a long wheeze sounded. The accordian lay, punctured, on the floor. Its fishnet-clad owner stood over the instrument shrieking in a manner reminiscent of her earlier playing. Several of the people in the buffet car applauded. "Enfin, je peut entendre quand tu me parles. Elle fait un bruit comme un ane qui est mal a la gorge. C'est diabolique!"* *subtitle - I don't like accordians much |
|
03 May 01 - 11:05 AM (#454750) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: mousethief The fog in Father Popovich's brain started to break up after the third shot of vodka. Stolichnaya. Nothing but the best on the Orient Express. Two vodkas later the sun finally broke through and he was once again in full command of his facilities, such as they were. He ordered a large mineral water ("Vodka always makes me thirsty," he explained once), and set about exploring this strange new violin case. He now remembered where it came from -- that sleeping man who most assuredly did not belong on the floor of his sleeper compartment. He was certain that the man would no longer be there, were he to go back and look for him. "He might even be in this car!" the priest thought with a jolt. He stopped himself even as he was about to draw the violin case out of his suitcase and inspect it. "'Ere ees your meenairal wataire, Fahzaire," the bartender Marcel said in a friendly voice. "Peetay about the Doctaire, ees eet not?" "The Doctor?" Father Popovich asked. "What doctor? Je ne comprends pas." (*huh?) "Oh, so you haff not haird? Doctaire Villeneuve, ze famous Pheezaceest, was keeled on ze train. Everyboday ees talking about eet." "Dostrovno Vladivostok!" (*Well I'll be!") The voluminous Russian looked out over the club car. He caught snatches of conversations from several tables. Indeed, all of the conversations he could hear were in fact about the death of Dr. Villeneuve. Except one man, over in the corner, who was asleep and mumbling about boys in swimsuits, and one woman who was speaking in a country French accent about the death of her -- accordion? "Clearly I need another vodka," thought Fr. Basil. Aloud, he said, "Yes, that is a horrible thing. Has the man been prepared for burial? Have they said the rites over him?" "Zair ees no Catholic Priest on ze train," said the bartender. "Pairheps?" "Where is the body?" The tall Russian stood up a little unsteadily and caasually tossed a fifty-franc bill to the barkeep. "Even if he was not a son of the Russian Church, duty demands that I see to it he is prepared for Christian burial." "Ze boday ees een ze baggage car, Fahzair." "Keep the change, Marcel." The priest strode off in the direction of the baggage car, lurching and bumping into walls, people, tables, etc. as he went. "Change? 'Ee steefed me twenty francs!" mumbled Marcel, gathering the empty glasses and wiping down the bar with a damp cloth. |
|
03 May 01 - 11:18 AM (#454761) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Peter T. A shot flung past Curioso heading towards the Urals, and he dropped into the railway cut. Whoever it was, he was a lousy shot. Curioso sped down the line crouched low, plunged into the woods, and circled around. It reminded him of early mornings on the veldt, when Jaluba would laugh his big laugh and say -- Oh, yes, Sir, the lioness was in there last night, and she was not happy, Oh, no Sir. And every twig rustled death. Who was it? There was no love lost between the Serbian network and the Hungarian, but they had not potshotted each other for awhile. He moved tangentially towards where he had to go. He looked at his watch. There were 2 minutes. They needed this one. If they didn't derail this train then all their plans for the Express would go awry. He caught a glimpse of a familiar figure peering over the cut a hundred yards away. Morzik. Bastard. He should have known. Morzik had never forgiven him for the anchovies; not to mention the moment when Annette had humiliated Morzik by referring to shrimp and his manhood in the same sentence. He sighed, and now heard the train in the distance. Morzik had gone back into the woods. Hell. Curioso picked up the detonator and ran along the edge of the woods, gingerly holding the wires so they would not snap or tangle. The sun shone. The train whistled and grew noisily. 20 seconds. There was another shot from the woods that slammed into the tree by his head. He decided there was only one crazy alternative. He leapt out onto the track in front of the oncoming train, and ran along the track towards the explosives. Another shot rang out, "Stop it, Curioso, stoop it, it's suicide," Morzik screamed. The train howled, and he raced ahead of it, it closed on him, was nearly over him, he passed the explosives, counted to 3, and hit the plunger. |
|
03 May 01 - 11:21 AM (#454763) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Fibula Mattock The tannoy crackled. "We apologize, laydees and jentlemen, for ze unfortunate termeenation of ze accordian playing. Instead, I am pleezed to announce ze arrival of the string section of ze Parisian Philharmonique Orchestra." The carriage doors burst open upon this announcment and a stream of smartly-dressed musicians carrying a wide variety of stringed instrument cases entered. |
|
03 May 01 - 11:26 AM (#454769) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Peter T. "Well," thought Curioso, as he picked himself up following his death roll over the cut, flying fragments of train hurtling after him, "That should do it. They will have to reroute the Express our way." What was left of the freight gasped and wheezed like a dying elephant, and he had seen too many dying elephants in his life, so he did not stay to revel in his handiwork. Right now he fancied a wellearned trip to the Baths in Budapest, to await the arrival of the Express, two days away. He would deal with Morzik later. |
|
03 May 01 - 11:31 AM (#454774) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Matt_R But Zundapp the notoriously mad Frisian harpooner was still at large, in search of his prey... |
|
03 May 01 - 11:48 AM (#454798) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Naemanson The dwarf holstered his pistol and looked at the fragments of the accordion. He'd hated to do that, he really enjoyed the music of the squeezebox. But he knew she would have played all night and there were some things he needed to discuss with her. He saw her finger the key he had slipped into her stocking. then, with tears in her eyes she left the room. "Ta heyall wit dat guy an' de fiddle case"* Bette thought to himself. "I got bigger fishtafry!" He slipped out of the room following the alluring figure of the accordion player...
