Werewolves on the Orient Express

Wherein Rebecca (recently appointed secretary to a rich, bullying, lecherous Lord) is introduced, and the other characters are introduced to Rebecca in a series of flirty tableaux illustrating their unusual and colourful backstories and common animosity towards the rich bullying Lord on the train, and Rebecca hears of and sees a strange reaction among the animals in the luggage car, and hears a strange howling in the night, as she watches an almost full moon.

Rebecca looked around the dining car of the train. She was sitting on her own at a small table, an empty chair opposite her. The sumptuous decorations spoke of wealth. The rich red and black of the patterned wallpaper of the carriage filled her vision, hitting her like the warm water of a wave wherever she looked. The gold filigree of the decoration on the picture rail around the top of the walls was intricate and looked hand-painted. Richly coloured paintings, both from the traditional schools and the modern impressionist style hung from it. Exquisite chandeliers hanging from the ceiling on short chains quietly tinkled as the train continued on its gently swaying journey, continuing the display of wealth on show.

She picked up the menu off the table in front of her, and glanced through it. Oysters, turbot with green sauce, a chaud-froid of game animals were just some of the items. Not only had she not eaten anything on the menu before, she didn’t know what half of the things even were! This was the first time in her life she had been in such a place. She had been born on a small tenant farm, but her parents, after their elder children had left, had been successful enough in turnip farming to send her to a minor finishing school, Mrs Kinsale’s Finishing School For Plump Young Farmers’ Daughters, in an attempt to improve her station in life. She had recently become the secretary to Lord Graystroke, and it was because of him she sat in the midst of this effulgence.

Lord Graystroke, 5th Earl of Bilgewater, was a powerful man. He was a rich and powerful man in the world of business and politics, and a powerful and cruel man to those around him, whether family, tenants or servants. He was a man of powerful greed and lusts, and none around him were safe from his lechery, from the servant girls, tenants and secretaries, through to the young debutantes and stable lads. He left a trail of broken hearts and groaning bodies wherever he went.

He was a physical giant of a man, and his strength was legendary. A boxing champion, he also went in for wrestling matches. He was usually the one to make a challenge to people over such contests, sometimes over some imagined or completely invented insult that he contrived to have taken offence at. Most of his opponents knew they had no chance to win, but also knew they would be charged with cowardice if they backed away from the challenge, which was something which could break a man’s reputation. He had little regard for his opponents, and had left more than one man a cripple after a boxing match or bout of wrestling. A profligate and savage hunter, he was reputed to have killed a leopard with his bare hands whilst on Safari in Africa.

His temper was also legendary, and he was reputed to have beaten his last secretary, Nathanial Dark, to death with a poker after the Earl returned to his house following a night of drinking and gambling at his club.

This had left the post for secretary open, and Rebecca, against the advice of many, had applied for the job.

She had had little choice. Her parents were tenants of his, and the rent on their farm was being increased to a level which their crops of turnips were not able to cover, remarkably plump and juicy though they were. Her education at Mrs Kinsale’s Finishing School For Plump Young Farmer’s Daughters had left her able to read, write and paint watercolours. This left her range of realistically available job opportunities somewhat limited, but the position of Lord Graystroke’s secretary paid better than similar ones elsewhere, so she had applied for it.

She was a little concerned when the job interview included Lord Graystroke pulling down her jaw to examine her teeth, and then telling her to stand on the table and spin round while he held up her skirt, but she decided that her parents farm was more important than her dignity, so she kept her silence and went through with it.

She had been given the job, and the Earl had roughly slapped her backside before stalking off, telling his butler to “bag her up and send her off in the train with the rest of my belongings”.

Thus, she found herself several days later on the Orient Express, as the train sped through the countryside of Syldavia.

She gazed through the window, looking at the outside world through her own semi-transparent reflection. Fields of wheat and barley spread out across the low valley for a few short miles away from the railway, until the Syldavian mountains suddenly erupted from the earth in the distance. As they rushed through the countryside at great speed, she could just make out, at the foot of the distant, relatively stationary mountains, one of the many castles of the area, perched on a solitary rocky outcrop. She wondered what it would be like to live in such a place. A voracious reader of the latest Gothic Horror style of literature, her mind started to wander along the lines of darkness, ghosts, and blood-sucking vampires.

A meandering trail of thought led her to being held in that very castle, the helpless prisoner of a hairy, lustful creature, mostly man but partly animal. She felt her breathing deepen as she backed towards a parapet away from it, as it advanced on her as a predator would its prey. Unable to tear her gaze away from its piercing blue eyes, feeling the balustrade in her back as she could retreat no longer, she had no option but to give herself to it utterly, and throw herself on its mercy...

“Good afternoon,” said a voice opposite her.

“Oooh!” Rebecca blurted out, suddenly sitting up. She realised it was the back of the chair, not the top of a balustrade in the small of her back as she returned to the real world, and found herself looking into the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” said the man now sitting opposite her, smiling.

“Oh, that’s fine!” replied Rebecca, glancing at his handsome face, dark hair and tall frame when she managed to break away from his gaze for a split second, “I was miles away, in a world of my own.”

Well, that’s just it,” the man responded, “I saw you were sitting alone, and wondered if you wanted someone to join you. These long dinners can be boring without conversation.”

“Oh, I would love to speak to you!” gushed Rebecca, a little too eagerly she felt. His sensuous lips and gorgeous voice were taking her mind along inescapable railway lines itself. Her body had been primed by her daydream, and she could feel her nipples rubbing against the fabric of her shirt. The sensation and thought made her face blush, and she smiled slightly to try to appear relaxed and carefree. She wondered what sort of impression she was making on this rather handsome stranger!

“But,” she continued, “I won’t be eating here. I’ve been instructed to choose a table for my employer, and order for him, and keep his seat warm until he comes.”

“Oh?” was the response. “Where will you eat then? A cheese sandwich in your compartment?” he asked, his eyebrows arching further, and the smile deepening. Rebecca liked his smile.

“No, I finished the last of my sandwiches yesterday. It was a ham and tomato one. But my employer said he would bring me back some scraps from the dinner here if he doesn’t eat everything.”

There was a pause.

“Fascinating. I see charity is not yet dead. How thoughtful and generous of him.”

“Oh, he offered to do it himself. As soon as I begged for food saying I was getting faint from hunger, and wouldn’t be able to fulfil my duties to him. It only took about five minutes of tears and promises to pay him back in any way I could before he grunted that he would. He pointed out that I needed to eat less anyway. He is right, of course,” said Rebecca, looking down at the tablecloth.

