“If there has been other news, I beg you do not trifle with me—”
He made to rise, hoping more than anything to get a current sense of where the other bargemen stood, but the man in the topcoat pulled him back onto the crate.
“Do not distress yourself,” the man hissed.
“If you will excuse me! My train—”
“Forget your damnable train!” barked the man, but the force of his words was mixed with peevish displeasure, as if he resented the necessity of their entire conversation, and even his own presence on this barge to begin with.
“Will you constrain me?”
“What happened to your head?” the man demanded. “There is blood!”
“There were difficulties with the train, as I told you—a sudden stop, falling luggage—”
“Then perhaps you can tell me instead who made up the traveling party for the Prince's return.”
The man had spoken too easily, as if the question meant nothing. Svenson shrugged, again exaggerating his accent.
“Is that any secret? I am sure your own newspapers—”
“Newspapers are trash.”
“And yet for these simple facts—”
“I insist that you tell me!”
The man balled both hands together in his lap and squeezed his fists. Svenson looked away to give himself time—was the situation so unpleasant already?
“Well… since you make such a demand… let me see… the Prince's intended bride, of course. Who else? Diplomats—your own Deputy Minister Crabbé; his assistant, Mr. Bascombe; dignitaries—the Contessa di Lacquer-Sforza, the Comte d'Orkancz, both new friends of the Prince, Mr. Francis Xonck—”
He stopped at the subtle catch of his captor's breath. The man leaned closer, speaking low. “And, if you will indulge me…just exactly how did they travel?”
“You will understand,” replied the Doctor, “that however strange it may seem to find a Macklenburg Naval Surgeon in this forest, it is just as odd for me to find not only a man who knows me, but one engaged on an equally mysterious journey of… commerce.”
“Nothing mysterious at all!” snapped the man. “It is a commercial canal!”
The man took his own moment to peer over the canvas barrier. The canal had twisted more deeply into the forest and the overhanging branches blotted out so much of the pallid light that it seemed near dusk. With the thickening trees came less wind, and Svenson saw the entirety of the crew, save the master, had taken up poles. The man sat back down on his own crate, frowning that his captive had seen fit to rise along with him.
Svenson studied his adversary. The brown topcoat was of an excellent cloth, but cautious in its cut, just like the cravat—silk, but the inoffensive color of orange pith. The man's thinning hair had been pasted to his scalp that morning with pomade, but with the breeze now sported an insolent fringe.
“What a strange cargo you seem to be carrying.” The Doctor waved a hand toward the front of the barge. “All wrapped up and odd-shaped, rather like different cuts of meat from a butcher's—”
The man seized Svenson's knee. Svenson glared at the point of contact. His host removed his hand, then cleared his throat and stuck out his chin.
“You will tell me what you know of Robert Vandaariff.”
“I do not know anything.”
“Did he travel with your Prince?”
“Was there not some story of fever—that Harschmort was under quarantine?”
The man thrust his face close to Svenson's, his lips pursed and white. “I will ask you again: if he did not travel with the Prince in secret, where is Robert Vandaariff?”
“Could he not be in the city? Or elsewhere in the country—surely he owns many—”
“He is nowhere!”
“Perhaps if I knew why you need him—”
“No, you will answer me!”
“O come,” sighed Svenson. “You are no policeman—and nor am I. We are not fitted for interrogation. I am a foreigner in an unfamiliar country—an unfamiliar language—”
“You speak it perfectly well,” muttered the man.
“But I possess no subtlety. I can only be plain, Mr…. come now, your name can not be so precious…” Svenson raised his eyebrows hopefully.
“Mr.—ah—Mr…. Fruitricks.”
Svenson nodded, as if this were not an especially obvious fabrication.
“Well, Mr. Fruitricks… it would seem, and I offer this out of pure scientific deductive reasoning, that you are in—as it is said amongst your people—a spot.”
“I'm sure I am in no such thing.”
“As you insist. And yet, even the crates we are sitting on—”
“Crates are common on a barge.”
“Come, sir. I am also a soldier, though I should hardly need to be to recognize so famous a seal as the one upon your seat.”
The man looked awkwardly between his legs. The crate was stamped with a simple coat of arms in black—three running hounds, with crossed cannon barrels below.
“Are you insolent?” the man bleated.
“The only question that matters,” continued Svenson mildly, “is which member of the Xonck family you serve.”
“YOU DID not say what happened to your head,” said Mr. Fruitricks sullenly.
“I am sure I mentioned luggage.”
“You wander in a forest without any possessions? Without hat or coat—”
“Again, sir, all of this was left on the train.”