*"To hell with the man and the violin" |
|
03 May 01 - 11:57 AM (#454809) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Les from Hull The explosion rocked Morzik. For a brief moment he thought that Curioso had mistimed his leap, but then he caught sight of his misshapen figure limping off across the other side of the tracks where the mighty freight train lay in a distorted heap of metal and steam. Soon the area would be teeming with police and troops, and Morzik knew that he would have to get away fast. He raced back to the woods. Quickly scribbling a note with the pencil he always kept behind his one remaining ear, he stuffed it into the tiny cylinder and attached it to the bird's leg. "Bolnolyka strabar, kapotna dratona, bolnolyka strabar com il as tronopa vrednar!"*, he cried as he launched the bird into the air. *subtitle "Fly away!" |
|
03 May 01 - 12:02 PM (#454814) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Fibula Mattock As Father Popovich swayed into the next carriage the train jolted and the violin case slipped from his grasp, landing amidst the instruments owned by the Parisian Philharmonic. With an exasperated mutter the priest reached for the case, his vodka-clouded mind focusing on the matter of the dead scientist. He didn't seem to notice that what he actually picked up was a viola. |
|
03 May 01 - 12:11 PM (#454825) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Naemanson "Hmm," Honore muttered to himself. "We got sum knda problems here. One guy been kilt, some guy been runnin' tru da train bonking me onna head wit a fiddle and now I'm chasing women 'cordian players. Wot's gonna happen next? Dere otta be a law aginit. We in dire straits!" The porter, standing behind him said, "Sir, there is a law against violins in the straits!" |
|
03 May 01 - 12:49 PM (#454864) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Caitrin Celeste grabbed the nearest object to steady herself as the train rocked with the explosion. Villeneuve was dead, and Curioso and Morzik were both on board. The only way this day could get worse would be for Hargittai to show up. If she didn't find that violin quickly, the whole thing was done for. And so was she. She carefully made her way further up the train car, trying to look as though she was simply a young lady in search of the w.c. and ignoring the sound of gunshots. Celeste couldn't prevent a small smile from crossing her lips as she spotted the violin case. But what was this? ANother violin case! And another, and another...blast, it was the entire Parisian Philharmonic! And here she thought Hargittai was the only way this job could be made more difficult--clearly, he was only one of many possibilities. It always came back to what Granpere Maurice used to say... "Merde arrive." subtitle: Shit happens. |
|
03 May 01 - 01:09 PM (#454886) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Gervase ...moments later, from behind the woodwind section, came the unmistakeable crack of a Mauser... |
|
03 May 01 - 01:31 PM (#454904) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: MMario please, please, please, someone have the Mauser stolen so we can have a "Mauserthief"! |
|
03 May 01 - 02:05 PM (#454925) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: JenEllen Her first thought upon opening her eyes was --ou sont les papiers? The tiny man had briefly distraced the others, but the Inspector still crouched in the hall attending to the fallen woman. She thought she saw a glimmer of something in his eye--impossible, he was from Yorkshire, non? So she quickly forced a crocodile tear to roll down her cheek. The Inspector's face softened, as did the priests. "Let me have a minute alone with him, non? Au revior? The priest and the Inspector stepped aside as she went into the compartment. She fell across Villenueve and during her hysterical sobbing, managed to neatly rifle through the satchel beside him. The papers weren't there? How could this be? When they took the body away, Annette got a bit more time to inspect the compartment. Nothing. The papers were gone. All that hard work right down le toilet. Her Curioso would be furioso if he knew they were gone. She quickly took a napkin from the tray the porter had left, and sketched a picture of the man who had taken the violincase. The lanky frame lept from the page as she drew. Now, how to get this to the Inspector without incriminating herself? Better yet, how to get him to understand when he didn't know his derrierre from a hole in the terre? |
|
03 May 01 - 02:08 PM (#454928) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: mousethief Father Vasiliy (Russian for "Basil") reached the door to the Luggage Car, and reached into his valise for the small censor and flask of holy water he always carried with him. The violin case was gone; and in its place was a viola case! "Gorky Novgorod Zhdruvnik!" (*egad!) he swore. Immediately, a porter came out through the door, looking pale. "Porter," said the priest, "Take this to the Philharmonic, pozhal'sta -um- s'il vous plait" (*"if you've nothing better to do"). The porter absently grabbed the viola case and walked on up the train. He lit the censor, applied the incense, and opened the door to the luggage compartment. "Svyatiy Bozhe! Sviatiy Kryepkiy!" (*"Holy God! Holy Mighty One!") he intoned, incense billowing like the smoke from the train's engine, "Svyatiy Bezsmertniy!" (*"Holy Immortal One!") The car was empty. There was a large, still-drying blood stain on the floor. The door behind him closed, and he heard the bolt slide home. "Svyatiy Kal!" (*"Sacre Merde!") he murmured. With his big fists he pounded on the door. There was no answer. The train rocked on down the tracks toward Budapest. After some time, the incense went out. Finally, the big man sat down on the car floor, his back against the forward bulkhead. "Gospodi Pomiluy!" (*"Where's God when you need Him?") said Father Popovich. |
|
03 May 01 - 02:17 PM (#454936) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Morticia Dame Cricklebat swept into the salon, a magnificent and, indeed, munificent site in her deshabillee (*jammies)."I demand to know what is going on!"she cried,her operatic tones ringing around the chaotic and panic -stricken carriage." Where is my secretary, Carruthers?Where is my beautiful Stradivarius? And where, more importantly, is my breakfast???" |
|
03 May 01 - 02:21 PM (#454941) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: mousethief She's a munificent site? Oh dear! Some typo's are just simply delicious! |
|
03 May 01 - 03:09 PM (#454974) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: katlaughing Miss Penny Waistcoat tossed and turned. Finally, giving a great sigh of exasperation, she flung the covers from her and arose. Some dame with mighty bellows was demanding to know things and Penny was going to find out what and why! Enough with this damn playacting, I'ma gonna show them mah true calurs* (*'bout time I kicked some arse around here!*) she thought. Throwing her nightgown to the floor, she stepped into her Wild West costume, with fringed leather skirt and matching vest; high-necked, yet provacative silk blouse of a shimmering green which matched her eyes, and lastly, her high boots of the softest leather both sides of the Pecos. She might not have been born and bred within hollering distance of the High Sierra, but she'd learned the part. Strapping on her belt with the dual, tooled leather with silver studded holsters, she took out first one six-shooter, then the other, checked the chambers to make double sure they were full (she always kept them loaded, but never failed to check), spun the cylinders, and stuck one of them back in its holster. With the other one in her hand, cocked and ready to aim, she slowly opened her cabin door.
|
|
03 May 01 - 03:38 PM (#455000) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Les from Hull On and on and on the pigeon flew, its silver wings reflecting the late afternoon sun as it flashed homewards. Over mountain, over flatlands, over sea it flew, each beat of its sturdy wings taking it nearer and nearer to its goal. Instinct drove the bird on. It ignored the changes of weather, the wind at first driving it onwards and then later holding it back as it struggled ever on and on. Early the next morning it found what it was looking for, what it had spent these long hours striving towards. A flock of its fellow creatures circled below promising rest, shelter, food and company. Bert Royce reached out and took the strange bird in his experienced hands. "Worra ya doin' 'ere ya daft bugger?"* he enquired of the bird, and then he noticed the strange canister fastened to the bird's leg. Intrigued, he removed it, opened it and took out the piece of paper he found inside. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the crabbed script, turning it this way and that, holding it near and far until at length with a brief "What the fuck.."** he screwed it into a tiny ball and threw it away. He didn't notice as the tiny cylinder leapt onto the wire mesh at the front of the cage with a satisfied magnetic 'ting'. It was one of the strangest things that had even happened to him all the time that he had lived in the West End of Derby.
subtitles |
|
03 May 01 - 03:54 PM (#455011) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: CarolC Pity about the German box, she thought, feeling thankful for the first time about the leaky valve on her precious Italian accordion that made the loud and obnoxious German box a temporary necessity.