“Less?” responded her new acquaintance, “I think you look positively heavenly as you are. Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Rebecca, looking back up at him, feeling her heart beat a little faster at these compliments.

“Of course. You are the best looking woman in this carriage. And certainly the most intriguing. Or my name isn’t Mr D’Arco. Which it is, by the way,” he thrust out his hand, smiling wide enough to show his teeth, “pleased to meet you.”

“What beautiful big eyes he has”, thought Rebecca to herself, shaking his hand in silence, but smiling back.

“Rebecca Cobbler. My name, that is,” she replied, continuing to hold his hand a moment longer. “And what big, warm hands he has,” she thought next.

“Enchanted,” he said, gently and slowly removing his hand and settling back in his chair. Do tell me,” he said, leaning forward again, “who is this most gracious employer of yours?”

“Lord Graystroke,” murmured Rebecca.

She watched as an extraordinary change came over the handsome man sitting opposite her. His face twisted into an unrecognisable rictus as he bared his large teeth, just before his visage disappeared from her view as his torso thrust forward, his neck bending until his chin touched his chest, as he gripped either side of the table with both arms along the edges and his hands on the corners next to her so hard that Rebecca could see the skin of his hands turning white. She heard a rattling noise, and realised the table was trembling, striking its legs on the wooden floor as his whole body started shaking, moving the table with it. Under that, she heard a growling sound, and was astonished to realise it was issuing from him.

Rebecca sat frozen for a while, then looked around for help. Astonishingly, no one seemed to be taking any notice. The two waiters in the compartment continued to attend to others without looking round, whilst the various people sitting at the tables continued to be concerned with their own mundane worlds, no one even looking round at the extraordinary sound and spectacle. Perhaps the waiters were used to such behaviour from passengers who were generally rich enough to be able to behave how they damned well pleased. And the other rich passengers would similarly not have seen anything they thought far out of the ordinary.

Rebecca bit her bottom lip in puzzlement. She felt she ought to do something, but had no idea what. Leaning forward, she put her hand on his shoulder.

“There, there,” she said.

At that moment, his torso shot back in the chair, pulling away from her hands, his spine leaning backwards in an arc until his face suddenly looked directly up at the ceiling, and he uttered a blood chilling howl.

Rebecca found herself cringing back in her own chair, having withdrawn her hand as if she had been snapped at by a wild dog, biting her lower lip again, staring at him with eyes wide open in fascination and fear.

When the sound ended, he slumped forward, breathing heavily, and Rebecca could see a film of sweat over his brow as his shoulders heaved up and down.

She looked over to the rest of the carriage, which was still full of unconcerned waiters and passengers going about their own business, and then looked back at her new acquaintance.

“I apologise, Miss Cobbler,” he said in a low voice, staring down at the table, his previously well-kempt dark hair hanging down in a bedraggled, damp mess. “But that name is carved upon my heart as if with a knife, and I feel the pain of it whenever I hear it. I am not embarrassed to admit, Miss Cobbler, that I hate- yes, hate that man. I hate him with an intensity which will never fail until I die. It would not even fail upon his death, though it might fade somewhat,” he went on, and then paused. He then suddenly looked up at Rebecca, fixing her again with his bright, big, blue eyes.

“That man,” he said, “killed my brother.”

Rebecca gasped and clutched her hands to her ample, if not pert, bosom. She noticed Mr D’Arco’s eyes seemed to be following them, and he seemed to be distracted for some moments, staring at her deep cleavage appearing at the top of her shirt. He then sighed, and looked back up at her. “He shot him,” he went on, “in a duel. My brother was a handsome, witty and generous man, and was admired by many women. Including some that the Lord Graystroke envied him for. Even Lord Graystroke’s money and bullying could not get him every woman he desired in passing, and he grew to grow tired of seeing my brother’s successes in this matter. He then accused him of being a thief. Of stealing chickens. It was a ridiculous charge. Lord Graystroke could not possibly have known it was him! He was far too careful and quiet in his dealings in those matters. That in itself could have been handled. My brother could have simply turned the duel down. But Lord Greystroke pulled every string possible to ensure that my brother knew that if he did not fight the duel, he would be blackballed from every club, fired from every job, refused every position, and he would have to leave the country, a broken man. But even that was not enough, and Lord Graystroke had to let him know that the same would happen to his family – to our parents, to me- if the duel were turned down.” He paused in his story, and looked out the window, with a sad, wistful, thoughtful look on his face. “He had to accept the challenge. But the marksmanship of Lord Graystroke is legendary. My brother’s strength was as a lover, and had no experience with guns. The end result was not in doubt. Lord Graystroke murdered my brother as surely as if he had put a gun to the back of his head in a darkened alleyway.”

He stopped, sighed, and turned to look at Rebecca once more.

“But now I am concerned for you, my dear. I know what he is like. What he will do. If you have to rely on his charity, on his goodwill, your life will not be a pleasant one. He will use you in ways you can not imagine.”

“I can try!” blurted out Rebecca.

“No,” he said earnestly, “you mustn’t.” He leaned forward and took her hands, gazing into her eyes. “I could take you back to my carriage and cover your skin with hot kisses. From the nape of your neck, down your back and over your breasts and (I must say obviously soft and well formed) belly. I could nibble gently on your nipples, kiss your thighs, work my tongue around and into your pussy, and then massage your clitoris with my mouth. I could then completely give in to my lusts, and enter you like a wild animal, thrusting inside you deeply and strongly, until I were to come. If I were to do that, you would still be unprepared for the vile usages to which Lord Graystroke will put you if he is allowed."

There was a silence as Rebecca sat and stared, with her mouth slightly open. Her skin felt warm and flushed, she was breathing deeply, and she was aware of her nipples brushing against her shirt as she felt her clitoris warming and engorging, and her pussy growing damp.

“Perhaps not,” said Rebecca slowly and quietly, “but it might be of some help....”

“No, I have said too much,” said her handsome new acquaintance.

“Oh, Good Lord no,” cut across Rebecca hurriedly, “not half enough by a long shot.”

“I have to leave before my passions lead me to say something I can not take back. But if you wish to eat, at any time, you have an open invitation to join me – either here, or in cabin number 3c.”

He kissed her hands, then abruptly dropped them whilst quickly standing up, turning round and stalking off, swiftly, and remarkably silently.

Rebecca sat in her chair, more than a little stunned, repeating “3c, 3c, 3c,” to herself over and over again while she looked out the window at the sublime but terrible scenery of the mountains they had begun to enter. She was thus a little startled when a soft, low, husky voice spoke to her from opposite the table.

