The Baron of Latiz (2)

 2

Samh 7.09.1339

Valanthus, Baron of Latiz, was visiting Major Yoeritt, when the gentleman informed him that his niece was alone in the world. Valanthus could not help but smirk.

“I think you’re toying with me. That girl could never be alone with all the men who pay her attention!” 

“Bah! But none of them are the right man.”

“Don’t look at me. She rejected me when I was nine and forbid me to enter into her presence.”

“And you rejected her right back and never tried to regain her attentions.” 

“I don’t think she missed me.”

“She burst into tears the instant you left. Her mother sent me a recording of it.”

Valanthus paused for a moment. He had never heard that before. He looked at the old man to see if he was being facetious, but Yoeritt looked sincere. 

 Major Yoeritt had been friends of his family for many years. His family had lived close enough to Amoranda’s that they were able to keep the Major informed of any developments or indiscretions that needed to be taken care of when the Colonel got into trouble. His mother was best friends with Amoranda’s and had been since childhood. 

Until that fateful day when he was nine, he had often begged to tag along with his parents to see Amoranda. Contrary to what he had told her, he never found another woman who compared to her. Instead, he put everything he had into helping his father and building his estate. If he could not have her, he could at least make her sorry for what she had missed. 

Both he and the Major knew Amoranda’s father was a louse who left the family with nothing. He knew Major Yoeritt had bought the family home and allowed them to continue living there for free. It was currently bequeathed to Amoranda in Major Yoeritt’s will along with most of his fortune. He had been resolved to cover his brother’s sins and give his niece a fresh start in the world after her parents’ deaths. He repurchased all had been sold until she now had a nice-sized country estate settled upon her. Her uncle had just come back from touring the planets when he discovered the news of his brother’s death and summoned him to his estate in Tzonside.

“I need you, Valanthus. If you won’t date her, I need you to at least take care of her and guide her.”

“Isn’t that your job, now?” 

“Ah, but Amoranda has me wrapped around her finger, too. I certainly couldn’t bring her here—there are too many temptations for her on this big of an estate with all its cities. I cannot go to the country because I need to be here to lead the military, even if we are not at war right now. You’re the only man who has ever been able to stand up to her.” 

“That doesn’t matter if she refuses to see me.” 

“I sent her a message telling her I was sending someone to be her guardian in my place. I am sure she will be more than willing to accept that. I understand she is currently being addressed by everyone in the surrounding country from the chief of the authorities to the youngest rakes.”

“Well, I don’t know how you expect me to compete with that.”

“She has changed some for the better. She just needs to grow up a bit more.”

“Or perhaps the men are willing to overlook any fault if they know she is your heir.” 

“Please will you do this for me?”

“Oh, all right. But she won’t even let me see her.”

“I’ve got the perfect way around that,” the old man said, smiling. 

The Baron of Latiz (1)

 1

Samh 4.03.1328

When Amoranda was six, in her mind, her home was perfect because her family had managed to shield her from everything, including the difficulties her parents had. She was everyone’s little angel especially that of her Uncle, Major Jarlwyn Yeoritt. Her beauty was extremely admired as was her lively wit. 

It was common in Western Guillway for well-off parents to spoil their children while at the same time leaving their nurses to raise them. On the entire planet of Samh, Western Guillway was, perhaps, the most back woods and behind the times. 

At that young age of six, Amoranda was no sooner told that she was pretty than she believed it and listened with pleasure to those who said her eyes were like sapphires, her cheeks roses, her skin alabaster, and her lips coral. All the compliments made an early impression upon the mind of young Amoranda, and it was then she began to think of herself as favorably as others did. 

One day, while she was in the midst of thinking grandly about herself, her friend, came to visit with his family. Although he was three years older than her, he adored her like the rest. He ran up to her and flung his arms about her neck, as he had always done previously when he came to see her. He was unaware that the doting she constantly received had gone to her head.

“Get away from me, Valant,” she said, pushing him. “I don’t want your affections! Get away from me, and do not return.”

Valant was puzzled by this behavior. His mouth dropped open, and he stared at her in surprise. 

“Amora—” he began but was interrupted. 

“You may call me ‘Madam,’” she sniffed like an empress.

This was too much for him, and he burst out laughing to see a six-year old behaving with such pride. 

“Madam,” he said in the most grown-up voice he could muster, “you need not be so proud. I have got a prettier woman that you who will be my wife, and I love her better than you by half. I will never come to you again!” 

With that, he left her side and sat in the parlor with his parents, ignoring Amoranda the rest of his visit. When Amoranda saw him leaving her home later that day and knew he planned to go to another woman, her feminine pride gathered in her soul, and she fell into a violent passion of tears. She was shocked another girl was preferred to her. She found it intolerable to see the boy go off without another word after insulting her. Mortifying resentment flashed in her eyes and her breast heaved with anger as if she were a slighted lover instead of a six-year old playmate. 

Her mother, who had witnessed the event and was hoping to arrange a marriage between the two children, was as full of mirth, “Why, Amoranda, did you send away your spouse if you are now angry that he left?” 

“My spouse!” she said, incensed. “I scorn that little unmannerly brat. He shall never be my spouse. He told me to my face he liked another better than me! I hate him and her both, and so I’ll tell ‘em if either comes here again. I shall never rest until I have revenge!” 

Here was pride, jealousy, and revenge kindled in the breast of a young child. It was from this young age she learned to like being loved and adored but to hate the man bringing that love and adoration. 

Her mother and father were so caught up in their own problems they saw her only as a way out of them by arranging a good marriage for their daughter—and on many occasions she was also a great source of entertainment and distraction for them. They were under the mistaken notion of many parents that everything is adorable and funny when a child does it. She was encouraged to do many things that adults would have been ashamed of—and she herself would also have felt some embarrassment about if reason had been given any time to play its part and help guard her actions. 

Hidden from Amoranda was the fact her own father, the Colonel of Paltzture, had ugly inclinations that led him into a thousand extravagancies. Women and drinking took up a great part of his time, and the rest was spent in gaming which was his darling diversion—even more so than Amoranda. When Amoranda was seventeen, her father died a beggar by his lifestyle, indebted to his brother. 

His wife, whom he had married for her fortune, and Amoranda’s doting uncle were left her guardians, but her mother had a weak constitution from all the years of being poorly used by her father. In less than six months, she was also dead. Amoranda was left almost on her own, an accomplished and beautiful flirt, filled with pride, artifice, and vanity, but lacking in many other important things, like discretion, wisdom, and the ability to set boundaries. She was also never taught military arts, which every other daughter of a colonel knew.

The Waylaid Count (24)

 24

As I started to come to my senses, it seemed to me that I was being rocked gently in a vast cradle, which swayed side to side with a motion at once slow and incredibly gentle. This sensation continued for some time, and there was added to it the sound of a quiet, muffled hum. I remained in a delicious calm. I wondered if my mother was kneeling by my side, whispering some lullaby in my childish ears. Strange colors swam before my eyes, my eyelids wavered, and at last I awoke. 

For a few moments, my gaze travelled to and fro in a vain search for some clue to my surroundings. I was aware of nothing except sense of repose and a feeling of relief that some mighty and fatal struggle was over. I did not care whether I had conquered or suffered defeat in the struggle. It was finished, done with, and the consciousness of its conclusion satisfied and contented me. 

Gradually my brain, recovering from its obsession, began to grasp the phenomena of my surroundings, and I saw that I was on a shuttle and that the shuttle was moving. The motion was smooth; the hum was the hum of its engine; the strange colors were the cloud tints thrown by the sun as it crested around the planet; my mother’s lullaby was the crooned song of the man steering the ship. 

Throughout my life, I had many experiences in space. I loved space, and now it seemed deliciously right and proper that I should be in space again. I raised my head to look round, and let it sink back. I was fatigued and enervated. I desired only solitude and calm. I had no care, no anxiety, no responsibility. A hundred years might have passed since my meeting with Miss Surcer, and the memory of that meeting appeared to have faded into the remotest background of my mind.

It was a small ship, and my practiced eye at once told me that it belonged to the highest aristocracy of pleasure craft. Few own them and are allowed to pilot them to the moons. As I reclined in the lounge chair, I examined all visible details of the vessel. The ship’s bridge was as silver and smooth as the antimony my father mined. All the brassy areas shone in contrasting golden hues.

No one was to be seen on the bridge except the man piloting the ship. This man wore a blue jersey, but there was neither name nor initial on it. I called to him in my feeble voice, but the steerer took no notice of me and continued his quiet song as though nothing else existed in the universe save the ship, space, the sun, and himself.

I knew I was leaving Ventstot, but I could not discern which moon I was headed toward. I tried to sit up in the lounge chair, but I found myself unable to do so. I tried to throw off the blanket that covered me, but I discovered that I had been tied to the chair by means of a piece of broad webbing. 