As she passed the waiter bearing trays of food labeled "Parisian Philharmonique Orchestra" (*pretentious gits), she thought she saw him dust the food with a fine powder that looked suspiciously like ground up mushrooms. The world is going mad she thought, and she determined that only she and her little friend and coleague were the only sane people left in it. With a last lingering look at the ruin that was once her Hohner, she left the cafe car... |
|
03 May 01 - 04:07 PM (#455023) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: JenEllen Annette, left alone in the bloodstained compartment, felt herself falling prey to two equally powerful emotions. She could cry, or she could get herself the hell out of this. She sat on the padded bench across from the bloodstain, rested her chin in her hands, and stared at it congealing mass on the upholstry. Pensez. There had to be something she could do. The sky outside the window grew increasingly more gray, and as the wind and rain began to beat at the window, she was reminded of the little gray island where this all began. Her Curioso, as long as he continued to wind around her like Mlle.Reynoldses Chat, she didn't ask, and he didn't tell. She had a penchant for expressing herself in the visible, drawing sketches (to illustrate herself, as it were), and Curioso's broad shoulders were the perfect slate.
"Non, chere, like this..." She began to trace across his back with one finger. "Everything is made of l'energie, let's say, the good and the bad? For each smile, you have one frown, non? I have seen this that Niels is working on, and I think he may be, how you say, on to something?"
Her mind then jumped to an episode in the same room a few short days ago.
|
|
03 May 01 - 04:44 PM (#455060) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Caitrin Yes, that was the unmistakable crack of a Mauser. Celeste quickly flattened herself against the wall, trying to find the direction of the noise--it sounded like it came from the clarinet section, but it could just as easily have been the flutes. She peered through the musicians, looking for the source. |
|
03 May 01 - 04:57 PM (#455073) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Peter T. It was sublimely hot in the great ornate baths in Budapest, green and yellow, like being inside some strange Hungarian dragon. Curioso stepped into the waters and heard the echoes revolving around and around his head. He smiled as the warmth enveloped him, and lay back. So far everything had gone beautifully well, except for the little byplay with Morzik, and they had always known that there had to be someone in the network who was piping the information. Maybe Morzik, maybe not. It hardly mattered. They had brought them out into the open anyway, and the hunt was on. He looked around, and saw only the usual collection of old, rich Hungarian men, bobbing here and there like they were bait for young rich Hungarian women just below the surface of the water. He couldn't help laughing when he thought about the great theatrical scene he and Annette had played out for the benefit of the bug attached to the underside of the bed; followed by some extraordinary exertions just to make the man on the other side of the wall with the headphones very very very lonely. When they were done for the moment, she whispered in his ear: "The things I do for science, mon amour." "I know, I know," he whispered back, " it is terrible, but how else can we get the plans through?" He came back to the baths, thought better about getting out for the moment, and turned his attention to the problem of Marie of Romania. |
|
03 May 01 - 04:58 PM (#455075) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Morticia Carruthers,who had been in the act of mopping his pale and perspiring brow with a somewhat florid hankerchief,gave a small sigh and slid gently down the wall and into the lap of the Second Violinist....a fact which he would have been infinitely more delighted about had he still had a pulse. Dame Cricklebat let out a small but genteel shriek."No," she cried" No, it is too bad....really it is!Who on earth will arrange my appointment book now?"A statement which, although it says much about the relationship between employer and employee, says more regarding the Diva's morals, priorities and almost complete inability to either read or write. |
|
03 May 01 - 05:01 PM (#455076) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: GUEST,Matt_R And boy, could Zundapp tell a Mauser rifle from a javelin. |
|
03 May 01 - 05:19 PM (#455095) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: mousethief The first violinist and conductor of L'Orchestre Parisienne Philharmonique, one Guy Lombarre d'Eaux (*le "pun" mal) watched his musicians set up their music stands, and open their instrument cases. He knew that all pandaemonium was breaking out up and down the length of the train, but a paying gig was a paying gig, and he was damned well going through with this one. They would get off in Budapest, catch the night train home, and be back in time for next Friday's concert at the "Chateau de la Lumiere Rouge" (*total dive). He ambled over to the cart where the instrument cases were. There were two violin cases left. One his, and the other one he had never seen before. "Quelle une chose!" (*Gor blimey!) he said under his breath. Inconspicuously, he picked up both, and retreated to his spot behind the music stand and the knee-high faux wall segments (*I know there's a name for these things but I can't remember it). He opened the strange case, and found it was stuffed with what appeared to be scientific papers. He deftly lifted the papers out of the case, searched for subcompartments and found a chunk of rosin and a curious coin, both of which he pocketed. He stuffed the papers behind his music in his music folder, closed the violin case, and quietly returned it to the cart. Soon the orchestra was beginning "It Don't Mean A Thing (If It Ain't Got That Swing)," and the passengers in the club car, still somewhat shell-shocked by the happenings of the last hour, started to relax. Some even started tapping their toes. Meanwhile, in the luggage car, Father Popovich was snoring loudly when a loud "Thud!" woke him up with a start. He looked up and found that the smoke from the incense had cleared, and furthermore that the once-empty car was filled with luggage, boxes, and other assorted cartage. And directly at his feet, in a dried pool of blood, was the body of Dr Villanueve. "Rimsky Korsakov!" (*hell's bells) the priest swore. He struggled to his feet, and began arranging the body for burial, as he had done countless times before with countless parishioners whom he had ushered in to the Beyond. But before he could finish, the door burst open, and in strode Napoleon Duchamps. "What are you doing here?" he bellowed. "I am arranging the body for burial, friend," said the burly priest. "Oh, Father Popich, is it?" said the inspecteur. "Popovich, oui," said the Russian. "Well, I am not a religious man, Father," said the inspector as he bent to kiss the priest's hand, crossed himself several times, and genuflected slightly. "But I can't say how glad I am to see you." |
|
03 May 01 - 05:54 PM (#455135) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: JenEllen Annette left the dead man's compartment in search of the thief. There was no sense putting it off any longer, she needed those papers. The commotion ahead in the clubcar made her turn around and begin her search in the rear cars. All of the pieces but one, and if she lost this, she'd never forgive herself. She passed a young man in the coachcar that was reading TheWorldSetFree, and she barely resisted the urge to rip it, and him, from the seat and throw them both to the rails. She had made a vow to never again drink scotch with HerbertGeorge, but she hadn't promised not to throw any precocious children from trains. The baggage car door seemed to be locked? She wrestled with it a moment before hearing the whistle. Next stop, information. The package was supposed to be left at the station, she hoped at least this would go smoothly. Banat or Apuseni? What of the queen herself? And what were her old friends Rutherford and Chadwick up to these days? She returned to the previous car, passing a small man who gave her the look-over before continuing on to the baggage car himself. |