“Hello,” it said, in an accent Rebecca found difficult to place, “please let me introduce myself. My name is Maria Scarletto.”

Rebecca looked round to see a strikingly beautiful face staring at her. Dark hair cut in a striking bob framed a pale face with perfect make up. Big dark eyes held her attention, but Rebecca could see the perfect cut of her nose, and the full sensuous lips held in a half smile. The woman speaking to her was slightly shorter than Rebecca (who was not tall herself), but she was standing - though leaning down on the table with one hand under her chin, so that her face was at a level with Rebecca’s own. She wore a red silk kimono, and at the angle she was leaning, Rebecca could see deep into her cleavage.

“Not large,” thought Rebecca to herself, “by any stretch of the imagination, but pert enough so she doesn’t have to wear a bra, by the looks of it.”

“Oh!” Rebecca said out loud, “I’m..”

“Rebecca Cobbler. Yes I know. I was listening. Forgive me, but you had already caught my attention. A woman as beautiful as you could not do otherwise.”

“Ooh!” uttered Rebecca. “That’s.. very nice of you to say so!”

“Nice?” queried the woman, her left eyebrow shooting up as she stood up and wandered round to the side of Rebecca, putting a hand clad in a soft, black, elbow-length silk glove to Rebecca’s cheek. “I do not give such compliments lightly. I have... known... many women, and you are someone I want to... know... much more than most. She held Rebecca’s chin firmly in her hand and pulled her head round and up until she was staring straight into her eyes, leaning forward until she was inches away. “Oh, your face my dear. I can imagine it doing so many interesting things. And your body. So soft. So beautiful. So striking. And so... much of it to work with.” Maria sighed, and continued to stare into Rebecca’s eyes.

Rebecca could feel the skin either side of her mouth bunching up under the tight grip, and found that with her head held in the surprisingly strong grip, she could only move her eyes to the side when she looked at the rest of the carriage. Again, the people in the dining car seemed oblivious to the scene being played out before them.

“Aff oo nackuss,” said Rebecca, unable to speak properly with her jaw and lips held in a vice like grip.

Maria held her jaw for a few moments longer, a subtle smile playing about her face. Then pouted her lips a moment, moving her face even closer to Rebecca’s until Rebecca felt her heart pounding and her skin flushing.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear,” she murmured, and released her grip. She slowly wandered behind Rebecca, trailing her hand over Rebecca’s shoulder as she did so. Rebecca felt her place a hand on each of her shoulders and start to massage them with strong, sensitive fingers. God, that felt good! Rebecca felt aches and pains leave the muscles and sinews of her shoulders. Her body had been awoken by her previous visitor, and she felt herself becoming more aroused.

Rebecca felt Maria’s bosom press against the back of her neck as the woman leaned forward. So far down and forward and close to her ear that Rebecca could see the hair of her bob out of the corner of her eye.

“I simply had to get my hands on you. You looked so tense. What were you trying to say?”

“Oh, I was merely asking if you are an actress- I thought you were when I first saw you. Scouting for talent for your studio? I’m complimented, of course, but I have absolutely no acting talent, I’m afraid. My performance of the Sugar Plum Fairy in our nursery school play had uniformly bad reviews. Some of them verged on the personally abusive.” Those strong fingers continued to work the muscles on her shoulders, firmly yet sensuously.

“Searching for talent? Well, something like that. I would say, though, that I am sure you could learn many things, if you were taken in hand by a good teacher. And I would love,” she went on, her voice becoming quieter and softer, as she leant in even further and her lips touched Rebecca’s ear, “to take you in hand...” Rebecca squealed very slightly on an inward breath, and then stopped both breathing and moving simultaneously. Rebecca felt Maria’s hands suddenly leave her shoulders, the feel of soft breasts pressing against the nape of her neck disappearing as Maria twirled round Rebecca’s body like a pole, and ended up sitting on her lap, leaning back against the window whilst trailing an arm across Rebecca’s shoulders. Rebecca let out a gasp from the soft weight landing on her, and started breathing again.

“Oh my goodness,” murmured Maria, “your thighs are very comfortable. I’d be quite happy to be between them for the time needed.”

“Erm.. what length of time would that be?”

“However long,” said Maria, leaning forward and putting her finger on Rebecca’s nose, “that would be necessary. From the rather attractive flushing of the skin of your face and neck, and the way you are breathing,” she said, putting her hand on Rebecca’s chest at the top of her breasts, feeling her body move with heavy breaths, “that would not be very long at all.”

“But enough of my wants and desires,” said Maria in a clearer voice, and a somewhat emotionless manner as she sat up straight on Rebecca’s lap, looking into the distance. “You are in great peril. Lord Graystroke is, indeed, a terrible man, as Mr D’Arco explained to you.

“And you are right,” she said, looking back at Rebecca, and nodding “I am an actress. I have been on the stage for over thirty years,” she explained.

“Thirty years?” thought Rebecca to herself. “She doesn’t look a day over thirty herself! Perhaps she was a child star.”

“When I was starting out as an actress,” went on Maria, “I had a friend who was trying to gain fame and fortune with me. She was everything to me. Friend, confidant, advisor. We kept each other company, we kept each other warm on cold nights and comforted each other when we were down. And when we weren’t down, to be frank. We used to comfort each other quite a lot, actually. Sometimes several times a night, and often when we had spare time during the day. Which, I’m sorry to say, was quite often. Comfort, comfort comfort. Oh, that girl wanted a lot of comforting. Not that I was complaining, mind you.

“Anyway, we had little success in our ambitions to be stars of the stage. But after a time she was offered an opportunity. A patron of hers I whom I had not met, an admirer of hers, used his influence to get her parts on the stage. At first, everything went very well, and I was pleased for her success. But then, she seemed to grow concerned, and seemed distant from me, and seemed to be keeping something from me, which was strange. Then, one day, I came back to the rooms we shared to find her crying, her face in her hands. It was some time before I could persuade her to let me see her.

“Her face had a deep scar running down her cheek. To me, she was as beautiful as ever, but to her, it seemed a terrible disfigurement. One which took away all hope from her, all reason for living.”

Maria drew her legs up, curling up into a ball on Rebecca’s lap. She grabbed and held Rebecca’s shirt, and pressed the side of her head into Rebecca’s breasts, turning her face up to look at Rebecca.

