Flashman And The Tiger

I expected to sleep soundly, but didn’t, for I was troubled by a most vivid dream, one of those odd ones in which you’re sure you’re awake because the surroundings of the dream are those in which you went to sleep. There I was in my berth on the Orient Express, stark beneath the coverlet, with sunlit autumn countryside going past the window, and near at hand two people were talking, Kralta and an Englishman, and I knew he was a public school man because although they spoke in German he used occasional slang, and there was no mistaking his nil admirari drawl. I couldn’t see them, and it was the strangest conversation, in which they chaffed each other with a vulgar freedom which wasn’t like Kralta at all, somehow. She said of course she’d made love to me, twice, and the man laughed and said she was a slut, and she said lightly, no such thing, she was a female rake, and he was just jealous. He said if he were jealous of all her lovers he’d have blown his brains out long ago, and they both seemed amused.

Then their voices were much closer, and Kralta said: "I wonder how he’ll take it?", and the man said: "He’ll have no choice." Then she said: "He may be dangerous," and the man said the queerest thing: that any man whose name could make Bismarck grit his teeth was liable to be dangerous. The dream ended there, and I must have slept on, for when I woke, sure enough I was still in the berth, but somehow I knew that time had gone by … but why was there no feeling in my legs, and who was the chap in the armchair, smoking a black gasper in an amber holder, and rising and smiling as I strove to sit up but couldn’t'? Of course! He was the young boulevardier I’d seen on Strasbourg station … hut what the hell was he doing here, and what was the matter with my legs'?

"Back to life!" cries he. "There now, don’t stir. Be aisy, as the Irishman said, an' if yez can’t be aisy, be as aisy as ye can. Here, take a pull at this." The sharp taste of spa water cleared my parched throat, if not my wits. "Better, eh? Now, now, gently does it! Who am I, and where’s the delightful Kralta, and what’s to do, and how’s your pater, and so forth?" He chuckled. "All in good time, old fellow. I fancy you’ll need somethin' stronger than spa when I tell you. Ne’er mind, all’s well, and when you’re up to par we’ll have a bite of luncheon with her highness—I say, though, you’ve made a hit there! Bit of a wild beast, ain’t she? Too strong for my taste, but one has to do the polite with royalty, what?" says this madman cheerfully. "Care for a smoke?"

I tried again to heave up, flailing my arms feebly, without success—and now my dream came back to me, half-understood, and I knew from the numbness of my limbs that this was no ordinary waking … Kralta, the bitch, must have doctored my coffee, and it had been no dream but reality, and this was the bastard she’d been talking to … about me. And Bismarck …

"Lie still, damn you!" cries the young spark, grinning with a restraining hand on my shoulder. "You must, you know! For one thing, your legs won’t answer yet awhile, and even if they did, you’re ballock-naked and it’s dam' parky out and we’re doin' forty miles an hour. And if you tried to leave the train," he added soothingly, "I’d be bound to do somethin' desperate. See?"

I hadn’t seen his hand move, but now it held a small under-and-over pistol, levelled at me. Then it was gone, and he was lighting a cigarette.

"So just be patient, there’s a good chap, and you’ll know all about it presently. Sure you won’t smoke? There’s no cause for alarm, ’pon honour. You’re among friends … well, companions, anyway … and I’m goin' to be your tee jay and see you right, what?"

D’you know, in all my fright and bewilderment, it was that piece of schoolboy slang that struck home, so in keeping with his style and speech, and yet so at odds with his looks. He couldn’t be public school, surely … not with those classic features that belong east of Vienna and would be as out of place in England as a Chinaman’s. No, not with that perfect straight nose, chiselled lips, and slightly slanted blue eyes—if this chap wasn’t a Mittel European, I’d never seen one.

"Tee jay?" I croaked, and he laughed.

"Aye … guide, philosopher, and friend—showin' the new bugs the ropes. What did you call ’em at Rugby? I’m a Wykehamist, you know—and that was your doin', believe it or not! ’Deed it was!"

He blew a cloud, grinning at my stupefaction, and the feeling that I’d seen him before hit me harder than ever—the half jeering smile, the whole devil-may-care carriage of him. But where? When?