|
03 May 01 - 05:58 PM (#455140) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Lonesome EJ The Express had reached the German Border at dawn. With a gasp of steam and two short blows of the whistle, the great train pulled up to the platform. Duchamp peered out of the window of the club car at the two jack-booted German officers with their clip-boards who waited for the Express to come to a full stop. The waiter appeared and placed omelettes and coffee on the table in front of Napoleon and Matilde. "And what have you discovered, Nappie?" she asked him. "Well, everyone but the two of us seemed to be aware that Villeneuve was carrying some sort of secret document. In his berth, I have found a leather satchel, but he was seen by the Conductor with a violin case as well. This violin case, of course, is missing." "Someone murdered him and stole his violin?" "Oui, cheri, it seems so. Perhaps they didn't care for his playing?" The conductor entered the club car accompanied by the German officers. Duchamp frowned at the swastika armbands that they wore, muttered "fasciste! and took a large bite of his omelette. The officers were checking passports at the end of the car, and Duchamp secretly motioned the conductor to him. "Monsieur...it would not be a good idea to mention to these two..er, gentlemen..our little unpleasantness of last night. They would love to detain the Express and everyone on it, ce va?" The conductor nodded his head. "Seig Heil!" The shout caused all of the morning diners to turn toward the plump German tourist in his Austrian Alpenkappe and lederhosen who had sprung up from his table to extend his right arm in salute. "That fellow is a German agent," Napoleon told Matilde. "He has been in Paris some time, and had met with Villeneuve several times. In fact, there are so many foreign agents on this train that the very air is, as the English say, "thick with intrigue". First there is the retired circus midget, Honore Bette. I believe him to be an American spy. The Russian Orthodox Priest, Popovich, was not near berth 9 when the murder occurred, but he has reasons for seeking gain: He has a struggling mission in his native country to support. Inspector Higgins, who was arrested last night by the vice squad in Poelle des Ouefs, may be acting on behalf of the British Government. Annette Marceau is known to be active in the Serbo-Hungarian Independence Movement in association with the two terrorists Curioso and Morzik. Then there is Dame Cricklebat and her, shall we say, plus delicate' butler. The Dame once served as a liason to the Italian Government. And Celeste Mondrian, with whom we have some history in Department...she is an infamous blackmailer, and was known to be carrying on an affair with Villeneuve." Duchamp paused as the two German Officials checked their papers. "Sank you!" Said the taller and blonder of the two. "Enchoy your stay in the Third Reich." They exited the train, and the Orient Express crept forward then gave a slight sideways lurch. "What is that, Nappie?" said Matilde. "It seems were are taking another line of track. Interesting." He sipped his hot coffee, then lit a Gauloise. "One thing seems certain. We must find the violin case to solve the murder case. And another thing is also certain..." "Yes, Cheri?" "There are more violin cases on this train than in the Berlin Symphony." *(Alright, I know I'm a bit off the story timeline, but I've been trying to post this all day, damn it)...LEJ |
|
03 May 01 - 06:15 PM (#455159) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: mousethief LEJ, where exactly should it be inserted into the flow of the story? |
|
03 May 01 - 06:35 PM (#455178) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Lonesome EJ It should have posted about noon today. Ah well, c'est la vie! (that's the way the ol mop flops) |
|
03 May 01 - 06:49 PM (#455190) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Les from Hull Ingrid Sorensen, chambermaid at the Hotel Esplanade, Stockholm, inspected the sheet she had found at the back of the linen cupboard. How this sheet had managed to escape the laundry she had no idea. As she turned it over she saw it was very heavily soiled. For some reason she was reminded of the Turin Shroud. Only this was ink. There was no doubt about it. It was as if someone had used the sheet as a jotter, although she could not understand any of the markings. Suddenly, seized with inspiration she held the sheet up to a mirror. Yes, mathematical symbols and drawings, all tightly crammed into the space that might be occupied by say, a man's back, although she had to admit to herself, a curiosly misshapen man's back. "Yerden sperden gerherden berderden"* she shouted, as she flung the offending object into the laundry basket. *filthy foreigners |
|
03 May 01 - 06:51 PM (#455192) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: CarolC The bright circus colors hurt her eyes. You can take the dwarf out of the circus, but you can't take the circus out of the dwarf, she thought. She was looking around the compartment of her friend and compatriot, Honore Brett. Scattered around the compartment were remnants of a lifetime of work under the big tent. Clown costumes, fake noses, silly hats and orange wigs. Even the big shoes. It was a shame he had to shoot the accordion, but it was a casualty of war. The pretense must be kept up at all costs. "Sacre merde" she tought (*mercy me). Where is that funny little fellow, anyway? She didn't know if she should wait for him, or proceed with the plan without him... |
|
03 May 01 - 10:23 PM (#455326) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Caitrin The starting of the swing music gave Celeste just the opening she needed to scoot on through the car. Villeneuve was supposed to have been in this compartment here...perhaps his belongings remained. Celeste delicately turned the doorknob, hoping no one would notice her entrance. |
|
03 May 01 - 10:37 PM (#455337) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Naemanson Suddenly the train left the tracks and flew up into a sky filled with brilliant saphires and rubies. The trees seemed to lean down to hold on the the train but then they helped to fling it higher. Inside the train the colors of the drapes leaked into the wall paper and stained the irises of his eyes. The music thumped in his nose and left him with tears in his ears. "That's the last time I steal someone else's mushroom omelette." muttered the dwarf. |
|