Instantly, I was alert, awake, and angry. I knew that my perils were not over, and I felt that possibly they had scarcely yet begun. My lazy contentment, my dreamy sense of peace and repose vanished utterly, and I steeled myself to meet the dangers of a grave and difficult situation.

Just at that moment a man came up behind me. 

“Good morning,” he said. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” The clever and calculated insolence of his tone cut me like a lash as I lay bound in the chair. Like all people who have lived easy and joyous lives, I found it hard to realize that there were places where law was without power. Before my father bought the Ritzavoy XI, I would have talked airily about civilization and progress and the police. But my experience was teaching me that human nature remains always the same. Beneath the thin crust of security on which good citizens exist the dark and secret forces of crime continue to move, just as they did in the days of old. 

“Good morning,” the man repeated, and I glanced at him with a sullen, angry gaze.

“You!” I exclaimed, “You, Julbo—or rather Mr. Tulbo Toggins if that is your name! Loose me from this chair.” My eyes flashed with contempt as I spoke.

“With pleasure,” he replied. “I had forgotten that to prevent you from falling I had secured you to it.” With a quick movement he unfastened me, and I stood up, quivering with fiery annoyance and scorn.

“Now,” I said, confronting him face first, “what is the meaning of this?”

“You fainted,” he replied imperturbably. “Perhaps you don’t remember.”

I was obliged to acknowledge, in spite of myself, that he had distinction, an air of breeding. No one would have guessed that for twenty years he had worked on a cruiseshuttle. His long, lithe figure and easy, careless carriage seemed to be the figure and carriage of an aristocrat. His voice was quiet, restrained, and authoritative. However, I knew my head did not hurt because I had “fainted.”

“Why have you carried me off on this ship of yours?”

“It is not my ship,” he said, “but that is a minor detail. As to the more important matter, may I remind you that yesterday you were threatening a lady in my house with a sonicpistol.”

“Then it was your house?”

“Why not? May I not possess a house?” He smiled.

“I must request you to put the ship about at once and take me back,” I said as firmly as I could.

“Ah!” he said, “I am afraid that’s impossible. I didn’t put out to space with the intention of returning at once,” he imitated my tone as he spoke the last words.

“When I do get back,” I said, “when my father learns of this, it will be an exceedingly bad day for you, Mr. Toggins.”

“But supposing your father doesn’t hear of it—”

“What?”

“Supposing you never get back?”

“Do you mean to have my murder on your conscience?”

“Talking of murder,” he said, glancing at his well-manicured fingernails, “you came very near to murdering my friend, Miss Surcer. At least, so she tells me.”

“Is Miss Surcer on board?” I asked, seeing perhaps a faint ray of hope in the presence of a woman.

“Miss Surcer is not on board. There is no one on board except you and myself and a small crew—a very discreet crew, I might add.”

“I have nothing more to say to you, then. You must take your own course.”

“Thanks for the permission,” he said. “I will send you up some breakfast.”

He went to the stairs and whistled, and a man in uniform appeared with a tray of food. I took it, and without the slightest hesitation, threw it at my captor. Mr. Toggins dodged.

“You have spirit,” he said, “and I admire spirit. It is a rare quality.”

I made no reply. 

“Why did you mix yourself up in my affairs at all?” he continued. 

Again, I made no reply, but the question set me thinking: Why had I mixed myself up in this mysterious business? It was quite at variance with the usual methods of my existence. Had I acted merely from a desire to see justice done and wickedness punished? Or was it the desire of adventure? 

“It is no fault of mine that you are in this fix,” Julbo continued. “I didn’t bring you into it. You brought yourself into it. You and your father—you have been moving along at a pace which is rather too rapid.”

“That remains to be seen,” I put in coldly.

“It does,” he admitted. “And I repeat that I can’t help admiring you—that is, when you aren’t interfering with my private affairs. That is something which I have never tolerated from anyone—not from a sextillionaire nor even from a beautiful woman.” He bowed. 

“I will tell you what I propose to do,” he continued after a moment. “I propose to escort you to a place of safety on one of the moons and to keep you there until my operations are concluded and the possibility of your interference with them entirely removed. You spoke just now of murder. What a crude notion that was of yours! It is only the amateur who practices murder—”

“What about Cagginald Lodimmick?” I interjected quickly.

He paused gravely.

“Cagginald Lodimmick,” he repeated. “I had imagined his was a case of heart disease. Let me order you some more food. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“I will starve before I touch your food,” I said.

“Gallant creature!” he murmured, and his eyes roved over my face. “Ah!” he said, “what a wife you would make!” He approached nearer to me, and I stepped back. “Think of you and I, Major Thomatian, your beauty and wealth and my brains—we could conquer the world. Few men are worthy of you, but I am one of the few. Listen! You might do worse. Marry me. I am a great man, but I’ll soon be greater. I adore you. Marry me, and I will save your life. I will begin again. The past will be as though there had been no past.”

“This is somewhat sudden—Julbo,” I said with biting contempt.

“Did you expect me to be conventional?” he retorted. “I love you.”

“Granted,” I said, for the sake of the argument. “Then what will happen to your present wife?”

“My present wife?”

“Yes, Miss Surcer, as I believe she is called.”

“She told you I was her husband?”

“Incidentally, she did.”

“She isn’t.”

“Perhaps she isn’t. But, nevertheless, I think I won’t marry you.” I had nothing but contempt in my look.

He came nearer to me, and I again tried to step back, but hit the wall. “Give me a kiss, then—one kiss. I won’t ask for more. For one kiss from those lips, you will go free. Other men have ruined themselves for a kiss. Why not me?”

“Coward!” I ejaculated. “Trap me on your ship and then make advances, you should be ashamed!”

“Coward!” he repeated. “Coward, am I? Then I’ll be a coward, and you’ll kiss me whether you want or not.”

He put a hand on my shoulder. I shrank back from his eyes with an involuntary scream. 

 

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (23)

 23

Trapped By My Own Foolishness!

From: Pops

To: Vixie

Dear Vixie,

I now have hours before me with nothing to do, so I will again let you know how much I could use your skills and help. 

After all my fruitless groping in the hideaway with both hands and feet, I gave up. Instead, I went to descend the rope ladder and made haste for the corridor on Deck 18 to intercept Rocco when he left the State apartments. It was a painful and difficult business to descend that thin and yielding ladder in such a confined space, but I managed. I made it to the room disheveled, perspiring, and rather bewildered, but I was there. I resumed absolute command of all my faculties, drew my sonicpistol, and slipped through the State apartment door.

Strange to say, once I was outside the apartments, I moved so quietly that Rocco apparently did not hear me. I stepped noiselessly inside the door between the sitting room and the bedroom and stood there in silence, looking into the bathroom. Rocco had switched on the lights over the sink and was busy washing his utensils.

I deliberately coughed.

Rocco turned around with the swiftness of a startled tiger and gave me one long piercing glance.

Incidentally upon seeing me, he annunciated the word “Kelpft!” without any accent. He spoke as pure in accent and intonation as I do—dropping any pretense of foreign origins.

Again, I missed you gravely, dear daughter. At this juncture I did not know what to say. I was in such a hurry to apprehend him that I had not thought about or prepared what I would tell him before gaining access to the room. I was so dumbfounded by the whole sordid affair and especially by Rocco’s absolute and sublime calm, that both speech and thought failed me in the moment.

Rocco, however, saved me the trouble and immediately told me he gave up. He further enlightened me by saying he had warned Julbo that I was not the type of person to be trifled with and that he was afraid of me. He further signaled his surrender by sitting in a chair magnificently. Rocco actually kept his dignity throughout.

I had many questions that needed to be answered, so I pulled up a chair myself and sat in it so I could look him in the face before asking him why he had been masquerading as a foreigner on my cruiseshuttle,

He told me it was better for a master chef to be a foreigner. He stated he had changed his planetary citizenship for the same reason Julbo had changed his.

I asked him if he was friends and colleagues with Julbo, and he swore off him from that moment. He stated he had not agreed with the plot to murder anyone. Whether that is true or not the courts will eventually have to decide. 

Here the questioning stopped being easy. When I asked him what the scheme was all about, he told me it wasn’t his secret to tell, and therefore he wouldn’t tell it! He also refused to tell me why Lodimmick was poisoned beyond stating that he was against Julbo doing that and he was not made aware it had happened until after the fact. 

After further questioning, I found out that Lodimmick was killed because he was a partner with them, but he tried to get out of the overall scheme. Rocco grew even more difficult at that point and would not tell me who killed Lodimmick or the names of the other partners to the scheme.