“Violence. Passion. Pain. I understand these things. I live with them. I live for them. But that bastard, Lord Graystroke, took away her reason for living in a cold, calculated act of jealousy.” Maria somehow seemed to creep up Rebecca’s body as a panther would a tree, her face getting closer and closer, so Rebecca could see clearly the tears in her eyes. When she was so close that her nose touched Rebecca’s she hissed quietly “She had not given into his advances. He had regarded her as nothing, as something to be used, and demanded she enter into his bed and give in to his unspeakable lusts. But she turned him down and said that I,” here Maria’s eyes filled with tears even more, “that I, was all she needed. And so he cut her face. He then claimed she was a common whore. That she pulled a knife on him to rob him, and he turned it on her in self-defence. Thus the law will not touch him, as he dines with the judges who hear cases concerning him.” She grabbed hold of the collar of Rebecca’s shirt with both hands, and cried out “I! Would! Kill! Him!” throwing her head further back with each word loudly howled, until she knelt on Rebecca’s lap, her back arched and her face facing the ceiling. She then uttered an animal like wail, full of such depth of passion, such fierce longing and grief, that Rebecca felt her heart leap alongside it, even as she was shaken to the bone with fear. The sound suddenly stopped, and Maria abruptly brought her head down to again stare at Rebecca. “I would kill him. With my bare hands. My poor Lutetia!” Maria suddenly buried her face in Rebecca’s neck, and breathed in deeply.

“I would tear his neck out with my teeth if I could,” she murmured, “like.. so...”

Rebecca suddenly felt Maria’s mouth on her neck, and gasped. She then felt surprisingly sharp teeth on the skin of her throat, stretching to either side of it.

“Oh God, what a big mouth she must have!” thought Rebecca, and then felt the sharp teeth squeeze her throat to the point of pain. Rebecca let out a squeak of terror. And pleasure. And then froze absolutely still, her heart beating rapidly whilst she held her breath. Maria’s mouth also froze as Rebecca did. And then, slowly, squeezed just that little bit further beyond the point of pain.

“Oh God!” Rebecca gasped.

Maria released her jaws and sat suddenly back up.

“Good lord, what big teeth she has!” said Rebecca to herself. She was surprised she had not noticed the size of Maria’s canine teeth before. They were prominent in both her upper and lower jaw. She could have sworn that her teeth had seemed a delicate and almost perfect size before, like all the rest of her features. Her eyes still captivated Rebecca when she saw them again. A bright, golden brown.... “I could have sworn her eyes were dark before,” thought Rebecca. “But people’s eye colour can seem to change in different lights. That’s probably it.”

“He was right though.” said Maria. “Mr D’Arco. He could use every skill in lovemaking that he knows, and fuck you from here to the end of the line, and you would not be prepared for the degradation you would receive from Lord Graystroke. And D’Arco knows a fair few tricks, too. I know from experience. I know the man well. We have had to comfort each other on many occasions. Even if your nipples had his loving attention for so long they became sore, it would not prepare you for the beastly behaviour of Lord Graystroke, for his inconsiderate fondling and grabbing of your breasts. I mean, that sort of groping should be used sparingly. It should be used to make a point, interspersed with other things. But no, just grope,” and here Maria grabbed Rebecca’s left breast with her right hand, squeezing it gently but firmly until it was on the point of hurting, “grope,” and here she did the same thing with right breast and left hand, “grope,” and here she squeezed with both hands as she placed her own forehead on Rebecca’s, looking deep into her eyes as Rebecca whimpered at the slight pain she felt. “He would not gently stroke your nipples like this,” said Maria, as she knelt back and run her index and middle finger of her right hand over the shirt covering Rebecca’s left breast, caressing her nipple. Rebecca felt Maria’s fingers through the cloth, and felt her nipples engorging to the touch, and shivered with embarrassment and longing. “Even if... even if...” said Maria absently, “...you know, you really do have wonderful breasts. Anyway, “ she went on, now idly using her forefingers and thumbs to gently roll Rebecca’s nipples back and forth like switches on a radio, “Even if Mr D’Arco’s huge member brought tears to your eyes through entering you again and again – and it would. Enter you again and again that is. And unless I am greatly misjudging your experience in such matters, it would bring tears to your eyes too. I mean, you might think ‘It’s all right, I can just about take it into my mouth’, feeling that cock filling your mouth, desperately trying to take more in, desperately licking the huge head. Oh, but that would not be enough for him. You might choke on his cock, and it would not be enough for him. Oh no. You would soon find your delicate pussy getting his attention. Oh, perhaps his mouth and tongue might ministrate to and care for your pussy, caressing your clitoris, waking your sex, making his entrance slippery, but that would only be of temporary respite. Shortly, you would find your pussy absolutely packed with the girth of that thing.” Rebecca could feel Maria now rubbing her groin deep against Rebecca’s leg. “Oh, you might enjoy that. Well, you would. I could see that in your eyes when you were speaking. In and out, deep and strong thrusts, him on top of you, his strong legs and hips thrusting inside you, But that wouldn’t be enough, oh no, not even after half a night of fucking, until your pussy was becoming sore. You might cry out at that, and think he was taking pity on you when he pulls out. But then, oh a minor adjustment, and you would feel that huge, soaking cock of his slipping between the cheeks of your backside, and pushing firmly against the muscle of your arse,” she went on, her writhing groin getting more insistent, quicker and firmer against Rebecca’s leg, “knocking to come in, until he gradually, but smoothly and firmly gains entrance, and you would gasp in pain and pleasure as he.. as he.. oh my God!” she called out as she threw her head back and arched her back once again, and Rebecca cried out with her has Maria’s hands spasmed and gripped and pinched Rebecca’s nipples well past the point of pain.

After a few seconds, her grip relaxed, and she brought her head back to look down at Rebecca and smile, starting to smoothly gyrate her hips softly a few times.

“Well,” she said, “you get the idea. However he used you, it would be nothing to the way that Lord Graystroke would end up hurting you for his own pleasure.

“And not just Mr Darco, oh no. Why, even I could not prepare you. I could take you back to my cabin, undress you, place you in the chair, get on my knees and put your legs over my shoulders, and,” she said, thrusting one knee down between Rebeccas thighs and against her clitoris, making Rebecca squeal quietly yet again, “ministrate to your pussy myself, with a far greater understanding of Mr D’Arco, whilst running my hands up your body to play and pinch your nipples and then pinch them until you squeal, but it would be nothing like the uncaring pain inflicted by Lord Graystroke. I could thrust inside you with my hand-crafted ceramic dildo until the early hours, hearing you come as I massaged your clitoris, and hearing you cry out in pain as it entered your arse, but oh, you would come too. It would be nothing like what you could expect from that bastard of a man, Lord Graystroke. He would simply exploit you. Exploit you, physically and emotionally, with no thought for your pleasure, wherever you might gain it. And if he should tire of you, or lose his temper, your very life would be in danger.