04 May 01 - 12:27 AM (#455388) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: JenEllen Annette closed the door of her compartment behind her, she leaned back against it and sighed. The lanky one was gone. Not a trace of him remained on the train, not that she could find. As the train slowly pulled to a stop, she checked her make-up and holster, wrapped her coat around her shoulders, and prepared to set her feet on German ground. As she stepped onto the platform, she noticed the RiechtRats swarming around the Express. They can't possibly know about Villenueve, can they? As she was looking at the activity on the platform, one of Hitler's finest grabbed her by the arm. "Can I help you find something, fraulein? Or perhaps someone?" he held her like a vise. "Non, monsieur, but you can tell me...are my seams straight?" (*remember my ass, don't remember my face) She casually used her free hand to lift the hem of her skirt and extended one of her calves a fraction more than was lady-like. The visegrip loosened, the young soldier blushed, and stuttering he went back to his collegues to gloat. This hardly concerned her now. She stood a few moments longer when a deep voice whispered over her shoulder "Some days you are the pigeon." To which she replied, "Other days you are the statue." She turned and found herself face-to-face with the toothy grin of the American, Hank Jones. "'Allo Henri" she said and she kissed each cheek. "Hi ya toots. Long time, no see, eh?" he picked her up in an waltz embrace and spun her a few feet across the platform. "Pretty nice gig, huh? Beats the hell out of you having to do the can-can in semaphore!" His joviality wore out it's welcome with Annette fairly quickly, it always did. "Merci, Henri, please, you have something for me, non?" He hugged her again, much to the delight of the soldiers, and slipped a small parcel under her arm. Hank walked her back to the train, and paused a second before helping her to board the steps, "You take care of yourself, dollface. You don't know how these guys can be when you have something they want." She once again, brushed her lips across his cheek, and then she climbed the steps. She walked quietly to her compartment, entered, and slid the bolt locking the door. She sat on her bed and untied the string around the parcel Hank had given her. Three separate bundles fell out, the first of which appeared to be more info on the Villenueve man, the second contained information of Morzik's gradual slide into mental instability--no great secret as far as she was concerned, and the third was titled "LesEnfants" and contained pastel drawings that her nieces and nephews had given to OncleHank to pass along. She grabbed these first, and settled back into her bunk. Tucking her feet under her, and her blanket around her, she began to read. |
|
04 May 01 - 12:36 AM (#455397) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: katlaughing Miss Penny Waistcoat could see the way things were shaping up. Just as the train slowed to a stop in Germany, she jumped off, stole her way to the nearest stable of the closest inn. Greeting the inquiring nickers of the resident horses, she whispered gently to them, looking for a nice little Arab. In the farthest stall there he was, a jet black stallion, proud head on an arched neck, prancing back and forth in the few feet allowed, blowing air at her softly through his nostrils. Quietly she slipped in with him, laid her hand along his neck and spoke to him, There ya go, boyo, that's mah good boyo, oh drat, maybe all you know is German? Uh...das gut, darlink, sehr gut, shhhh, shhhh. *Alright ya bugger, be quiet!* Grabbing the nearby bridle, she slipped the bit in his willing mouth and tied the reins to a hook near the door. Putting the saddle blanket over his back, then the saddle, she braced her foot against his belly and cinched it up good and tight. It would be a long ride, so she threw open her satchel, switched into long breeches, stuffing her Western outfit in the bag and tying it to the back of her saddle. Throwing the reins around his neck, she stepped up in the stirrup, swung his head around and headed out the stable doors. Just then she heard the long lonesome cry of the train whistle; it hung on the air of the dark night like someone's dirty linen in the rain. Giving the Arab a swift kick, she headed off in the night, racing to beat the train to the next stop, hoping to find her compadre, James West II, before the papers were discovered. He had a few tricks up his sleeve, along with the help of his sidekick, Artemis Gordon, Jr. but, without their special train car, she knew they would be in the dark about what had happened. On into the night she road, avoiding well lit areas, following the railroad tracks as much as possible. The sturdy little Arab made tracks, leaving the lumbering train behind as it gathered steam. |
|
04 May 01 - 01:42 AM (#455431) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: JenEllen ****communiqué to Berlin**** The American has been found and dealt with. The parcel was not found on his person. His only possession being a stamp-sketch of Venice with a note attached. Sending for analysis.
Ma Chere; Hoping that this finds you well. I have begun the journey, but our friend met with an accident and will not be joining me in travel. Take care and much love |
|
04 May 01 - 01:58 AM (#455442) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: katlaughing As Penny rode through the night, the words of an old song lilted through her mind... From stirrip to saddle she mounted, She threw her legs over like a man; All the way that she gallop'd, she shouted Now catch me you rogue, if you can.
|
|
04 May 01 - 06:16 AM (#455572) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Naemanson Honore staggered to his feet. His head swirled with the images he had just experienced. This is going to take some time to get over. I'd better lie down. He headed for his compartment. As he made his way down the length of the train the porter's voice kept a rhythm with the wheels. "...no violins in the straits...", "...no violins in the straits...", "...no violins in the straits...". Angrily he shouted, "O, pun, the dour harbinger of death!" It did no good. The phrase kept running through his mind and now his toes hurt. Finally he stumbled into his compartment, the riot of bright colors that he loved so well soothing and calming his brain. "...no violins in the straits...", "...no violins in the straits...", "...no violins in the straits..." He thought of the events of the day so far. So many deaths, senseless deaths. Or were they? Could they all be connected somehow? And why were violins involved? What was up with that? His head swirled and he lurched across the compartment to his bed. As he sank into it he just caught the barest whiff of perfume. He had time for one quick thought, "SHE'S been in here!" before the drug took him away. |
|
04 May 01 - 06:55 AM (#455589) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Dave the Gnome "Package for Monsieur Parrot. Package for Monsieur Parrot" intoned the porter, shambling down the corridor and glancing into the compartments. "Poirot, my good man. That should be Poirot." Tutted the dapper little Belgian in the first class seat. "OK, guv. Poirot for Monsieur Parrot..." Poirot opened the package carefuly as the porter limped back up the corridor cluching his lower regions. "Aha!" he smiled. "The leetle grey cells, Hastings. They have not let me down this time. Call everyone into the dining car. I will reveal the most evil criminal mind of our time.." "Not so fast, froggy" A grey haired frail lady popped her head into the carriage. "Marples the name and it is me that will reveal the secret.." "'Scuse me, scuse me..." A man with an obvious glass eye, dirty raincoat and smelly cigar pushed into the already crowded room. "Before you do can I ask you just one more thing....?" |
|
04 May 01 - 07:07 AM (#455593) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Dave the Gnome In the meanwhile a vital piece of information was being discovered by Higgins of the Yard. In the empty instrument case was the makers name. Herr Dimiti von Polakov. 'Ere, plod, watcher reckon on this*'. (*Look at this constable, what do you think it means.) "Well, sir." replied the obviously university educated but held back from promotion by a nocturnal misadventure with a superiors partner constable. "A man with a Czech name, from Poland, using a Bavarian title. There is only one region in the world I can think of that borders onto all those places." "My god! You mean we are looking into a case of ...
