Elsewards

Prelude

A ramshackle train clattered its way through the darkening day. Passengers were sparse in this particularly harsh winter and the few desperate or foolish to travel fought off the cold. Some huddled together for warmth or paced and stomped up and down the gangway, their breath hanging in the chill air.
Alone in one carriage a dark, swarthy man sat, watching the snow-capped mountains as they passed through the filthy window. He ran a dirty, fingerless gloved hand over his thick moustache, whipping out bits of food and frozen spittle from it. Then there was a knock at the small door between births and a rough voice barked “Он' здесь”
The man stood up and stained his weather worn overcoat as the door opened and his associate shoved a tall, clean-shaven man in a thick dark travelling cloak roughly in. “Вы искали его?” the swarthy man asked his associate. The fat man nodded “Он разоружен” He then looked the stranger up and down, beneath his cloak, his clothes were immaculately tailored and his long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail. The swarthy man sneered in contempt “Что является Вами, француз?”
“English, actually” replied the man politely, bowing slightly “Horatio Bauhaus Knightstaff, at your service”
The Swarthy man spat venomously “I don’t give a pig’s shit what your name is, English, You got my money?”
Knightstaff, his slight smile never flickering, replied, “You have the child?”
The Swarthy man turned his head slightly; keeping his eyes fixed on Knightstaff and called “Принесите маленькой суке в здесь!”
The door in the opposite end of the carriage opened and two burly men came though, armed with rifles and pushing a young girl ahead of them. The girl was dirty, her hair matted and dress torn, her hands were bound behind her and her mouth was gagged. Her dirty face was bruised and streaked with tears. Knightstaff bristled, only slightly, and bit the inside of his cheek.
“You see, she is fine” sneered the swarthy man “well, relatively fine. Now- money!”
The Englishman nodded and unhooked a saddlebag from across his shoulder and tossed it to the kidnapper.
Smiling the swarthy man opened it and took out bundles of cash and started counting. But then his face darkened “This isn’t enough! Where is the rest?”
Knightstaff was about to answer when suddenly, the door opened and a balding, bespectacled man bustled into the carriage, accompanied by a young woman. All eyes turned to the couple and the kidnappers drew their guns.
“Ach tut, es ich Leid, habe ich nicht erkannt, dass diese Kutsche genommen wurde” said the newcomer, bewildered.
The fat kidnapper grabbed the German and pushed him against the wall, knocking his luggage to the ground. The young woman cried out in alarm as a gun was pointed at her head.
“Now!” yelled Knightstaff.
The bespectacled German quickly raised his hand and sprayed something from his sleeve into the face of his attacker, who cried out in pain and staggered backwards. With a gun trained on him The Englishman grabbed the fat kidnapper just as their leader fired, using him as a shield, then, with a slight click, a blade sprang forth from his sleeve and in one deft moment opened the swarthy man’s throat. The young woman then dropped and landed a kick squarely on the knees of her attacker, taking him down.
Rifle shots rang out, Knightstaff ducked behind the seats.
“Horatio!” The bespectacled man called out and kicked one of his parcels over to him. Knightstaff stooped and picked it up, quickly tearing off the brown paper. Inside was an ornate short-barrel shotgun. He then turned and fired on the attackers, ending their brief, violent lives with the sound of thunder and the smell of cordite. The young woman then rushed to the side of the captive girl. “Don’t be afraid, we’re here to help,” she said calmly as she untied her “My name’s Alana Randum-Von Drake, but my friends call me Randomasduck.” Utterly bewildered the girl still managed a weak smile between her sobs.
“Come, we need to put as much distance between us and this train as possible!” Knightstaff said as he reloaded his shotgun.
“More of his men?” asked the bespectacled man.
“Either that or the authorities or, perhaps just nosey bastards, whichever way, we need to get off this train, Creighton”
“Already on it” said the bespectacled Man pulling the emergency cord.
They braced themselves as the train screeched to a halt. Then Creighton pulled a flare gun from the folds of his overcoat. “Horatio, if you would do the honours…”
Knightstaff then fired his gun through the window, shattering the dirty glass, through which Creighton shot his flare into the night sky. “You know Adam, your German accent is abysmal.” Knightstaff chided.
“To hell with you, it worked, didn’t it?”
The four of them clambered out of the train and within moments were greeted a stout bearded man, bundled up against the cold with a team of horses. “You can certainly pick the weather for these excursions.” Cursed the drover in a Scottish brogue.
“Ah Gordy, what kept you?” beamed Knightstaff despite the cold.
“Oh you know, galloping across, the frozen, Russian wilderness in the dead of night, I stopped to look at the scenery! Just get on your bloody horse!”
They mounted up, their freed captive riding with Alana
“Next stop, St Petersburg” said Creighton as he spurred his horse into a gallop.
“Please, who are you?” the young girl wearily asked Alana.
Von Drake smiled and wrapped her thick cloak around them both. “Us? We are Auff-Topica.”

END PRELUDE