“Whereas you would have my absolute word, my solemn oath, that I would try not to hurt you. Too much. Unless you wanted me to.” She paused. “Do you want me to? Oh, never mind, I have said too much.”

“No, you really really haven’t!”

But Maria dismounted Rebecca, and stood up. A little unsteadily, Rebecca noticed, as she saw her legs wobbling slightly.

“Well, you must be wary of that man. I am concerned for your safety. If at any time you want help, as I am sure you will, or if you simply want to be comforted, come to me in cabin 2d. At any time of day or night. I hope to see you soon, Rebecca.”

And Maria walked off down the carriage, Rebecca watching the shapely figure in the silk kimono from behind.

The rhythmic swaying of Maria’s backside was quite hypnotic. And very relaxing. Rebecca watched it whilst murmuring “3c, 2d, 3c, 2d,” to herself over and over again, and daydreaming of all sorts of things she would never have thought she would daydream about.

“Well, you would not get such a promise about pain from me,” said another voice, bringing Rebecca back to the real world. “Maria is a very well-meaning young lady, but she really does not understand the point of discipline. It is a necessity, not an indulgence.”

Rebecca looked back to the seat across the table from her, and saw that it was now occupied by a very expensively and properly dressed woman. She had her hair fiercely pulled back, and wore minimal make-up, but Rebecca could see her face was still strikingly handsome. She found it difficult to place her age, however. She could have been a very well preserved fifty, or a thirty year old with a body ravaged by drinking and cigar smoking. But whatever her age, the eyes with which she fixed Rebecca seemed timeless.

“You seem, quite frankly, to be someone who needs some good sense beaten into them,” she said, taking off her gloves as she spoke, revealing soft, white hands with long fingers and short nails. “Rewarding good behaviour is all very well, but the most important thing is to prevent bad. And continuing to associate with Lord Graystroke is bad behaviour. It puts you at risk,” she said, “and there can be no worse behaviour than that, young Rebecca. Oh, my name is Greenhough. You may call me Lady Greenhough. Or Miss. Frankly, I don’t care which as long as you do what I say. Yes, yes, yes, do sit back down you silly thing,” she said abruptly as Rebecca tried to stand up and offer some sort of primitive curtsey, not knowing what else to do, “we haven’t time for that sort of nonsense.

“As I was saying, Lord Graystroke is a threat to your safety. I know this. From personal experience. My poor, dear husband, a foolish and weak man, unfortunately ended up drowning under gambling debts. Most of the debts were incurred towards Lord Graystroke, in a series of card games. I am convinced Lord Graystroke was cheating, but that is neither here nor there. It is to be expected in such a world. If you are foolish enough to gamble beyond that which you can afford to lose, you must suffer the consequences. But my husband was unable to pay the debt immediately. And he was found drowned in a lake. I know it was Lord Graystroke who killed him. My husband would not have killed himself. He was far too much of a prevaricator to make such a definite, permanent choice.

“I agree with discipline and punishment. But they must be commensurate with the actions of the offender, and for the purpose of improving character. My husbands death was good for nothing. It was a simple act of cruel, pointless vengeance. That man is capable of anything. And I will not stand for one of my charges, someone I took under my wing as soon as I saw her, to be under threat!” This last sentence was delivered with passion, almost anger. It came as a shock to Rebecca after the cool tones the rest of the monologue had been delivered in.

“That’s very nice of you, but I hardly know..” began Rebecca.

“No buts, dear. In fact there’s no need for you to talk at all unless I ask you a question. And I know someone who deserves my discipline when I see them. Now, it is my belief that instruction and advice is far more effectively given on the back of discipline. The simplest brisk caning can ensure the mind you are speaking to is open and receptive to lessons over the correct behaviour. It might be upsetting to cane the buttocks of someone you care about, but it is because one cares about them that one must do it. Or it might not be upsetting. Quite frankly, I love it. But that is neither here nor there. It is for the good of the one being caned.

“Now, the eagerness with with which someone caned or spanked will attempt to do the right thing is quite striking. Such beatings are far more effective than any pleasure given as an incentive. I know this from experience. A lot of experience.

“I could demonstrate to you quite easily. If I were to take you to my room, and tie your hands together with straps. Then tie your hands above your head to the rail above the window. And put one strap around each ankle, and tie one leg to the leg of the dressing table, and one to the armchair, spreading your legs apart. Not an ideal arrangement, there would be too much give in the objects, but you would have to restrain yourself as well, and remain still.

“Then I could cut off your clothing. I am afraid that in that position, your breasts would be on show through the window, but that can’t be helped.

“After that, I could, as I say, demonstrate quite easily to you the truth of what I say.

“Oh, I could run my fingers over the soft skin of your buttocks. Run them up the sides of your body. Lightly over your shoulders. Pull your hair back to see the nape of your neck, and run my lips over it.

“I could then run my hands down your front, feeling the skin of your stomach, then the skin of your breasts. I could run my fingers lightly over your nipples as I nibble on your earlobe.”

“Lady Greenhoulgh tilted her head and gazed at the side of Rebecca’s face.

“And you do,” she said appreciatively, “have very nibbleable earlobes.

“I could then reach between your outstretched legs,” she went on, “as you felt me behind you. As you felt my body against your back, and my hand cupping the mound of your pussy. As you felt my face upon the side of your neck, and my fingers entering the dampness of your pussy. Well, if it were damp..”

“Oh, I think it would be!” squeaked Rebecca, “It’s sopping wet now in fact...”

“Hush dear,” said Lady Greenhoulgh, putting a finger on Rebecca’s lips, “remember.”

Rebecca quickly closed her mouth against Lady Greenhoulghs bare finger.

“I could find your clitoris, awakening it and massaging it with my fingers, whilst you felt my legs, body and face pushing into you from behind, felt my other hand over your torso and breasts.” went on Lady Greenhoulgh, gazing into the middle distance, “Working and massaging your body until I broke you into an orgasm and felt your body shuddering against me and in my hands.

“Oh yes, I could do that. But, my dear, what good would it do?”

Rebecca found that her mouth was slightly open as she listened, and her breath was shallow and frequent, and her skin flushed.

“I’m sure it would have some meretricious effect...” she said weakly and quietly.

“I could ask you to take care of yourself after that, on the promise of more. I could plead with you, beg you to do the right thing and protect yourself from Lord Graystroke, on the basis that I would then see to your every whim and bring you to orgasm after orgasm,” said Lady Greenhoulgh, “but that would not work.”