Saxon violins...." |
|
04 May 01 - 09:42 AM (#455678) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: katlaughing Aside: Bravo on the puns!!! LMAO!!! |
|
04 May 01 - 10:27 AM (#455709) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Caitrin Saxon violins? Oh mercy me... Celeste eased quietly into Villeneuve's compartment. It was a damn shame he had to go get himself killed--he knew better than that. Besides leaving her without male companionship for a spell, it also left her in something of a professional lurch: there was no sign of the violin or its case anywhere. If she didn't find that formula quickly, Celeste would miss her contact in Germany. Celeste removed herself from the compartment, carefully shutting the door behind her. Now, where else could it... There! With the Philharmonique's instruments! Celeste would know that case anywhere...Paul had used it to knock Morzik out the night she met him. The memory of it almost made her feel guilty about taking his formula and giving it to the English. Almost. But not quite. There were bigger forces at work here than Paul Villeneuve ever would have understood. His mind was simply on his own fortune, while Celeste's was on the fortune of the world. She didn't trust Stalin, not any further than she could throw him. As the orchestra paused, Celeste put on her most charming smile and sidled up to the conductor. "Excuse moi, monsieur...might I slip by you here to get my violin? It seems to have been mixed in with your group's instruments." |
|
04 May 01 - 10:59 AM (#455741) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: mousethief "But of course, Mademoiselle," purred the conductor. "'Elp yourself." Celeste grabbed for the violin case like a drunkard grabbing the first drink of the evening. Clutching it to her chest, she nearly flew back to her compartment. In her hurry she failed to notice the tall Russian priest in black robes just coming down the corridor as she darted into her room. Father Popovich and Napoleon Duchamps watched as Celeste darted into her sleeping compartment, and heard the bolt slide to. "She's got it," said the inspector. "Yes," said the priest. Suddenly a shriek came from behind the exquisitely polished wooden door, and Celeste exploded out of the compartment, flying back up the train to the club car, leaving the door banging against the bulkhead with the rhythmic rocking-lurching of the train. "Shall we?" said the inspector. "I think we shall," said the priest. The two men opened the door and went in. The violin case lay open on the bottom bunk. There was a violin inside, but (of course) no secret papers (and no rosin either, but that hardly concerns the story at this point). "Wrong violin?" asked the priest. "I don't think so," said the inspector. "I'm beginning to think there was something *IN* the case that is now missing." "Something Mssr. Villaneueve was delivering to someone -- in Soviet Union?" asked the priest. "Zuit Alors!" (*Very probably so, now that you mention it.) "State secrets? Military secrets?" "Mais oui." (*I think you have hit the nail on the head, my friend.) "I think we need a drink," said the priest. "I am not thirsty, Monsieur," answered the inspector. "Raskolnikov!" (*you unenlightened son of a pig-dog!) "Whatever is going on here is going on in the club car!" "Soup du Jour!" (*your powers of deduction are amazing!) "Let us go there, then." "Da." (*I'm right behind you.) |
|
04 May 01 - 11:02 AM (#455744) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Peter T. He stood in the battered Szepmuveszeti in front of his favourite painting in the world. Whether it was a self-portrait of El Greco or a St. James he didn't much care: the lean bearded figure stood in the shimmering borealis of the soul, cast down, human like few other paintings. He had been there already an hour, and was happy to spend another hour if that was what it took. But it wouldn't. He could hear the clickclack of Marina's shoes as she came up the staircase, and he stifled a sudden wish that it would be Annette who would appear at the top, and that they would forget all this and the coming war, and the secret that was consuming them all. But it was Mariana: beautiful in her own way, certainly stylish, certainly Romanian in the old sense -- what someone once called the Latinate peasant. The guard who had fallen asleep, woke up, and grunted his approval. "Ah, El Greco," she said, striding up to him. "Another damned saint". "Actually, Mariana, that is very acute. He does look like a damned saint." They embraced. Curioso said: "Lunch or just talk?" "No time for lunch today, Her Majesty is with the American ambassador. Munich has of course thrown us all for -- what is it Americans call it -- loops?" "A loop." "A loop." They went arm in arm down onto the teeming street. Behind them, at a marginally discrete distance, a constant shadow followed them. He shouted at her above the streetcar noise: "It is safer to talk out here in the street than anywhere else!" Mariana replied: "Her Majesty is very grateful -- " a streetcar whooshed past -- "is very grateful for services rendered. She wants you to know --" the lights changed, and they moved with the stream of pedestrians -- "that the Orange did get sent to your cousins in London." Curioso gripped her arm. "Tell her, tell her, it means a lot, more than she knows." "Oh, you are always going on about the importance of this, and the importance of that. Why don't you enjoy yourself a bit more?" "I seem to recall that it was you who couldn't stay for lunch." "I didn't say anything about dinner." "Oh, I have an appointment I can't break, Mariana." They came down the fashionable side of the great Josefs Boulevard, still full of beautiful clothes and objets d'art, the sun everywhere in a darkening world. "You are a bad liar, Curioso. That woman and that train are still 24 hours from here." "And you seem to know everything." "Budapest, my dear Curioso, Budapest. " She turned and gazed dryly at him. "Well, if not, not. I must turn in here." They embraced again. She put her hand on the golden bar leading into the Golden Restaurant, and looked back over her shoulder. "Oh, one important piece of information you might be curious to know, Curioso, you faithful soldier. Villeneuve was murdered on the Orient Express last night. Goodbye." Curioso stood in the street, the waves of humanity passing either side of him, the cars and the horsecarts passing by. He looked back down the street. The shadow lingered. There was nothing for it. He had to be patient. They had planned it all out, there was no going back, she would carry it off with her usual panache. He hoped. He looked at his watch. Istanbul had to be told, and the submarine alerted. |
|
04 May 01 - 11:02 AM (#455746) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: MMario my sides HURT! owww! oWWWWWW! |
|
04 May 01 - 11:18 AM (#455774) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Caitrin The plans had to be in the case! They simply had to be. But there was no sign of them. Not in the case, not in the violin itself...obviously, someone had gotten to the violin before her. Celeste took a sip of her martini, slowly calming down. This situation called for subtle action, not panic. Panic got people in her line of work killed. Whoever the enemy was, he'd lifted the rosin from the case as well. Thus, the culprit must be another musician. But who? There were more musicians on this train than in the Parisian Philharmon... The Parisian Philharmonic! It was the perfect cover for a spy! Who would suspect a simple violinist of working for the government? Celeste leapt from her seat and started toward the club car door. But just as she was making her way out, she found Napoleon Duchamps and a Russian priest blocking her path. |
