Ghost Song (53 page)

‘Petrovnic was right when he said it was humble.' Toby surveyed the exterior of the café dubiously. ‘I can't wait to see how our Ilena behaves in here.'

The café was much as Toby had expected: a bare-floored place with small tables, and flagons of wine served at the tables. A modest choice of food appeared to be available. The windows looked directly onto the street, but they were so small the café was perpetually dark, and gas jets flickered and popped even at eleven o'clock in the morning. There was a smell of oil and cigarette smoke on the air.

The café was filled with people—most of whom were men—talking in earnest little clusters round the tables. Toby had the feeling of stepping deeper into a den of secrecy and he paused in the doorway, exchanging a look with Sonja before sitting down and accepting a glass of wine from the earthenware jug ordered by Petrovnic.

Also at the table were three young men whom Petrovnic introduced to the English party. Their leader was clearly a boy of about twenty called Gavrilo Princip: Toby remembered Petrovnic mentioning Princip before they left London—‘He sees our work as a crusade,' Petrovnic had said—and Toby studied him with interest. So far from looking like someone about to embark on a crusade, Gavrilo Princip looked as if he should be in bed with wintergreen on his narrow chest and a camphor kettle steaming in a corner. He coughed frequently, several times touching a handkerchief to his lips.

Their English was virtually non-existent, but nods of greeting were exchanged. Toby, by this time wondering what he had got himself entangled in, watched their faces as they talked, trying to glean meanings from gestures or expressions, but not really doing so. Eventually, Petrovnic spoke in English, stating that the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand would leave the army camp where he had reviewed the troops at ten o'clock the next morning. The fleet of motor cars bearing him and his attendants would travel down a wide avenue called the Appel Quay to Sarajevo town hall for a formal reception, and Toby thought Petrovnic just managed to refrain from spitting at the prospect of something so traditional and formal.

‘There will be much security?' asked Ilena.

‘There will be some,' said Petrovnic, and broke off for another of the incomprehensible exchanges with the hollow-eyed Princip. ‘It seems His Imperial Highness does not regard Sarajevo as hostile territory,' he said. ‘He expects a warm welcome from the people of Bosnia.' He said this with what Toby could only think of as a sneer, and saw Ilena and Ivor exchange smiles with the three young men who had joined them.

‘Here are your places for the procession,' said Petrovnic, producing a rather dog-eared sketch map. ‘Mr Chance, you and Miss Kaplen will be at the Appel Quay. There are several stone bridges spanning the river and your places are near the Cumurja Bridge.' He indicated the place on the map then, glancing at the others, said, ‘The main body of the protest march will set out from the museum which is here. We shall converge on the Archduke's car when it reaches the intersection and surround it with our people.' He looked at them. ‘You understand?'

‘Oh yes,' said Toby, and as Petrovnic struck a match and burned the map he stood up. ‘If you don't mind, Miss Kaplen and I will take a walk to the Appel Quay now and find the exact spot.' He stood up. ‘Sonja, will you come with me?'

Once outside, Toby said, ‘This isn't a protest march—you do know that, don't you? Petrovnic wouldn't dot people round at different places for a march.'

‘He'd group them together,' said Sonja, nodding in agreement. ‘There'd be banners and placards, and we'd be told what to shout as we went along.'

‘There speaks a veteran of protests,' said Toby. ‘I suppose you're a member of the suffrage movement, are you?'

‘As a matter of fact I am and I've marched with them several times, but I don't see—'

‘Good for you,' said Toby, ‘I'm all in favour of the vote for the ladies. My mother is as well—I believe she's thinking of joining the movement.'

Sonja stared at him. ‘Really?'

‘Yes, really.'

‘Wouldn't that go a bit against the grain with Sir Hal?'

‘I shouldn't think so. If it did she wouldn't pay any attention.' Despite the severity of the occasion, he smiled. ‘You really do have an extraordinary image of my family, don't you?'

‘I'm adjusting it by the hour,' said Sonja. They had reached the end of the street, and were within sight of a small park.

‘Shall we go in there?' said Toby.

‘Yes, let's.' They walked along a narrow path to a small wrought-iron seat overlooking a copse, and sat down.

Toby said, ‘I've listened to my father talking about the situation here—about the resentment that's felt towards Austria. It's not just the Bosnians themselves who resent what Austria did: it's most of Europe.'

‘Also Russia,' said Sonja, nodding. ‘And now Germany is Austro-Hungary's staunchest ally—'

‘And the Kaiser will make a friend of any country who will help him. It's all a tangled spider's web of hatred and jealousy and greed,' said Toby. He broke off and looked at Sonja. ‘You have no idea how refreshing it is to talk to someone who understands what's going on in the world.'

‘Of course I understand. But you know, Toby,' said Sonja, ‘I don't often admit to fear, but I'm beginning to be very frightened of what's happening here today.'

‘So am I. Because I think,' said Toby, ‘that what we're seeing is a plot to attack Franz-Ferdinand. Even to kill him.'

She turned to look at him. ‘Twenty-four hours ago I would have strongly disagreed,' she said, ‘but now I'm dreadfully afraid you could be right. But I can't see why they would do something so appalling.'