“It wouldn’t?” asked Rebecca.

“No,” responded Lady Greenhoulgh, firmly, “it would not. You would simply enjoy the moment. Your mind would not be clear. It would not be focussed, open to proper instruction. You would,” she looked intently at Rebecca, “still remain in danger. And that fills me with sorrow.”

There was a pause, as Rebecca looked into the deep, sorrowful eyes of Lady Greenhoulgh, and saw care and compassion there.

Lady Greenhoulgh then adjusted herself in her chair and leaned forward.

“However,” she said, and suddenly her right arm shot out and she caught Rebecca’s chin in a strong grip with her hand, pulling her head forward till their faces mere inches apart, “were I to administer a basic caning to your backside while you were trussed in that position, you would listen to what I told you. You would consider it. You would remember it. And if you followed my instructions, you would be no longer in danger.

“Even a simple spanking, administered by my bare hand would have the same effect. As long as I was willing to go to lengths which would leave my hands, not covered by gloves, painful and stinging themselves. But that,” said Lady Greenhoulgh, looking deep into Rebecca’s eyes, “is something I would willingly undergo in order to protect you from danger.”

“Ermm. Thunk You?” Rebecca managed to get out through Lady Greenhoulgh’s hand around her jaw.

Lady Greenhoulgh smiled, something Rebecca felt good about seeing her do. She had seemed so concerned, so compassionate, and yet so sorrowful that she thought it was wonderful to see her smile – a lovely smile, Rebecca thought.

“That’s quite alright my dear,” said Lady Greenhoulgh, “I would enjoy it. But that would not be the point. I would do it because I care for you. Lord Graystroke would hurt you without a thought. Without even really enjoying the experience. Oh, it might fulfil some sort of need of his. Some indulgence of a basic anger, not even directed towards you. But he would not enjoy it, in the way that I would. And he would certainly do it without concern for you. Now, stand up and turn round.”

Rebecca was about to open her mouth to speak, but suddenly remembered her instructions, and didn’t want to press her luck. Standing up, she turned and looked to the back of the carriage. She heard a rustling of tweed and crinoline behind her, as Lady Greenhoulgh seemed, by the sound of it, to kneel down behind her. She gasped a little as she felt hands on the side of her buttocks, which then moved about them, prodding and poking.

“Hmmm,” said Lady Greenhoulgh’s voice from the nether depths behind her, “A good sized target, I’m hardly likely to miss. Nice and soft. A good few inches of cushioning to get through. I’d say a number five willow. That should work with some wrist action. Start with that anyway.” Rebecca felt the hands move to either side of her hips, and there was silence for a few seconds.

“I advise you, my dear, to let me help you.” Lady Greenhoulgh then said from behind her. “In fact, I will do what I very rarely do, and implore you to come to my room, 5b, and allow me to instruct you how to extricate yourself from this predicament you have unwisely walked into. If that... that creature were to do anything to hurt you...”

Rebecca felt the hands begin to shake on her hips, and grip her strongly. She felt strong claw like nails digging through her dress and beginning to press against her skin. “That’s odd,” she thought, “I could have sworn she had short nails.”

She then gave a squeak of surprise and pain as the claws dug lightly into her flesh, and she felt teeth suddenly biting into her left buttock. Strong teeth, sharp teeth. Big teeth.

The teeth and hands then released her, and Rebecca stood still, wide-eyed and panting.

“A reminder, my dear. Come and visit me. I don’t believe I broke the skin, but I will do so if necessary. She felt soft hands sensitively caressing her skin where her buttocks had been bitten, and then heard the rustling of tweed and crinoline again as Lady Greenhoulgh stood and turned.

“Remember, room 5b,” said her receding voice.

Rebecca stood wordlessly still facing the back of the carriage, her mouth hanging open. She sighed heavily.

“3c, 2d, 5b,” she murmured to herself, “3c,2d,5b....I might have to start writing these down..”

She staggered back to her chair, and collapsed into it. She lay back, and looked up at the ceiling. Mopping her brow with her handkerchief, she left it covering her face as she lay there, prostrate, arms and legs akimbo either side of the chair as she still breathed heavily over her strongly beating heart.

“You will have to excuse me”, she said through the cloth of the handkerchief, “for I must have a few moments rest to pull myself together. However, I will be more than willing to listen to what you have to say to me in a moment.” For when she had arrived back at the table, she had found someone already sitting in the chair opposite.

“Of course,” said the pleasant voice. “After suffering the attentions of Mr D’Arco, Miss Scarletto and Lady Greenhoulgh, anyone would need a rest. Quite frankly, I’m impressed you are still capable of standing.”

“Only just,” replied Rebecca through her handkerchief.

“Even so. Well, it seems you are able to listen, at least. Please, take your time and rest while I speak. I could not help but overhear your conversations. I must add my voice to the matter. Lord Graystroke is man you must avoid. But a previous matter had brought you to my attention before I heard the advice already given to you about him.

“However, I am getting ahead of myself. My name is Professor Arquebus. I am a travelling Egyptologist, voyaging to Cairo. I have the pride of my collection, the mummy of Queen Serhasopat in my cabin, for I would not trust leaving her in the luggage car. She was reputedly the most beautiful of the queens of Egypt, surpassing even Cleopatra in her looks. Except, perhaps, for her nose. Though even there, it was still an exquisite nose. Very like yours, Rebecca. Very like yours.”

Rebecca was still too emotionally shaky to make any sort of reply, and simply continued to lie back in the chair, prostrate, with her handkerchief over her face.

“I am returning her to her people,” went on the professor, “taking her back to her native land. She had been stolen by criminals, tomb robbers, who sold her on to the highest bidder. I was lucky enough to find her being sold as part of a collection in an estate. As soon as I set eyes on her, I realised the tales of her beauty were true. From that moment, she had my devotion. My life would be hers. I would serve her.

“From that day, I devoted myself to finding out all I could. To ensuring she would be treated with respect. I carefully tended her. I repaired her bandages, I rebuilt her Sarcophagus. I went on a journey to find the rest of the things stolen from her tomb, so that she could rest in luxury and in peace. Through years of diligent research, I learned that she had been enclosed in her tomb along with three handmaidens, her most trusted servants. After years more of searching, I managed to find them. In the collection of an old vicar in Stoke Newington. They were magnificent creatures, almost as beautiful as their queen. I managed to arrange a price with the old vicar, though he had not been of a mind to sell, and it was far more than I could afford. But it was in the service of my beloved queen, and I was willing to give up everything for her.