|
04 May 01 - 11:35 AM (#455790) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: mousethief The set was over. The applause had been gratifying, and some people actually got up to dance when the train was in the station in Germany -- very gratifying, indeed. Now l'Orchestre Philharmonique Parisienne was putting its instruments away, folding music stands and those little wall-like things (*there MUST be a name for those) and packing it all onto the carts for the porters to put them back into the luggage car. It had been a good gig. Tomorrow they would be in Budapest, and then soon they'd be on their way back home. It was a living. The music folder with the secret plans went into the reinforced case labelled "les Papiers Musiques" (*what do you think it means? Sheesh, we can't do ALL your work for you!) and onto the cart. The conductor/first violinist wearily trudged back to the sleeper car compartment he shared with the bass player, crawled up onto the upper bunk, and fell fast asleep. |
|
04 May 01 - 11:42 AM (#455798) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: MMario *ahem* "Modesty panels"? |
|
04 May 01 - 12:07 PM (#455816) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: mousethief Does it, then? |
|
04 May 01 - 12:15 PM (#455825) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Les from Hull Morzik was ready. He had managed to board the train, thanks to the rerouting and delay caused by Curioso, but he was not happy about the way that he and Annette had played him for a fool. All they were interested in was the money they could get for the papers, the unprincipled dogs. This was not what he had fought for all these years. Had they no idea? Had they not conscience? Why could he still smell anchovies? He knew that, whatever happened else happened, the papers must be destroyed. They unlocked a secret, a secret that any government would pay handsomely for, but a secret that would only be used to oppress fellow workers throughout the world. And so he, Morzik, would have act. In the disguise he had adopted, nobody, not even his own mother, would recognise him. An old lady passed him in the corridor. "Morzik!", she exclaimed happily. "Drashnar stravelska"*, he hissed, as he slunk back into the shadows to continue his ceaseless watch. Morzik was ready - Morzik was ready to die. * subtitle - Hello Mother |
|
04 May 01 - 12:20 PM (#455829) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Naemanson Honore woke with a jerk. He rolled over and looked at her. This wasn't the accordion player! He didn't know who she was. But from the way she was picking at her teeth he could tell she was definitely low class and not his style. "Who'n hell er you?" he snarled. "Oo lah lah, moncherie, please don't be short with me." Her accent was a mix of Parisian French and downtrown Brooklyn. "Ah'm short with everyone! Who air ye?" "Well," she replied, "You definitely aren't short in ALL aspects." She winked at him but he missed it. He was climbing out of bed and into his clothes. "How'd ye git in heer?" "Zhee door was open and you were snoring." She winked again, "You didn't snore for long, mai non?" "I don't snore. Geddout." "But honee, why don't you come back to bed and we can talk about it." She patted the sheets next to her. "You can go dressed and on your feet or naked and on your butt! I leave it up to you!" She sulked but threw back to sheets and started to dress. He kept a critical eye on her watching for any sign of theft. "A gentleman would turn his back to a lady as she dressed." "I ain't no gennelman and you ain't no lady!" She pinned her hat on her head, checked her makeup in the mirror, and announced that she was ready. He grunted and held the door open for her. The train was swaying and she and he stumbled out into the corridor. As he helped her to her feet he looked up into the eyes of the accordion player... |
|
04 May 01 - 04:19 PM (#455975) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: JenEllen The drawings from the children were innocence in chalk, lovely sketches of the family, the pony, the stars. Annete clutched them to her chest and could feel the hands of the young ones upon the drawings themselves. The dossier on Villenueve was old news, as fas as she was concerned. Laissez le repos mort. He pointlessly ran from pocketbook to pocketbook like a hound begging for scraps. Maybe the afterlife held some joy for him now.
The file on Morzik held the most interest for her, at the moment. The fact that Hank brought it to her must mean that Morzik had turned. She could barely make herself read the contents. The man who had risked his life to save hers was now just another enemy. The early information, she knew by heart. From the days when she would grab wine and cheese and go to the rooms that Curioso and Morzik shared above the bakery. The three would talk until the sun came up. The middle years, she knew because she had been a part of them. Her working as a dancer in the brothel had given them easy access to information, and to clients. Her gentlemen protectors were much more experienced than she, but they allowed equal partnership. When she reached the first of the latter pages, she recoiled from the touch of them, like they had been contaminated by the hunt that they explained. |
|
04 May 01 - 04:41 PM (#455987) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Peter T. Somewhere in |
|
04 May 01 - 04:57 PM (#456003) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Peter T. Somewhere in the late afternoon, he gave his shadow the slip, and immediately headed for Buda. He crossed the Danube, left the signal, and hiked up onto the Bastion. There he promenaded for an hour, until just before dusk. He saw Tomasz coming a long way off, and he went forward to him. They shook hands and then together watched the sun set. Not a word was spoken for a few minutes. "Some good news," Curioso said finally. "You are always bringing me bad news, my friend, and calling it good." "Lise Meitner is now in London, and will soon be in Sweden." "No? That is good news. " "And some bad news. Villeneuve was killed last night on the Express. They have started operating far earlier than we had hoped." "Ah," said Tomasz, "And Annette, she is -- well?" "Oh, hell, Tomasz, she can take care of herself." "You are so transparent, my opaque friend." Curioso thought of a retort, but stifled it. Instead he said: "In any case, you have to warn Istanbul. The notes are safe, but there may be some delay, a day or two at most." Tomasz nodded. "There is one thing I would like to know, my friend. How can you be sure of what is in those notes?" Curioso looked around. It was getting very dark. "Did you ever hear of a woman named Ida Noddack?" Tomasz shook his head. "She worked with Otto Hahn. And Annette was her protege. Brilliant, scary. They are the three Fates who are spinning the future - Ida, Lise, Annette -- they will not get the recognition, but they will be the ones. " "But do you think it can be?" "Lise and Annette had a conversation 3 weeks ago that I caught only a fraction of, and after a while they both said yes. They were excited by it -- and frightened." "Ah" said Tomasz, "Lenard thinks maybe yes, maybe no." "Lenard is a fool and a Nazi." "Well," said Tomasz, "It is too deep for me. Come and we will have a drink or many drinks. Then I will contact Istanbul." They moved down into the narrow streets, and the night swallowed them up.