Then, I pressed him to find out what he had been doing to Major Lodimmick’s body. He admitted that in addition to being a chef he was an embalmer, and he felt the need to take care of it. During this, he hinted that it contains, or rather it did contain, very serious evidence against some person or persons. He promptly skipped off down a rabbit hole trying to make me forget the revelation by stating he needed to move it from place to place to keep it hidden. Julbo was supposed to have taken it off the ship the night of the ball, but our actions prevented it. Rocco reiterated that a corpse doesn’t keep well in the open so embalming was the only answer despite his personal feelings about the murder itself. He seemed especially concerned that I believe him. 

Then, he closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair—letting me know he was done answering questions. I paced the room trying to wrap my head around everything. 

Rocco suddenly opened his eyes and demanded I turn him over to the authorities. He told me he did not want to lose any more of his night’s sleep. 

I pointed out that I did not think turning him over to the authorities would help him finish the night sleeping, but he insisted they would let him rest in a jail cell. He knew finding him with the body would give them at least a prima facie case against him, but he was counting on a plea bargain and a deal to give evidence against his accomplices to get him off in a year or two. 

He promised to go quietly to the Gendarmerie Department on Deck 6, telling me he knew someone would be on duty there. 

I pointed out that he would have nothing to do the next day so there was no reason for him to retire as soon as possible. I let him know he had not answered all my questions so I was not keen on taking him to the authorities, yet. 

That prompted him to answer more of my questions, and he revealed that he had kept Lodimmick’s corpse in his room, in a storage closet on Deck 1, in some luggage left sitting in a hall on Deck 12, and various other locations to keep it from being discovered. He revealed that since he was in a position of authority it was absurdly easy to get those under him to move the body at various times of the day unaware of what they were really doing. 

I asked him what he ultimately had planned to do with the body, and he had the audacity to tell me he would return it to Lodimmick’s relatives! 

I wondered aloud why he thought this particular room would be a good place to deal with the corpse, and he let me know that it was the only place where he could work undisturbed and escape discovery. Since the room was unoccupied and we were away from Majriti, he had every belief that no other government person would be boarding at any of the moons and require it. 

I should have seen he was playing me, Vixie. He kept telling me how intelligent I was, but whenever I asked him things like if he had been afraid the police would search his room, he stated he had not believed me when I told him those things earlier. I firmly believe he was just trying to stoke my ego to keep me relaxed around him.

He begged to go to the authorities again and even started toward the door. I told him he better not be planning any tricks. 

He repeated what he had said earlier—that he had the intention of going quietly. Oh, Vixie, you must know he had wrapped me quite around his finger. I felt that even a criminal can be a dignified man. I asked him why he would be such a fool and get himself mixed up with Julbo when he had so many unique talents. He continued to play me and agreed with me on every point. He told me that Julbo had fascinated him. He brought him into a great game with enormous prizes. He said he had been blinded and hypnotized.

However, and here I think he spoke what he truly believed, he told me he was not ruined. He planned to lay low, and in a few years, everyone would forget his crimes. At that time, he would come back again. He told me a man like him is never ruined until he is dead because genius is always forgiven. 

As I was musing about all he had told me and frankly, quite impressed with him, we walked past the elevators. 

Here, he stopped me, but I informed him that they would be locked at this time of night. He produced a key for the elevators and told me he always carried one. He immediately called the elevator. 

Fool that I am, I stepped in without thinking as soon as the doors opened. He wasted no time in kicking me and sent me sprawling into it. With that, he punched in a code from outside the elevator, and the doors slid shut before I could right myself. I soon realized I was now a hopeless prisoner in my own elevator while Rocco maintained his freedom. I heard him through the closed door tell me that I might be a clever man but he was much cleverer. 

I am too disgusted with myself to speak. I think I will count this as the greatest blow in my entire life.

Love,

Your Pops

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (22)

 22

No Way Forward?

From: Pops

To: Vixie

Dear Vixie,

I could especially use your skills of deduction at the moment, so I have decided to catch you up on the events of the past few hours. 

It was of course plain to me that the peculiar passageway which I had discovered at great personal inconvenience must have been specially designed by some person or persons for the purpose of keeping a nefarious watch upon the occupants of the State suite apartments. It was also a means of communication between the two rooms that was at once simple and ingenious. 

It is possible the space initially had the innocent purpose of allowing access to water pipes and electrical wires, but there could be no innocent reason for an eye-hole that allowed a view of the bathroom and bedroom. The hole is so small it probably would scarcely ever be noticed by someone inside the State rooms. I also observed that it must have been made for a man somewhat taller than myself. I was obliged to stand on tiptoe in order to get my eye into the correct position. 

Notably, both Julbo and Rocco are distinctly above the average height. They are also both thin men and could have ascended the passageway with comparative ease. Although I would not say I am stout, I am a well-set man with large bones and found the task rather uncomfortable. 

I watched the mysterious movements of Rocco, thankful that the door between the bathroom and the bedroom was wide open. However, I could see only half of the bed, and at intervals, Rocco passed out of my sight as his lithe hands moved over the object which lay on it. After a time, as my eyes grew accustomed to the position and the light, I was able to finally make out the body of a man.

To be more exact, I could discern the legs of a man in the area visible to me. I was disconcerted by this because I initially believed that Rocco had some unconscious human being helpless on that bed. The legs never moved. Therefore, the hapless creature was either asleep or under the influence of an anesthetic—or (and this was a horrible thought to me) dead.

I wanted to call out, to stop by some means or other the dreadful midnight activity which was proceeding before my astonished eyes, but I managed to restrain myself.

On the sink in the bathroom, I noticed certain strangely-shaped utensils and instruments which Rocco used from time to time. The work seemed to continue for interminable hours until, at last, Rocco ceased, gave a sign of satisfaction, and came into the bathroom, where he took off his coat and very quietly washed his hands. As he stood calmly and leisurely wiping those long fingers of his, he was less than four feet from me. Believe me, Vixie, I was trembling and holding my breath in fear that Rocco would detect my presence behind the woodwork and run off before I could confront him. But nothing happened, and Rocco returned unsuspectingly to the bedroom. I was certain at that point that it was a corpse upon which Rocco had been exercising his mysterious and sinister functions.

It seemed incredible—impossible—that this high luxury cruiseshuttle had such goings on, but I remembered what Feliste Ritzavoy had said to me and realized the truth of the saying anew. As the proprietor of a vast and complicated establishment like the Ritzavoy XI, I could never know a tenth of all the extraordinary and strange occurrences that happened daily under my very nose. Nevertheless, I fell that Fate was carrying things with a rather high hand when it permitted my chef to spend the night hours over a man’s corpse in my State bedroom—the sacred apartment which was only supposed to be occupied by government officials. It was then that I decided this was a little too much mystery for my taste. I am sure that even Feliste Ritzavoy would have been surprised at this.

To top things off, Rocco suddenly grabbed his com-tab and switched off the only two electric lights that were on, flooding the State bedroom in darkness. There was a blinding flash of light, and it occurred to me that the master chef had taken a picture of his work! 

The dazzling flash did allow me to make out the features of the dead man. It was Cagginald Lodimmick!

At this point, I can take no more. I must find a way out of this hideaway and capture the fiend! Sadly, you are not here to aid me in my task, and I feel it will be fruitless or take too long and Rocco will be gone with all the evidence.

Love,

Your Pops

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (21)

 21

The Significance of Room No. 1709

From: Pops

To: Vixie

Dear Vixie,

I continue to wait for your response to my messages, but I feel it is urgent to continue investigating even though I am lost without you. In the middle of the night, therefore, around 01:30, I made my way to room. After I entered, I locked the door on the inside and proceeded to examine the place. Every now and then some creak or other sound would startle me, and I would stop and listen intently for a few seconds. The bedroom was furnished in the ordinary splendid style of bedrooms, with the oaken four-poster bed hidden behind gold and white curtains, a faux fireplace with a com-tab hanging over it, and nightstands built into the headrest. I immediately pulled up the thick Oriental rug and peered along every crack, but I could discover nothing unusual.

Then I went to the dressing room, followed by the sitting room, but in none of these chambers was I any more successful than in the bedroom itself. 

I ended up in the bathroom, which was enclosed in a paneled casing of polished wood. Some baths have a cupboard beneath the sink with a door at the side, but this one had open shelves instead. I tapped the panels, but not a single one of them returned a curious hollow sound that would have alerted me to a secret place. 

I wandered over to the bathtub, which had three virtual windows over it. Curious to see if I could change the scenery, I leaned over to one of them and slipped. As I did so my knee pressed against the paneling there and caused it to give way. I saw that one large panel was hinged from the inside and caught with a clasp, also on the inside. A large space within the casing of the end of the bath was revealed. 