“I had been out of the city for some time, and when I returned with the three handmaidens, I knew nothing of the spate of thefts of mummies that had been going on over the past month. I had taken no proper precautions. Posted no guards. Had I known, I would have guarded them myself with a loaded gun throughout the night. But I did not know.

“They were stolen. Thankfully my Queen was in my bedroom as usual, where I could constantly watch over her, but they were stolen during the night. A window was broken to gain entry, and my butler was beaten unconscious by thugs who made off with them in a distinctive carriage.

“I later learned they had been stolen by Lord Graystroke. He had developed a new hobby of taking snuff, and was grinding down the mummies to spicen his snuff!

“That cruel bastard, Lord Graystroke, had stolen and ground up the happiness of my queen in order to make snuff!”

“Doubtless you would kill him,” murmured Rebecca, from under the handkerchief.

“Indeed I would!” was professor Arquebus’ passionate reply. I would tear him to pieces. I would grind him into dust, as he ground the happiness of the one I love. He is a man who cares for nothing. Nothing! And will destroy all he comes into contact with. You must not remain close to him. My queen.”

Rebecca froze as the words sunk in. After a second, she folded back one corner of the handkerchief in order to look at Professor Arquebus through the corner of one eye. He was a good looking man. Dark and distinguished. Tall, with a handsome face and piercing eyes. He dropped to his knees in front of Rebecca and grasped her outstretched hand in his.

“When I saw you, Rebecca Cobbler, boarding the train,” he said I clearly recognised you. I realised that you must be the reincarnation of Queen Serhasopat! My life is yours! My absolute devotion!”

“Well,” thought Rebecca to herself, “and there was I thinking that this day could not get any stranger.”

“I have devoted my life to the opportunity to serve you should I find you,” he breathlessly went on, “poring through the writings of ancient Egypt, buying the finest raiments and jewels for you, though you surpass them in beauty as the sun does the moon in brightness,”

“I could get used to this...” thought Rebecca.

“Buying the finest scents and oils,” he went on, “and visiting the finest bordellos in Europe!”

Rebecca froze.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked.

“To be worthy of you, I have to be able to fulfil all your needs. Food, wine, and all your body’s needs. I have sought instruction from the finest experts and teachers in the world when it comes to love making. From the seraglios in china, where a eunuch taught me how to bring a woman to the heights of pleasure using only my mouth and hands, to be devoted completely to using all of my body for a woman’s pleasure. Through India, where I learned a thousand different positions of lovemaking at a temple in the mountains, “

“A thousand?” asked Rebecca.

“Approximately, yes. Some of them are very tricky. A few of them almost put my back out. But I am now able to perform them all safely and effectively, my queen! And in a secret valley in Nepal I learned how to bring a woman to the verge of ecstasy, and keep her there for hours. Some breathing techniques they taught me there come in very useful in that.”

“Hours?” queried Rebecca.

“Oh yes. I mean, days in theory, but it would depend how long you wanted, of course.”

“My goodness,” murmured Rebecca, still looking at him out of the corner of her eye. She waved her other hand at him in an airy fashion. “Carry on,” she said.

“I visited the most knowledgeable teachers in Europe, learning how best to please a woman, how to massage and tease her skin, nipples, clitoris. How to use various tools to best advantage, the different sizes of dildos for various activities. How to save myself, to prevent myself from achieving orgasm for as long as possible, the better to put myself to good use in pleasuring my queen, how to love and cater to the clitoris whilst entering her pussy. All this, and more, is at your service your radiance. I kneel before you as before the midday sun!”

“Oh good grief,” murmured Rebecca, who was rather enjoying it.

But when I think of that... that piece of filth laying hands on you!” he said, and started to shake. Rebecca saw a great change come over him. His expression, from being one of adoration and happiness, became suddenly one of twisted hatred. He seemed also, though Rebecca thought this must be an illusion, to grow a little larger. A little heavier set. While his hands took on a coarser feel, and his fingernails seemed to be noticeably long and heavy now where they were not so before.

“A creature who does not deserve life, let alone deserve to be in the presence of a goddess such as yourself!” he went on, his voice becoming harder to understand, almost a growl, as his face warped so much in the throes of his passion that he seemed to be changing its form entirely.

But as suddenly as it started, it stopped, and he kneeled there, panting slightly, his body heaving with his deep breaths.

“I would kill him at your word, your highness.”

He stood up, shaking slightly.

“I am yours to command. Please, let me know if there is anything you wish from me. At any moment of the day or night.” He bowed low, and started to stumble off.

After a moment, Rebecca took the handkerchief from off her head and sat up straight.

“Excuse me!” she called out to the receding figure, “You didn’t tell me your room number!”

“4a!” called out professor Arquebus over his shoulder as he continued down the carriage.

“3c, 2d, 5b, 4a,” murmured Rebecca to herself, “3c, 2d, 5b, 4a... I may have to start writing these down...”

“Ticket, please, miss?” said a pleasant voice close to her.

She looked round to see a handsome, tall young man dressed smartly in the livery of the railway. His trousers and jacket were a pale blue with yellow trimmings, which showed off rather than dampened his bright blue eyes, and he wore a peaked cap of the same colours.

Rebecca scrabbled inside her pockets and produced a rather crumpled piece of cardboard.

He smiled, very nicely, and took the ticket she offered to him. His lips moved soundlessly for a few seconds, then his left eyebrow arched and he looked up at her.

“This ticket has you down as a crate of sardines, miss.”

“Well, I am travelling in a baggage compartment,” she explained.

“Oh, well that’s all right then, miss,” he said, smiling. He was about to hand the ticket back, when he suddenly froze, obviously examining it carefully.

“The baggage compartment of the private carriage, miss? The one belonging to Lord Graystroke?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” she answered.

“Oh, you poor thing!” he suddenly blurted out, with obvious depth of feeling, looking at her with wide, deep eyes.