|
|
04 May 01 - 10:05 PM (#456212) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: CarolC A cold chill ran through her veins when she saw the trollop exiting Honore's compartment. She knew it meant one thing. Someone was on to them. She continued walking past the door and ducked into an unoccupied compartment. After the trollop was out of sight, she joined her friend in his compartment, out of breath, but relieved. "Honore!" She exclaimed. "This is bad. Did she find anything? You know how you talk in your sleep. You could have told her everything! You know what we have to do now, don't you?" The little man went pale. He nodded his head in agreement, but the lump in his throat made it impossible for him to speak... |
|
04 May 01 - 10:42 PM (#456236) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: JenEllen The train rocketed on into the night, and Annette Marceau was feeling the need for a drink. She sat for hours with the worn chunk of rosin in her hand, it's warm smell filling the comparment as day turned to night. The taunting infuriated her almost as much as the fact that her presence on the train was no longer a secret. She had worked too hard for this to be played with now. The notes that Villenueve had carried weighed heavily on her mind. All that wasted time. If the Nazis got hold of that discovery, they would all be goose-stepping their way to hell. Enrico had been such a fool, forcing them all to speed up their research while he paraded his ideas around like a trick pony. Telling the Americans was his greatest mistake. Manifest destiny well underway, the Americans were almost as revolting as the Nazis. She could re-create the experiments on paper, given enough time, that was certain. There just was no time. She reached the chaos that was the clubcar, made her way to a far-flung table, took out her notebook, and ordered a bottle of wine. Lise would be so dissapointed in her. As if the Naturewissenschafeten article fiasco wasn't bad enough, there was this to contend with. Lazily, she doodled on the paper. Faint sketches of Curioso's shy smile intermingled with equations, 235+n=92+142+n drawn lightly into the collar of his woolen coat. She was brought out of her concentration by the smell...the smell of anchovies? When she looked up, she saw them at a table near the bar. That rat-bastard Otto Frisch sitting with a poorly disguised fish-fumed Morzik. One rare sunny afternoon a month back, Lise and Annette had sat in the cafe, drinking coffee and talking as women do. "It is of no use, dear." Lise had told her. "It goes all the way back to Mileva Maric, and probably beyond that. The Code Napoleon doomed us all, I'm afraid." Lise laughed, but her voice had a sharp edge to it that Annette knew too well. "The gentlemen rely on us to check the work, but are not always as generous with the results. Otto Hahn is no different from any other man on this earth." Annette was indignant, as most young women will be, and muttered all sorts of excuses, but Lise patted her hand. "I'll come to see you next week, we'll talk more. |
|
04 May 01 - 10:44 PM (#456237) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: JenEllen When the knock came a week later, Annette found Lise at the door laden with books and papers. She entered, gave a curt nod to Curioso, and dragged the startled Annette to the bedroom by the arm. "When you brought me the notes from Fermi, what did he tell you?" "Nothing, you know Enrico, he's a show-off. I never take him seriously." replied Annette. "Look at this, tell me what you see.." Annette took the jumbled mess of papers to the bed, laid them out and quickly scanned them. When she looked up, it was as she'd seen a ghost. Lise had to help her to a chair. "That's it, isn't it. The final result? It worked? The runaway reaction worked? Mere de dieu..." gasped Annette. "Yes, and Otto can't be found. His housekeeper says that he has gone to Copenhagen to escape the Nazis, but I am not so sure." repiled Lise "What are you going to do?" "Niels has offered to help me reach Sweden, but I also need your help, and his.." she gave a quick nod to the door. "From Stockholm, Niels has arranged for his man to carry this information to Istanbul. I need you to make sure it gets there. As a Jew, it's too risky for me to travel, and I feel that my correspondences are making unscheduled stops now as it is.." she trailed off. Annette, pale and shaking, replied "We'll do it." And there he sat. Otto Frisch in the flesh, talking with the bright-eyed hulk of Morzik. They weren't discussing football scores, that much was certain. They hadn't seen her yet, they were too engrossed in their own conversation to pay much attention to the other travellers. She was at a loss. Confronting them one-on-one, she would have no trouble with either, but this pairing forever changed the rules of the game.
|
|
04 May 01 - 11:08 PM (#456246) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Naemanson SHE was there. He faced her, ignoring the trollop who scrambled down the corridor towards the dining car. He couldn't meet her eyes. She was silent as they stood in tableau, swaying slightly to the movement of the train. In his dreams, and in his waking moments she was always there, accordion in hand and dreamy smile on her face. It was for her that he left the circus and started the correspondence courses. It was for her that he had left the United States and was wandering across Europe, it was for her that he had... But no, now he could never face her after what she had just seen. He turned and ran. His chest felt as though it would burst from his chest and his breath came in ragged gasps. He rushed through the lounge, on through the dining car, and finally into the baggage car. There behind a pile of crates he hid himself and sobbed out his grief. As the paroxysm of sobbing passed he became gradually more aware of his surroundings. He was sitting on something cold but soft. It was dark but he struck a match and looked on the dead face of his old friend and long past circus comrade, Dr. Anton Villeneuve. He dropped the match in shock. He lit another and conducted a swift examination of the body. His throat had been cut, that much was evident. the question was, why would anyone murder such a sweet, gentle man? Had he been up to his old tricks again? Honore had always enjoyed the spy tales Paul used to tell but had always assumed they were fictions told to amuse. He went through the pockets but the body had already been thoroughly searched. Honore thought back to those stories. Something Paul had once told him, what was it, he kept something hidden in the seams of his coat. Honore produced a small pocket knife and began to search. As he did he determined that whoever had done this to his friend must surely pay. Ah, there it is... |
|
04 May 01 - 11:30 PM (#456253) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: CarolC No sound came from the dwarf as he stared at her blankly. It was as if he couldn't hear the words coming out of her mouth. She realized that something was seriously wrong with him when he turned and ran from her, disappearing down the long stretch of corridor. He is behaving like one who is on drugs, she thought to herself. She knew there was nothing for it. She would have to take care of things herself. She went into the compartment and began looking around. It only took a few minutes for her to find the items she needed. Now, what she needed most was time... |
|
05 May 01 - 12:21 AM (#456278) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: katlaughing Dawn reached over Miss Penny Waistcoat's back and lit on the neck of the Arab, his black coat shining with the sudden light. They were both tired; she'd stopped once to rest and water them both. They'd managed to leave the train far behind.
Slowing him to a careful walk, she glanced up ahead, watching for the old disused railroad water tower. (But of course they ahd steam trains there, too! Nicht? Even the Express? But not using this tower!) As the sun rose higher in the sky, she saw it, there, just a few yards away. Glancing around she watched for anyone astir. She stopped, led the horse into the copse nearby, tied him to a tree and took off the saddle and blanket. As she walked towards the water tower, she began to whistle...As I walked out in the streets of Laredo...she stopped, turning her head to listen for a reply. From inside the water tower came a faint As I walked out in Laredo one day...
James? Is that you? Put the ladder down, so I can come up. Villenueve is dead and the papers are lost! Is Artie with you? |
|
05 May 01 - 12:10 PM (#456445) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Caitrin Celeste tried to remain calm. "Good evening, monsieurs." she said with a nod to Napoleon and the priest. "Now, if you shall excuse me, I have business to conduct." |
|
06 May 01 - 06:22 PM (#456593) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Fibula Mattock refresh (I'm enjoying the story) |
|
06 May 01 - 06:30 PM (#456596) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: MMario "ZWOUNDS!*" thought the porter. "I don't remember that tunnel!" It seemed to him that they had been in the dark for almost a day. surely he would have remembered such an experience on previous runs, but scour his memory as he could, no the slightest trace of such an occurance flitted through his brain cells. Perhaps it had something to do with all the other extra-ordinary things that had been happening on this trip. *sub-title - "Gosh, golly gee willikers" |
|
06 May 01 - 08:13 PM (#456641) Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express From: Peter T. After a minor delay, the Orient Express continues on Track 2. |