I could not see into the cavity, so I pulled out my com-tab for a light. Aided by this, I looked into the cavity and saw nothing except a rather large hole at the far end—some three feet from the casing. With some difficulty, I squeezed myself through the open panel and took a half-kneeling, half-sitting position within it. There I held my com-tab over the ceiling of the cavity and looked up the hole. It was an opening that appeared endless and about eighteen inches square. The curious part about it was that a rope ladder hung down it. When I saw that rope ladder, I could not stop myself from smiling.

Seeing no other way to ascend it but in the dark, I shut down my com-tab and stored it. Then, I began my attempt to climb the rope ladder in the dark. I was slightly relieved to see that once my com-tab was off, I could distinguish a very faint tinge of light at the top of the passage.

With infinite care, I compressed myself into the smokestack-like hole and carefully climbed. At length, I noticed there was a small passage leading off from it. Perspiring, but quite safe and quite excited, I stepped onto the ground of the passage. It was then that I saw the tinge of light came through a small hole in the wood. I put my eye to the peephole and found that I had a fine view of the State bathroom and through the door of the State bathroom into the State bedroom. By the massive marble-topped bed in the State bedroom, a man was visible, bending over some object which lay upon the bed.

Once I saw that man was Rocco, I again wished I could have your council on the matter. So, I have decided to send this message. I am planning on confronting him, so if something happens to me, you will know who is to blame. 

Love,

Your Pops

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (20)

 20

I Found a Secret Passage!

From: Pops

To: Vixie

Dear Vixie,

After Mr. Leviri left, I wrote my previous message to you. Then, I contemplated the various governing families of Majriti and wondered who might have an interest in the temporary disappearance of Count Yougen. As I did this, I was struck by one point especially: Why had Lodimmick and Julbo maneuvered to turn me out of room no. 1709 on that first night? I felt perfectly sure that it was a willful maneuvering even though the significance of the facts had not struck me until after my talk with Mr. Leviri. 

After lunch, I wandered quietly upstairs and looked at room no. 1709. Unfortunately, I could only look at the outside of it because it happened to be occupied, but the guest was leaving that evening for a longer stay on Reitsema. I realized that there was little object in gazing blankly at the outside of a room so I wandered quickly up to the next floor. I was on that floor when I unwittingly discovered no. 1709 is exactly under the State apartments. I immediately issued instructions to the office that no. 1709 was not to be re-booked to anyone until further orders. 

I’m afraid it was only then that I saw your note and the notice to watch Rocco. 

I do wonder what you are up to and hope all is well with you. 

I immediately rode down to Deck 3 to make a preliminary inspection of Rocco in his lair. At the same time, I found it hard to believe that this suave and stately gentleman, this enthusiast of gastronomy was concerned in the machinations of Julbo and other rascals unknown. 

This was my first trip to the Ritzavoy XI’s kitchens. I discovered everything in them was new and updated with all the latest from every planet in the system. The two-story area covered nearly one-quarter of the decks 3 and 4. They were walled and floored from end to end with tiles and marble, which enabled them to be washed down every morning.

I learned that visitors are sometimes taken to see the the plate-dryer, the Ritzavoy-spit (a contrivance of Feliste Ritzavoy’s own), the silver-grill, the system of connected stock-pots with fat spigots for dispensing their contents, the automatic linen napkin folder, and other amazing phenomena of the department.

On my visit, I was fortunate to see the artist who sculpts ice into forms of men and beasts for table ornaments and the man who daily invents fresh designs for pastry and blancmanges. Twelve chefs pursued their labors in those kitchens, helped by ninety sous chefs, and a further army of unconsidered menials. Over all these was Rocco, supreme and unapproachable. Half-way along the suite of kitchens, Rocco had an office of his own wherein he thought out those magnificent combinations, those marvelous feats of succulence and originality, which have given him his fame. 

My sudden and unusual appearance in the kitchen caused a little stir. I said nothing to anyone merely wandering about amid the maze of copper utensils and white-capped workers. At length I saw Rocco, surrounded by several admiring chefs. He was bending over a freshly-roasted partridge which lay on a blue dish. He plunged a long fork into the back of the bird, and raised it in the air with his left hand. In his right, he held a long glittering carving-knife. He was giving one of his famous exhibitions of carving. In four swift, unerring, delicate, perfect strokes he cleanly severed the limbs of the partridge. 

I must say, Vixie, it was a wonderful achievement, and the other chefs emitted a hum of applause. Then Rocco, long, lean, and graceful, retired to his office. I knew visitors never caught a glimpse of Rocco in the kitchens, though sometimes, on a special night, he may stroll nonchalantly through the dining room to receive the compliments of the cruiseshuttle habitués.

When he exited, though, I followed him and found him sitting behind a desk with one hand over his eyes. When I asked what he was doing, it startled him at first. However, he told me he was inventing a recipe for a new mayonnaise. Apparently, he has no need to mix things and taste them when he invents a new dish. 

I decided to probe the waters and asked if he had heard Julbo had been arrested in Ventstot. I told him Julbo had been implicated with several others in the murder of Mr. Cagginald Lodimmick.

His indifference was so superb, so gorgeous, that I instantly divined his demeanor was assumed for the occasion.

Then, while continuing my careful watch of him, I let him know the police were planning to perform a thorough and systematic search of the cruiseshuttle tomorrow. I informed him that I did not want him to be concerned about it. 

He told me that he would not object to the detectives looking through his rooms.

I finished by asking him to keep everything quiet, of course, on the grounds that the police were not ready to announce it to the press. 

I was very well satisfied with the little conversation. It was perhaps dangerous to tell a series of mere lies to a clever fellow like Rocco. It might be difficult to ultimately explain them to him if our suspicions should be unfounded, though. Nevertheless, his manner and a strange elusive something in the man’s eyes had nearly convinced me that he is somehow implicated in Julbo’s schemes.

Love,

Your Pops

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (19)

 19

Where Did You Go?

From: Pops

To: Vixie

Dear Vixie,

I wish I knew where you  This mystery that has attached itself to my cruiseshuttle, and I am struggling to solve it especially without you to bounce ideas off. Although I have laughed at the police for their fruitless efforts, I have found my own to be no better. I do not wish my impeccable cruiseshuttle to be the subject of sinister rumors. 

I have worried my brain without result. I conducted that elaborate private investigation without result. The police told me that they were pursuing a clue, but it is always the business of the police to pursue a clue. Unfortunately, they seldom have more than a clue, and a clue without some sequel to it is a pretty stupid business. The only sure thing in the whole affair is that a cloud rests over my cruiseshuttle—the finest of its kind. The cloud is not interfering with business, but it is a cloud. I fiercely resent its presence—or rather my inability to dissipate it.

That said, I am writing because there have been many new developments here on the ship that I can’t wait to share with you. Mr. Salas Leviri wanted to speak with me alone a couple days ago. At first, I thought he really wanted to see Rocco for a menu request, but then I decided I would like to talk with Mr. Leviri. 

The great stockbroker entered my suite with a simple unassuming air. He was a rather short, florid man, dressed like a typical financier with too much jewelry and clothing too tight around the waist. In his hand, he held a gold-headed cane and an absolutely new silk hat. I believe Mr. Leviri purchases a new hat every day of his life, except possibly the holidays when shops are closed. He seemed to be slightly embarrassed, but at the same time his face disclosed a certain good-naturedness.

After the usual greetings, I decided he was an honest man. He was also to the point. He quickly asked me why we had stationed a private detective among the guests at his ball. 

I could not hide my shock at this question, and he quickly assured me that it was a small matter, but he wanted to let me know he objected on the principle of the thing. 

I assured him that I would never dream of hiring a detective for a ball unless the person renting the ballroom requested it. 

At that point, he informed me that there was a man at the ball not on the guest list. Someone at the ball informed him it was one of our waiters, but he did not do any waiting during the event. This waiter had apparently done his share of drinking and of watching the guests. 

I then realized he must be referring to Julbo, I then explained to him about how he had been fired and then claimed to have been a guest at the ball. 

He was satisfied by this answer, and when I asked if he knew of Julbo, he informed me he did not know him and he had not been invited to the ball, which satisfied my curiosity on that end. 

Mr. Leviri then asked why I had dismissed him, but, as you know, I had no real reason other than my general dislike for him and my belief he acted suspiciously. 

At that point, Mr. Leviri mused aloud as to why Julbo, who was by my statement, well-known—why he would think he could come to the ball unrecognized. Then, he quickly finished with all the formalities of a goodbye before heading to the door. However, upon reaching it, he stopped and asked about the strange things that had recently occurred. 

I asked if he had any information about those things, and he said he didn’t think he did exactly. At that, I asked him to return to his chair so we could discuss them. Once he had done that, I told him I was willing to put my cards on the table if he showed his.