“Doubtless you know him from a dark episode in your past!”, said Rebecca, getting up from her seat, still staring into his eyes, “where someone you love was terribly wronged by the monster!” She went on, approaching the guard and feeling herself getting a little excited, “and you have vowed terrible revenge upon him. But,” she said, putting her hand on the guards shoulder while she looked up into his face, “knowing what a beast he is, you worry for my safety, and,” she muttered, leaning against him, placing her head firmly against his chest and bringing her right leg up against his hip as if she were straddling a gate. The effect was slightly spoiled by her stumbling a little. It was then slightly improved for her by the way he instinctively grabbed onto the thigh of her raised leg, and fell back against the wall under her weight. She traced patterns with the tip of her finger over his lapel, moving up to the bare skin of his neck. She moved her mouth to the warmth and smoothness of the recently shaved of the underside of his chin, feeling and hearing him swallow slightly, and murmured “and wish to tell me of the terrible things that may await me!” She drew back, looking with interest at the slightly fearful expression on his face. “The terrible things he may do to my body. Far worse things than you could ever do. The caressing of my skin, stimulation of my nipples and clitoris which you might do would not be awaiting me under his terrible attack! No!” she pushed the guard further back into the wall, which he appeared to be trying to melt completely through. “A violent, savage attack, rather than the way you would gently run your warm, strong hands over my body,” she said, pushing herself as hard into him as possible whilst running her hands down his body, then under his jacket to feel his lithe, muscled body through his shirt. “The way you would gently caress the skin my buttocks with your fingertips,” she said softly into his ear, whilst pushing her hands down the back of his trousers, and inside his boxer shorts, running her hands a little clumsily over his buttocks, her wrists being confined by the restriction of his belt. “The way you would softly place your hands between my thighs”, she said, placing her hand over his groin, feeling gratified to feel his cock stiffening to her presence. “And the way you would kiss and caress my clitoris with your tongue,” she whispered, then taking hold of his lower lip with her lips, and for a short second with her teeth, “And bring me,” she murmured, working his groin gently with her hand, now being able to feel the width of his cock through the cloth, “ to a shuddering orgasm...”

There was a pause. And the guard gulped again.

“Honestly, miss, I just know it’s rather cold in there! I hated to think of you sleeping there in this weather. I was going to offer...”

“Offer me the opportunity of coming to your compartment, where you could keep me warm! Said Rebecca, leaning back and shaking her hair, under the impression it would awaken the handsome guards lust even more, “you sweet, caring thing! It is so forward of you, but when you put it like that..”

“Offer to bring you a couple of extra blankets,” murmured the guard quietly, a little shyly and sadly. “I have no cabin, miss. I sleep in front of the fire in the engine. It does mean my coat can get a little bit singed. And oh, you should hear the driver swear when I get under his feet! But it keeps me warm, and I haven ’t been thrown out yet.”

‘What a curious arrangement!’ thought Rebecca.

“Very well, then,” said Rebecca, pulling him by his lapels towards her, and pressing her forehead against his, “if you must offer to come to my bed to..‘bring me blankets’” she murmured in an almost growling whisper, winking at him, “then you must. I will not hold your forwardness against you, for your heart is in the right place. If you insist on coming any time during the night, I will just have to put up with it,” she said to him.

“Erm.. very good, miss! Can I go now?”

Rebecca smiled at him. “I know you feel it is terrible you have to leave me, but when you return to keep an eye on me you will feel better, I know, you poor, poor thing!” she said.

“Very Good miss!” he almost cried out, quickly turning to go.

“In your terrible enthusiasm you forgot yourself, and neglected to tell me your name!”

“Oh.. sorry miss! It’s James, miss!” called the guard over his shoulder, as he stumbled off.

Rebecca gazed after him. She felt sorry for the poor young boy, his head turned by concern about a relative stranger. She sighed. It was rather romantic though, his insistence on trying to save her, however much she had tried to dissuade him. She sat back in her chair, and gazed out the window, idly daydreaming about what might happen to her later......

It was a little later that the large figure of Lord Graystroke loomed into view, as he marched up to the table Rebecca was sitting at. He dismissed her wordlessly with a wave of the hand, and sat down at the table to read a paper.

Rebecca was glad to leave his presence. She had heard too much about him now to feel comfortable even merely sitting near him. She decided to walk the length of the train, to stretch her legs before settling down for the evening.

Though a large train, it was not long before she found herself in the last carriages, the baggage cars. The first one was filled with large boxes and crates, and an elderly guard sat at its entrance, reading a paper. He glanced up and smiled as Rebecca neared, gazing at her through his white whiskers and round spectacles.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked.

“Oh, I was just going for an evening stroll. As far as I can on this train, anyway!”

“Very good miss. I should advise against going any further though, miss. The next carriage along, the last one, is where we keep the livestock. Not many in there, miss. A couple of prize winning greyhounds and a thoroughbred horse. But they are all jittery, miss. Have been since the journey started. Anyone gets near them, they start pacing and worrying and making a noise. They haven’t settled down since the journey started. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’d advise staying away from them. For their good as much as yours, miss,” he said, touching the peak of his cap.

“Oh! Well, of course I will,” said Rebecca, “I wouldn’t want to worry the poor things. Thank you.” And she turned around to wander back along the train to her bed.

She did not have far to go. Lord Graystroke had his own carriage, and private carriages tended to be kept towards the rear of the train. Within the carriage, his living room was decorated in onyx and marble, with walnut panelling and oak furniture, and gold leaf and crystal gleaming in the light. There was a bedroom, with a huge, majestic, comfortable bed with deep mattresses and silk sheets. His bathroom was similarly impressive. But there was one spare, box room. It was cut off from the rest of the carriage, entered by a separate door from the corridor which run along one side of the carriage as it did the rest of the train. It was his own luggage room, which was purely utilitarian in design. This was where Rebecca’s bed was. An uncomfortable camp bed, with no mattress over the fabric stretched taught over the frame, and several thin blankets on top. She lit a small oil lamp, and started removing her clothes to get ready for bed.

Blowing out the light, she realised it was still quite light, though it was deep into night time. She wandered the few steps to the window, and pulled it down to lean out. It was getting colder as they entered the mountains, but she liked the feel and smell of the clean, brisk air outside. She looked up to see the source of the light – the almost full moon shining down from above. She sighed and gazed up at it for a while. The day had been such a full one, and filled with meeting such interesting new friends, that she felt exhausted. Pleasantly exhausted, but ready for bed. As she leant out the window, one hand holding her chin as her elbow rested on the top of the lowered window, she heard the sound of a wolf, howling. She had heard this before on the journey. Wolves were not uncommon in this part of the world. There was something beautiful about it, she thought. Mournful, but beautiful. But there was something different about this howling. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, but which nagged at the back of her mind.

After a few seconds, the howl started again, as loud as before, and Rebecca realised what was odd about the sound. It was not getting louder or softer. It was travelling with the train. Inside? No, it was louder through the open window. How on earth? It couldn’t possibly be running, keeping up with the train. No animal could be that fast. She thought for a while. Then, gradually, turned her face up and gazed at the ceiling.