Paving the New Road by Sulari Gentill Page A

in the cockpit. And the Southern Cross and the men who flew her soared once again into the sky.

    The Wien-Bahnhof, Vienna’s major railway station, was crowded, bustling with travellers and merchants. Bakers with baskets passed warm pastries to passengers through carriage windows, as smartly dressed travellers promenaded on the platform. Beggars lurked in the shadowed spaces of the station and brown-shirted members of the Sturmabteilung, otherwise known as the SA, wandered in loud, arrogant groups. Rowland watched as they strutted, bullying railway workers. He shook his head. Common thugs cloaked in the dubious legitimacy of the SA uniform.
    Rowland organised their passages upon the Orient Express to Munich. Trunks of clothing and necessities had already been loaded onto the train. The trunks had, of course, been stocked andpacked by someone else. They were now conscious of appearing like art collectors on a purchasing tour of Europe and boarding without luggage would have seemed odd to anyone who noticed. In a small guesthouse near the station, they had washed and changed. One did not travel and dine on the Orient Express without being appropriately attired.
    Though the journey to Munich would be one of hours rather than days, Rowland booked sleeping cabins in the first-class carriage. They were tired, having only snatched sleep for several days now, and they would need privacy. Each of them would have to become accustomed to new names—their own and each other’s. They would have to ensure they told a consistent story of their recent history, their association, their business.
    “Oi!” Milton reached out and grabbed a small boy by the shoulder. The child was swarthy and ragged, with eyes that glittered resentfully as Milton restrained him. “Little blighter had his hand in your pocket … Robbie,” he said, hesitating slightly as he used Rowland’s alias. “Hand it over, you thieving scamp.”
    The boy kept his fist tightly closed and berated Milton bitterly in some foreign language.
    “Not so tight, you’ll hurt him,” Edna said, looking sympathetically at the thin, dirty pickpocket. “What did he say, Robbie?”
    Rowland shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it’s Romany … I’m pretty sure it wasn’t ‘Welcome to Vienna’, though.”
    The child spoke again, but this time in Bavarian, addressing Rowland directly and finishing with what seemed like a hiss.
    Rowland paused for a moment, mildly astounded, and grinned despite himself. “That I understood … but I can’t repeat it in the presence of Ed.”
    “What’s your name, sweetheart?” Edna asked, bending down.
    “Schlampen.” The boy glared at her.
    “Schlampen,” Edna said smiling. “How do you do, Schlampen?”
    Rowland tried hard not to laugh. “I don’t think that’s his name, Ed. In fact, I wouldn’t repeat it.”
    Clyde chuckled. “Belligerent little blighter, isn’t he?”
    Edna took the boy’s clenched fist, but gently. “What did you take, little boy?”
    He opened his hand. Coins. Australian coins.
    A whistle warned that the Orient Express was preparing to pull away.
    Rowland glanced back at the train. “Let him go. It’s just a couple of shillings.”
    Reluctantly, Milton released the boy, who did not linger, fleeing with the coins still clutched in his hand.
    “We’d better get moving—the train leaves in …” Milton stared at his bare wrist, where a watch should have been. Cursing, he looked around for the young pickpocket, who was by then well and truly gone. “Damn it … if I get my hands on that—”
    Rowland checked his own watch as the final whistle sounded and the air became moist with squealing steam. “We don’t have time to hunt the boy down … We’ll have to get you another in Munich.”
    For a moment Milton resisted but the theft had been well timed, and they had little option. They ran for the train now and boarded breathless, just seconds before it pulled out.
    Their assigned compartment had