He shocked me then by informing me that he had planned to meet with Count Yougen on Majriti, but he had not been summoned. In exchange for this information, he asked my motive for buying the cruiseshuttle, and I gave it to him. I thought he might not believe me, but with a smile, he told me he had once bought a similar item on the same lines. He further told me it was one of the best purchases he had made and hoped the Ritzavoy XI would prove to be a similar good investment for me.

He then explained that Count Yougen was due here the day Lodimmick died. He was concerned that not only had the Count failed to appear, but he had not seen anything about him that explained the reason in the news. It was then he revealed the Count was meeting him to procure from him a loan!

I was unaware that Mr. Leviri was in the business of loaning out large sums to the leaders of Majriti, but it appears that is one of his many trades. 

However, I believe it is an important clue to know that the Count was deeply in debt, despite his young age, and that Mr. Leviri was to be the only way he could see himself out of them. Further, I learned that the woman the Count is to marry was unaware of this state of his financial affairs, which is why he wanted to settle all of them through this loan before her family discovered it and called off the wedding. 

I questioned Mr. Leviri a little longer because it seemed to me that the Emperor would find out that the debts were not simply discharged but rather converted into a loan, but Mr. Leviri said he was an old hand at keeping things like this quiet, especially since the silence was only temporary and after the marriage it could leak out because General Skyna was so rich she could cover the loan. 

Most concerning to Mr. Leviri was that he could not sit on the money necessary for the loan much longer. The Count needs to show up immediately or risk losing it all. He believes that Lodimmick’s death is somehow tied to the missing Count because Lodimmick was a left-handed relation of the Count—although apparently few know that. He was made secretary and companion to General Ribereus just to keep him in the domestic circle. Apparently, Lodimmick’s mother was a woman whose misfortune was that she was too beautiful. 

What he could not put his finger on was why anyone should want to make Count Yougen disappear because the Count apparently doesn’t have an enemy in the world. 

As for me, the reason seemed clear: Suppose some other pauper Count was anxious to marry General Skyna and obtain her fortune, wouldn’t that Count have an interest in stopping Leviri’s loan to Count Yougen? Wouldn’t that Count have an interest in causing Count Yougen to disappear—at any rate, for a time?”

These are the conclusions I reached, Vixie, and I do wish you would let me know what you think of them.

Sincerely,

Your Pops 

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (18)

 18

“I told you that you were a fool,” remarked Miss Surcer slowly and coldly, “coming here as if you were the Head Inspector and trying to get the best of me.

“We are on equal terms now. You frightened me, but I knew I was a cleverer woman than you. I knew that in the end, if I kept on long enough, I should find your weakness and win.

“Now it will be my turn,” she concluded.

I was dumbfounded, and overcome with a miserable sense of the truth of Miss Surcer’s words. There was nothing for me to do except stand still. My colossal foolishness swept through me like a flood. I felt almost ashamed. But even at this juncture, I had no fear. I faced the woman bravely, my mind leaping about in search of some plan. 

She had thrown away my sonicpistol instead of using it, so I doubted she had any training on how to fight. However, there was so much stuff in this small room, I did not want to hand-to-hand combat her. I could think of nothing but a bribe—an enormous bribe.

“I admit you’ve won,” I said, “but I’ve not finished yet. Just listen.”

Miss Surcer folded her arms and glanced at the door, smiling bitterly.

“You know my father is a millionaire,” I continued. “Perhaps you have heard that he is one of the richest men on the planet. If I give you my word of honor not to reveal anything that you’ve told me, how much would you want to let me go free?”

“What sum do you suggest?” asked Miss Surcer carelessly.

“Two ten-million-notes,” I said promptly. I had begun to regard the affair as a business transaction.

Miss Surcer’s lip curled.

“Twenty ten-million-notes,” I said, raising the amount.

Again, Miss Surcer’s lip curled.

“Well, say fifty. I can rely on my father, and so may you.”

“You think you are worth fifty ten-million-notes to him?”

“I do,” I replied.

“And you think we could trust you to see that we were paid?”

“Of course you could,” I began to realize this was not perhaps going to be easier than fighting.

“And how can you guarantee we would not suffer afterward in any way?”

“I would give you my word and my father’s word.”

“Bah!” exclaimed Miss Surcer: “You have no way of assuring me that I wouldn’t be letting you go free for nothing. You are only a rash, silly girl.”

“I know you wouldn’t. I can read your face too well.” I pushed a table out of the way and prepared to fight.

“You are right,” Miss Surcer replied slowly. “I wouldn’t let you go for all the money on the planet.”

A draught of cold air from the broken window blew on my cheek. I felt the door behind me open, but I did not turn in time. Everything went black, and I slipped limply to the ground.

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (17)

 17

“You—you’re only doing that to frighten me,” stammered Miss Surcer in a low, quavering voice.

“Am I?” I replied, as firmly as I could, though my hand shook violently with excitement. I was thankful Miss Surcer did not seem to have observed it. “Am I?” I repeated. “You said just now that I might be a Hraindorali girl, but I was a fool. Well, I am a Hraindorali girl, as you call it. I am also the major of my father’s military. I learned to shoot when I was still in elementary school. I tell you that if you ring that bell you will suffer.”

Most of this was simple bluff on my part. I knew that sonicpistols could be deadly but rarely were. The sound wave usually just knocked the person into something and incapacitated them temporarily. I trembled for fear that Miss Surcer should perceive that it was simple bluff. 

Happily for me, Miss Surcer must have belonged to that order of people who have every sort of courage except physical courage. I believed Miss Surcer could have withstood successfully any moral trial, but once she perceived that her skin was in danger, she would succumb. She also seemed to know little about weapons. I at once divined this useful fact, and proceeded accordingly, hiding my own sensations as well as I could.

“You had better sit down now,” I said, “so I can ask you a few questions.”

Miss Surcer obediently sat down. I was satisfied that her face was rather white as she tried to screw her lips into a formal smile.

“Why did you leave the Ritzavoy XI that night Major Lodimmick died?” I began, putting on a stern, prosecuting attorney-like expression.

“I had orders to, Major Thomatian.”

“Whose orders?”

“Well, I’m—I’m—the fact is, I’m a married woman, and it was my husband’s orders.”

“Who is your husband?”

“Tulbo Toggins—Julbo, you know, maître d’hôtel at the Ritzavoy XI.”

“Former maître d’hôtel,” I corrected. “So Julbo’s real name is Tulbo Toggins? Why did he want you to leave without giving notice?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. I swear I don’t know. He’s my husband, and I do what he tells me—just as you will someday do what your husband tells you. 

I snorted.

“Hopefully, you’ll get a better husband than mine!” she added, he lip wavered as if she were about to cry.

I fingered the sonicpistol. 

“Well,” I repeated, “why did he want you to leave?” I was tremendously surprised at my own coolness, and somewhat pleased with it, too.

“I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you.”

“You’ve got to,” I said remorselessly.

“He—he wished me to come to Ventstot. Something had gone wrong. Oh! he’s a fearful man, is Tulbo. If I told you, he’d—”

“Had something gone wrong on the cruiseshuttle or down here on the plane?” I interrupted.

“Both.”

“Was it about Count Yougen of South Quaros?”

“I don’t know—that is, yes, I think so.”

“What has your husband to do with Count Yougen?”

“I believe he has some—some sort of business with him—some money business.”

“And was Mr. Lodimmick in this business?”

“I believe so. I’m telling you all I know, that I swear.”

“Did your husband and Mr. Lodimmick have a quarrel that night in No. 1709?”

“They had some difficulty.”

“And the result of that was that you came to Ventstot instantly?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“And what were you to do in Ventstot? What were your instructions from this husband of yours?”

Miss Surcer’s head dropped and she appeared to sob violently.

“Have pity on me,” she murmured, “I can’t tell you anymore.”

“Why?”

“He’d kill me if he knew.”

“You’re wandering from the subject,” I observed coldly. “This is the last time I shall warn you. I’ve got the best reasons for being desperate, and if anything happens to you, I shall say I did it in self-defense. Now, what were you to do here in Ventstot?”

“I shall die for this anyhow,” whined Miss Surcer, before wailing in despair “I had to keep watch on Count Yougen.”

“Where? In this house?”

Miss Surcer nodded. When she looked up, I could see the traces of tears on her face.

“Count Yougen was a prisoner? Someone had captured him at the instigation of Julbo?”

“Yes, if you must have it.”

“Why was it necessary for you to come to Ventstot? Why not someone else?”

“Oh! Tulbo trusts me. You see, I know Ventstot. Before I took that position on the Ritzavoy XI, I had travelled over Majriti. Tulbo knows that I know a thing or two.”

“Why did you take the position on the Ritzavoy XI in the first place?”

“Because Tulbo told me to. He said I would be useful to him there.”

“Is your husband against the government or something of that kind, Miss Surcer?”