‘As a message,' said Toby, grimly. ‘A message to Austria—no, not a message, something much stronger. A warning. Narodna Odbrana and the Black Hand and all their satellite groups telling Austria to get out of this country.'

‘Yes,' said Sonja slowly. ‘Oh God, yes, I hadn't seen it like that.'

‘Austria has occupied Bosnia for over twenty years; five or six years ago, she actually took the country over and made it part of Austria.'

‘Yes, I know all that,' said Sonja rather impatiently. ‘That's why I thought Tranz came here. To protest at Austria's imperialist greed.' She hesitated, then said, ‘Toby, I might not approve of imperialist archdukes, but I do draw the line at outright murdering them.'

‘I'm very glad to hear it,' he said, smiling at her. ‘I've never entirely trusted Petrovnic for all his extravagant rhetoric and dubious charm, and I certainly don't trust that shady baroness, or those three ruffians we've just met. And if bullets really are fired at the Archduke tomorrow—or if knives are used…' He made an impatient gesture. ‘I can't believe I'm even saying this,' he said. ‘It's like something out of fiction. It's like the
Prisoner of Zenda
. But if I'm right—I pray to God I'm not—but if I am, and if the Archduke dies or is injured tomorrow,' said Toby, ‘then it could be the final act that will push Europe into war.'

‘And we'd be part of it. We'd appear to have condoned it.'

‘Worse than that,' said Toby, ‘we'd appear to have contributed to it. If there really is a plot to assassinate the heir to the imperial throne, we're already part of it.'

‘Will you be all right on your own?' said Toby, as they went up to the sparse bedrooms that night.

‘Yes, I will, and if that was a suggestion that we might share the same bed—or even the same room—the answer's no.'

‘Sonja, the last thing on my mind at the moment is seduction,' said Toby. ‘In any case, I don't think you're someone I'd want to simply seduce.'

‘Oh,' she said, a bit blankly, and Toby reached out to trace the line of her face.

‘I think this is going a bit deeper for me than seduction,' he said, very seriously. ‘But I think we'd better get plots and archdukes out of the way before we talk about that.'

‘Quite right,' said Sonja briskly, and went into her own bedroom.

The previous evening Toby had been so tired from the long journey that he had slept very well, but tonight he did not. Just as he was dropping off to sleep, a church clock in the square outside sonorously chimed midnight. After this, it chimed determinedly every hour for the entire night and marked the half hours with a sequence of notes that sounded like a cat being strangled.

Or, thought Toby, trying to get comfortable in the narrow bed, like a man screaming not to be murdered.

By the time Toby and Sonja reached the Appel Quay next morning, the day was already uncomfortably hot and the streets were packed with sightseers, eager to cheer the imperial couple as they drove through the streets.

‘Except that they aren't all eager,' observed Toby to Sonja. ‘There are quite a lot of resentful faces.'

Before breakfast, Toby had told Sonja that if they had the least shred of proof as to Tranz's intentions, he would find the British Embassy and ask for their help.

‘But it's all so vague—nothing would stand up. So I think all we can do is watch Petrovnic and the others as closely as possible, and draw everyone's attention to them if they look like doing anything suspicious.'

‘Such as drawing a gun,' said Sonja, thoughtfully. ‘We'd have to be very loud about it all though; if we just say politely, “Oh dear me, that man's got a gun,” no one will understand us. Especially since we do not speak their language.'

‘That's true. But if we yell and point and indicate that something's wrong, it should alert people and halt Petrovnic and his gang in their tracks.'

They were in place shortly after ten, fairly far apart, but within sight of each other. A nearby church clock chimed several times—half past ten, then a quarter to eleven—and Toby began to feel extremely nervous. Shortly before eleven a cheer went up, and his heart performed a somersault. This is it, he thought. If anything's going to happen, it'll be in the next few minutes. He edged his way to the front of the crowd, who were leaning forward, eagerly trying to see the first approach of the cars, lifting children onto their shoulders for a better view. Nothing's going to happen, thought Toby, looking at the happy anticipation on the faces of the people. Nothing so violent as murder could possibly happen in this old, sun-drenched city, with the mellow stone buildings and bridges, and the sunlight glinting on the river. This is the civilized twentieth century for goodness' sake; assassinations don't happen.

A military band struck up nearby, and a delighted cheer went up. Toby saw the first of the imperial motor cars coming slowly along the wide avenue, a faint heat haze in its wake from the exhaust fumes. The crowd surged forward, waving flags, some of the young girls throwing flowers onto the road, the children shouting excitedly. The car crossed the Cumurja Bridge, the second one close behind it, and Toby saw it was open-topped and the imposing figure of the man on all the posters was seated in the back, a lady next to him. That's the infamous Countess Sophie, he thought. The one the other Habsburgs said wasn't good enough for the imperial line, but who Franz-Ferdinand married anyway. He studied the lady with interest.

Franz-Ferdinand and his wife were nodding regally to the crowds, occasionally raising their hands in a majestic salute. And then, as the open car came over the bridge, the Habsburg pennant on its bonnet fluttering in the breeze, something came spinning out of the crowds—something that was squat and black against the bright sunshine. As it hurtled through the air Toby heard several people shout in sudden fear, and his heart lurched with terror. It was happening after all—someone had thrown a bomb, and he had missed seeing it.