“I don’t know. I’d tell you in a minute if I knew. But he’s one of those that keep themselves to themselves.”

“Do you know if he has ever committed a murder?”

“Never!” said Miss Surcer righteously.

“But Mr. Lodimmick was murdered. He must have been poisoned because if he had not been poisoned why was his body stolen? It must have been stolen to prevent the autopsy. Tell me about that.”

“I take my dying oath,” said Miss Surcer, standing up a little way from the table, “I take my dying oath I didn’t know Mr. Lodimmick was dead until I saw it on the news.”

“You swear you had no suspicion of it?”

“I swear I hadn’t.”

I was inclined to believe the statement. I looked at Miss Surcer carefully in the tawdry, frowsy, lamplit room. Miss Surcer nervously patted her blonde hair into shape. The whole affair seemed like a dream to me—a disturbing, sinister nightmare. I was a little uncertain what to say. I felt that I had not yet learned any definite information. 

“Where is Count Yougen now?” I asked at length.

“I don’t know, Major.”

“He isn’t in this house?”

“No, Major.”

“Ah! We will see presently.”

“They took him away, Major Thomatian.”

“Who took him away? Some of your husband’s friends?”

“Some of his—acquaintances.”

“Then there’s a gang of you?”

“A gang of us—a gang! I don’t know what you mean,” Miss Surcer’s voice quavered.

“Oh, but you must know,” I smiled calmly. “You can’t possibly be so innocent as all that, Mrs Tulbo Toggins. You can’t play games with me. There’s one thing that I mean to find out: How did your charming husband kidnap Count Yougen? Why did he kidnap him? Let us begin with the second question since you evaded it once.”

Miss Surcer looked into my face, and then her eyes dropped and she fiddled with the tablecloth.

“How can I tell you,” she said, “when I don’t know? You’ve got the power over me, and you’re tormenting me for your own pleasure,” her face became one of innocence.

“Did your husband want to get some money out of Count Yougen?”

“Money! Not he! My husband’s never short of money.”

“But I mean a lot of money—tens of million-notes?”

“Tulbo never wanted money from anyone,” Miss Surcer said doggedly.

“Then what reason did he have for stopping Count Yougen from coming to Ventstot?”

“I don’t know. Even if you kill me, I don’t know.” 

I stopped questioning her for a moment to reflect. Then I raised the sonicpistol. It was a mechanical, unintentional sort of action. I certainly had no intention of using the weapon, but Miss Surcer again cowered before it. At that moment, I wondered how a woman like Miss Surcer could be so simple as to think the sonicpistol would even be used. I had trained much with weapons, but Hraindorali had never been at war. I had never killed or even shot another person. 

In addition, having absolutely no physical cowardice myself, I had extreme difficulty imagining that other people could be at the mercy of a bodily fear. However, I saw my advantage and used it relentlessly with as much theatrical gesture as I could command. I raised the weapon until it was level with Miss Surcer’s face. Suddenly, a new, odd feeling took hold of me. I felt that I would indeed use that sonicpistol if the miserable woman before me drove me too far. I felt afraid—afraid of myself. I was in the grasp of a savage, primeval instinct. 

“Speak,” I said hoarsely, and Miss Surcer’s face went whiter.

“Tulbo did say,” the woman whispered rapidly, “that if Count Yougen got to Ventstot it would upset his scheme.”

“What scheme?” She cowered without answering. “What scheme? Answer me!”

“Heaven help me, I don’t know.” Miss Surcer sank into a chair. “He said Mr. Lodimmick had turned tail, and he should have to settle him and then Rocco—”

“Rocco! What about Rocco?” I could scarcely hear myself. My grip on the weapon tightened.

Miss Surcer’s eyes opened wider. 

“Don’t ask me. It’s death!” Her eyes were fixed as if she saw some sort of horror.

“It is,” I said, and the sound of my voice seemed me to issue from the lips of some third person.

“It’s death,” repeated Miss Surcer. Gradually, her head and shoulders sank back against the chair and went slack. 

I was conscious of a sudden revulsion at my behavior. I knew the woman had surely fainted. Dropping the sonicpistol, I ran round the table. In strong contrast to the feelings that had risen in me, I now felt only compassion for the woman. But at the same instant I reached her, Miss Surcer sprang up from the chair like a cat, seized the sonicpistol, and with a wild movement flung it against the window. It crashed through the glass, exploding as it went, and there was a tense silence.

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (16)

 16

Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps it was the mere spirit of adventure, but I headed out immediately on the next shuttle down to Ventstot. I told no one of my intentions—not even my father, who was not readily available when I left. I had sent a brief message to him to expect my back upon his return from the moons as soon as I got to the surface of the Majriti. I did not hope that the Baroness was on board the same shuttle. It was quite possible for her to have caught the earlier one. It was also possible for the Baroness to have landed and immediately left Ventstot for some other place. Nevertheless, I had a faint hope that the lady who called herself Mazerlin might be somewhere on board the ship I was taking, and I never once relaxed my observation of its private room doors.

It arrived in Ventstot punctually hours after the Ritzavoy had left its space dock for the moons. There was the usual heterogeneous, gesticulating crowd at the port.

I kept my post near the doors of the private rooms, and at length I was rewarded by seeing the last one open. Four middle-aged Samhians issued from it. From a glimpse of the interior, I saw no one else inhabited it.

It would not be too much to say that I was distinctly annoyed. I pretended to be annoyed with my circumstances, but really I was annoyed with myself. Late at night, without luggage, without any companionship, and without a plan, I found myself in a strange port—a port possessing some of the worst-managed cruiseshuttles in the galaxy. I strolled around the port for a few minutes, and then I saw the flames of another shuttle in the outer atmosphere. I inquired from an official what that shuttle might be, and was told that it was the earlier one from the spaceport, which had lost one of its engines and was arriving at its destination nearly four hours late because a spacewalk had to be performed to fix it. My changeable spirits rose again. A minute ago, I thought of myself as no better than a ninny engaged in a wild-goose chase. Now, I felt that I had been very clever and cunning. I was sure that I would find the Mazerlin woman on this landing shuttle, and I took all the credit for it myself in advance. 

The shuttle seemed interminably slow landing at the port. I walked on the observation deck for a few minutes to watch it better. 

When the shuttle finally arrived, I stood at the end of the concourse, close to the ticket collectors. The first person to step into my field of vision was—not the Baroness Mazerlin—but Miss Surcer! I turned aside instantly, hiding my face, and Miss Surcer, carrying a small bag, hurried with assured footsteps to the landcraft rental area. It seemed as if she knew the port fairly well. The moon shone like day, and I had full opportunity to observe my quarry. I could see now quite plainly that the Baroness Mazerlin had been Miss Surcer in disguise. There was the same gait, the same movement of the head and of the hips. I could easily account for the white hair by a wig and the wrinkles by a paint brush and makeup. Miss Surcer, whose hair was now its old accustomed blonde, got her rental without difficulty, and I hurried after her with mine. As her vehicle drove off, I jumped in mine. 

“Follow that landcraft,” I said succinctly to the animatron chauffeur.

“Of course, madam!” The landcraft shot forward with a terrific clatter. Apparently the chauffeurs in Ventstot programmed to following other landcraft.

Now I am fairly in for it! I thought. I laughed unsteadily, but my heart was beating with an extraordinary thump.

For some time, the pursued vehicle kept well in front. It crossed the town nearly from end to end and plunged into a maze of small streets far on the south side. Then gradually my landcraft began to overtake it. The first landcraft stopped with a jerk before a tall, dark house, and Miss Surcer emerged. 

“Stop!” I shouted, but he completely ignored my commands. He drew up at the house right behind the other landcraft just at the moment when Miss Surcer disappeared into it. The other landcraft flew off. At this point, I was slightly uncertain what to do. I stepped down and watched as my driver took off. At the same moment, a manopened the door of the house that had just closed on Miss Surcer.

“I want to see Miss Surcer,” I said to him impulsively. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Miss Surcer?”

“Yes. The woman whose just arrived.”

“It’s okay, I suppose?” asked the man.

“I guess so,” I said, and I walked past him into the house. I was astonished at my own audacity.

Miss Surcer was just going into a room off the narrow hall. I followed her into the apartment, which was shabbily furnished.

“Well, Miss Surcer,” I greeted the former Baroness Mazerlin, “I guess you didn’t expect to see me. You left our cruiseshuttle very suddenly this afternoon, and you left it very suddenly a few days ago, as well. For those reasons, I’ve just called on you to make a few inquiries.”

To do the lady justice, Miss Surcer bore the surprising ordeal very well.

She did not flinch. At the same time, I betrayed no emotion. The sole sign of my perturbation was in my hurried breathing.

“You have ceased to be the Baroness Mazerlin,” I continued. “May I sit down?”

“Certainly, sit down,” said Miss Surcer, copying my tone. “You are a fairly smart young woman—that I will say. What do you want? Weren’t my books all straight?”

“Your books were all straight. I haven’t come about your books. I have come about the murder of Cagginald Lodimmick, the disappearance of his corpse, and the disappearance of Count Yougen of South Quaros. I thought you might be able to help me in some of these investigations I am making.”

Miss Surcer’s eyes gleamed. I stood up and moved swiftly to the mantelpiece.

“You may be a Hraindorali, but you’re a fool,” she said.

She moved toward a button on the wall.

“Don’t summon anyone if you value your life,” I said.

“If what?” Miss Surcer remarked as she turned toward me with a puzzled expression on her face.

“If you value your life,” I said calmly, as I pulled from my pocket my very neat and dainty little sonicpistol.

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (15)

 15

On the following morning, just before lunch, a lady, accompanied by a maid and a considerable quantity of luggage, came to the Ritzavoy XI reception. It was our last day at the Majriti port before we took off to the planet’s moons. She was a plump, little old lady, with white hair and an old-fashioned bonnet. I had a simple smile of surprise at her full attire.

Nevertheless, she gave the impression of belonging to some aristocracy, though perhaps not Majritian aristocracy. Her tone to her maid, whom she addressed in an unplaceable accent, was distinctly insolent with the calm, unconscious insolence peculiar to nobility. The name on the lady’s card was: Baroness Mazerlin. Despite the fact she was checking onto the ship at the last possible moment, she desired rooms on the seventeenth deck. 

“On the seventeenth deck, madam?” I asked, in my best clerkly manner.

“I did say de seventeent deck,” the plump little old lady replied.

“We have accommodation on the fourteenth deck.”

“I wish to be high up, out of de dust and in de light,” explained the Baroness.

“We have no suites on the seventeenth deck, madam.”

“Never mind, no mattaire! Have you not two rooms that communicate?”

I consulted my books, rather awkwardly.

“Numbers 14305 and 14306 communicate.”

“Are you sure it isn’t 14306 and 14307?” the little old lady remarked quickly and then bit her lip.

“I beg your pardon. I should have said 14306 and 14307.”

When she said it, I regarded the Baroness’ correction of my numbers as a curious chance, but afterward, when the Baroness headed for the lift, the thing struck me as somewhat strange. If this had been the only strange incident that had occurred since my father bought the Ritzavoy XI, I might have brushed it off as the Baroness Mazerlin having stayed on the cruiseshuttle before. But this was not.

I quickly found myself looking through the index of previous guests, extending back for thirty years. I searched it in several ways, but it did not contain the name of Mazerlin nor did it have anyone with similar personally identifiable information. As I sat thinking, I stared at the image of the Baroness captured when she approached the reception area. The features of the Baroness were remotely familiar to me. It was not that I had seen the old lady’s face before but rather that I had seen somewhere, sometime, a similar face. 

Unsatisfied, I opened my personal com-tab and pulled up the Almanach de Majritian—that record of all the Majritian nobility. There was no reference to any Barony of Mazerlin. 

I inquired from the ship computer where the Baroness meant to take lunch and was informed that a table had been reserved for her in the main dining room. I at once decided to lunch in that restaurant myself. Seated in a corner, half-hidden by a pillar, I could survey all the guests and watch each group as it entered or left. Presently the Baroness appeared, dressed in black with a tiny lace shawl. She walked very stately, looked very quaint, and was gently smiling. I observed her intently. 

She ate heartily, working without haste and without delay through the elaborate menu of the luncheon. I noticed that she had beautiful white teeth. Then, a remarkable thing happened. A cream puff was served to the Baroness, and I was astonished to see her remove the top and with a spoon quietly take something from the interior which looked like a piece of folded paper. No one who had not been watching with the eye of a lynx would have noticed anything extraordinary in her action—indeed, I felt the chances were nine hundred and ninety-nine to one that it would pass unheeded. But, unfortunately for the Baroness, I was that one in a thousand chance. I jumped up and walked over to the Baroness.

“I’m afraid that the tart is not quite nice, your ladyship,” I stated.

“Thanks, it is delightful,” said the Baroness coldly. My smile had already vanished. “Who are you? I thought you were de office clerk.”

“My father is the owner of this cruiseshuttle. I thought there was something in the cream puff that should not to have been there.”

Vixie looked the Baroness full in the face, but saw out of the corner of my eye the piece of folded paper, to which a little cream had attached itself, lay under the edge of a plate.

“No, it is fine. Thank you for your concern.” The Baroness smiled simply.

I departed. I had noticed one more thing besides the paper—namely, that the Baroness could pronounce the English “th” sound if she chose.

That afternoon, in my own room, I sat meditating at the window for long time.

“I know,” I exclaimed, suddenly standing. “It’s Miss Surcer disguised!

Why didn’t I think of that before? My thoughts ran instantly to General Ribereus and his plea for help. With a little sigh, I hurried down to the office and inquired from the ship com-tab whether the Baroness had given any instructions about dinner. I felt that some plan must be formulated. I wanted to get hold of Rocco, and put him in the rack. I knew now that Rocco, the unequalled chef, was also concerned in this mysterious affair.

“The Baroness Mazerlin disembarked, about a quarter of an hour ago,” said the com-tab.

“But she only arrived this morning. What reason did she give? ”

“The Baroness’ stated she had received a message and must leave at once.” 

“Is she coming back?”

“The Baroness paid the bill and left in the final shipping shuttle to Ventstot.”

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (14)

 14

The next day, I concerned myself for a little with the ordinary business of the office. Then, I went to Deck 18 to watch the comings and goings of General Ribereus with a kindly interest. I perceived, what my father had failed to perceive, that the General had assumed an attitude of reserve merely to hide the secret distraction and dismay which consumed him. I saw that the poor fellow had no settled plan in his head, and that he was troubled by something which, so far, he had confided to nobody. In the course of my observations, I noticed he walked to and fro through Quasar Park on Deck 8 alone and apparently with no object. I decided that walking in the park would be good for my health. Near one of the bridges I met the General.

“Good morning, General,” I greeted him. “Are you mistaking this for the Emperor’s Promenade?”

He bowed and smiled.

“I usually walk here in the mornings,” he said.

“You surprise me,” I returned. “I thought I was the only person on this ship who preferred Quasar Park with all its lovely greenery to the dustiness of the metallic Emperor’s Promenade. I can’t imagine how it is that most of our guests will never take exercise anywhere except on that ridiculous Promenade.”

“I think Quasar Park is the finest spot on the entire ship,” he said.

I leaned toward him, bringing my face nearer to his.

“I do believe we are kindred spirits, you and I,” I murmured, and then I stepped back and said cheerfully, “Au revoir, General!”

“One moment, Major Thomatian,” he entreated me quickly.

“I am in a hurry,” I fibbed. “I am not merely taking exercise this morning. You have no idea how busy we are.”

“Ah! then I will not trouble you. But I leave the Ritzavoy XI tonight.”

“Do you?” I said. “Then will you do me the honor of lunching with me today in the Exosphere? Father has travelled to Majriti today to meet with some stockbrokers before we shove off tomorrow evening.”

“I shall be charmed,” said the General, and his face made me know he meant it.

With that, I left him.

* * * * * *

At lunch, the General said little beyond what the ordinary rules of the conversational game demanded. I talked much and talked well, but I failed to rouse my guest. When we had had coffee, he took a rather formal leave of me.

“Good-bye, Prince,” I said, “but I thought—"

“You thought I wished to discuss something with you,” he said. “I did, but I have decided that I have no right to burden your mind with my affairs.”

“But suppose—suppose I wish to be burdened?”

“That is your good nature.”

“Sit down,” I said abruptly, “and tell me everything—mind, everything. I adore secrets.”

Suddenly, he was talking to me, rapidly and eagerly.

“Why should I weary you with my confidences?” he asked. “I don’t know, but I feel that I must tell you. I feel that you will understand me better than anyone else in the world. And yet why should you understand me? Again, I don’t know. 

“Major Thomatian, I will disclose to you the whole: Count Yougen, the hereditary Grand Duke of South Quaros, has disappeared. Four days ago, I was to have met him at Ventstot. He had affairs there. He wished me to come with him. I sent Lodimmick onboard before me, and waited for Yougen there. He did not arrive. I telegraphed back to St. Ngebrodi, his last stopping-place, and I learned that he had left there in accordance with his original plans. I learned also that he had passed through East Moumalt. It must have been between East Moumalt and the station at Ventstot that he disappeared. He was travelling with a single servant, and the servant, too, has vanished. 

“I need not explain to you, Major Thomatian, that when a person of importance like my nephew contrives to get lost, one must proceed cautiously. One cannot advertise for him in the news. Such a disappearance must be kept secret. The people at South Quaros and at St. Ngebrodi believe that Yougen is in Ventstot or here on this cruiseshuttle. I also believed this until this morning when I received a cypher message from—from the Emperor. It was very peculiar message, asking when Yougen might be expected to return, and requesting that he should go meet with him before boarding. That message was addressed to myself. I have hesitated for three days, but I can hesitate no longer. I must myself go to the Emperor and acquaint him with the facts.”

I suppose you’ve just got to keep straight with him? I thought, but I checked myself and substituted, “The Emperor is our ruler? ‘First among equals,’ I believe is how the motto goes.”

“That is correct,” said Ribereus quietly.

“Why not take immediate steps to discover the whereabouts of your nephew?” I asked simply. The affair seemed to me to be so plain and straightforward.

“Because one of two things may have happened. Either Yougen may have been, to speak plainly, abducted, or he may have had his own reasons for changing his plans and keeping hidden—out of reach of any communication.”

“What sort of reasons?”

“Do not ask me. In the history of every family there are certain skeletons—” He stopped.

“What was Count Yougen’s object in coming here?”

Ribereus hesitated.

“Money,” he said at length. “As a family we are very poor—poorer than anyone in Majriti suspects.”

“General Ribereus,” I said, “should I tell you what I think?” I leaned back in my chair and looked at him out of half-closed eyes. His pale, thin, distinguished face held my gaze as if by some fascination.

“If you will,” he said.

“Count Yougen is the victim of a plot.”

“You think so?”

“I am perfectly convinced of it.”

“But why? What can be the object of a plot against him?”

“That you should know more about than me,” I remarked dryly.

“Ah! Perhaps, perhaps,” he said. “But, dear Major Thomatian, why are you so sure?”

“There are several reasons, and they are connected with Mr. Lodimmick. Did you ever suspect that young man was not entirely loyal to you?”

“He was absolutely loyal,” said the General, earnestly.

“A thousand pardons, but he was not.”

“Major Thomatian, if any other than yourself made that assertion, I would—I would—”

“Consign them to the deepest dungeon in South Quaros?” I laughed, lightly.

“Listen.” And here I told him of the incidents which had occurred on the night preceding his arrival.

“Do you mean, Major Thomatian, that there was an understanding between poor Lodimmick and this fellow Julbo?”

“There was an understanding. I am certain of it.”

“Impossible!”

“Your Highness, the man who wishes to probe a mystery to its root never uses the word ‘impossible.’ But I will say this for young Mr. Lodimmick. I think he repented, and I think that it was because he repented that he—er—died so suddenly, and that his body was spirited away.”

“Why has no one told me these things before?” Ribereus exclaimed.

“Generals seldom hear the truth,” I said, much to his astonishment.

“Major Thomatian,” he said, “if you will permit me to say it, I have never in my life met a woman like you. May I rely on your sympathy—your support?”

“My support, General? But how?”

“I do not know,” he replied. “But you could help me if you would. I have generally found that those women, like yourself, with a brain have more of a brain than most men.”

“Ah!” I said humbly, “I have no brains, but I do believe I could help you.”

What prompted me to make that assertion I could not explain, even to myself. But I made it, and I believed that it would be justified although how was still a mystery to me.

“Go to Ventstot,” I said. “You must do that; you have no alternative. As for the rest, we shall see. Something will occur. I will be here. My father will be here. You must count both of us as your friends.”

After he left, I sat there, sipping the last of my coffee. Were conspiracies actually possible nowadays? Did unusual things actually happen in Majriti? And did they actually happen on intergalatic cruiseshuttles? 

That evening, I dined with my father.

“I hear General Ribereus has left,” he said.

“Yes,” I assented. I said not a word about our interview.

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (13)

 13

It appeared impossible to me that so cumbrous an article as a corpse could be removed out of this cruiseshuttle, with no trace, no hint, no clue as to the time or the manner of the performance of the deed. 

“The entire crew will be fired for this!” my father said coldly with severe angry after the first moments of shock had passed. 

“Pops, you aren’t thinking clearly. It is doubtful any of the crew had a hand in this, but if they did it certainly would not have been very many.”

“I’ll get to the bottom of this disgrace. Vixie, arrange for me to personally interview every member of the staff in my office. Today!” 

“Pops, there are 1,273 staff members on this ship including you and me. There is no way you can get through them all today. I will begin with those who would have had the access to this area. If you want to take the Inspector and Detective Marshaggins to your quarters, I will begin sending them to you. But please, let them take the lead in questioning. They have much more experience in this than you.” 

My father looked defeated, but complacent as he left the morgue, and I hurried off to examine crew records, make lists, and summon crew to my father for questioning. I firmly believed not much would come of the questioning. There was, I believed, only one person who really needed to be questioned: Jublo. In addition to my father and I, he was the last person to see Mr. Lodimmick alive. Further, he was on the ship last night. I just could not figure out how he would have stolen the body when my father and I escorted him off it. 

I created a list of the nightwatchmen, the housekeeping staff, and everyone who had been on duty on Deck 6 last night, including the Gendarmerie. I particularly was interested in the doctors and their support staff in Sickbay since the morgue was next to it. After summoning those at the top of the list and informing them to wait outside my father’s suite until called and after sending the list to my father with strict instructions to let me know after each person was finished, I decided to head off and do a little of my own investigation. 

“Excuse me, Jamus,” I said as I approached one of the Gendarmerie waiting to see my father. “I just have a few questions before you go in there, would you mind stepping into the office with me?”

“Of course,” he grinned arrogantly. It was all I could do to keep from rolling my eyes. I could tell he thought I was interested in more than information. However, I felt it was best to take advantage of his willingness—whatever the reason—without crushing his spirit.

“Do you remember when Julbo entered the ship last night?”

“Uh,” he was clearly thrown off guard, “As I already explained to Baron Thomatian, he said he had been invited to that ball. I would have never let him on if I had known the Baron had banned him altogether.”

“I know, and I am truly sorry we were unaware of how to update the banned list until last night. However, I was asking if you remembered when he came onboard—did he have anything unusual with him?”

“He said he was going to a ball. I would have questioned him if he had tried to bring anything on the ship with him.”

“Aside from when he first got here, did he leave the ship? Or did he try to come back after we escorted him off it?” 

“No.”

“Thank you so much for your cooperation. Now, I think my father has a few other questions he would like to ask you.”

“Any time. In fact, if you want to learn more about what I do on the ship and some of the adventures I’ve had, I would love to meet you after work sometime.”

“That sounds very interesting, but unfortunately, I couldn’t make a commitment like that just now. I have a lot of new tasks I have to learn with running this ship.”

“Well, if you ever need help just call.” 

As he headed out the door, I thought of one more thing. “Actually, if I needed to get a rather bulky piece of furniture off the ship, what would be the best way to do it?”

“Go to the shipping clerk, of course,” he chuckled. “He helps all the guests with their bulky items.” With that, he shot me a half grin and a wink before darting back out into the corridor. 

I quickly sent my father some more crew to investigate before heading off to the shipping clerk. Again, I was disappointed. He had not seen Jublo in days and today he was only dealing with incoming packages from the newly boarded guests. After that, I brought lunch to the investigative team and stuck around for a bit so they could interview me. I acquainted them with the facts, answered their queries with a patient weariness, and expected nothing whatever from that quarter. At the end of the day, the only conclusion they had drawn was that the corpse of Cagginald Lodimmick had vanished utterly—disappeared like a fleshless spirit.

From this, I held the Majriti authorities and our detective in sorry esteem. My father informed me they had interviewed General Ribereus, and he found him to be suavity itself and beyond doubt genuinely concerned about the fate of his dead attendant. At the same time, my father told me he felt the General was keeping something back. 

“It is my firm belief,” he told me, “that the death of Cagginald Lodimmick was only a minor event. I rather believe his death occurred on the fringe of some far more profound mystery.”

“If that’s the case, Pops, we must wait with our eyes very wide open until something else happens that throws light on the business.”

“I did take a very important measure—I arranged that the theft of Lodimmick’s body will not appear in the news. I am a boss in Hraindoral, men tremble before my name. But here, I am not quite the same ma,” he frowned and refused to meet my eyes. “I dominated Hraindoral; when I wished a thing to happen—well, it happened; if I desired to know a thing, I knew it. But here, for the most part, my employees seem not to take much interest in me. People like your General are perfectly capable of snapping their fingers at me—at Theodorick Thomatian! 

“However,” he said raising his head again, “it is astonishing how well a secret can be kept when the possessors of the secret are handled with the proper mixture of firmness and persuasion. That much has not changed, and I believe I managed this very neatly. It was a complicated job that involved making sure the authorities did not reveal the truth during their questioning, but my success is perhaps the only thing that has pleased me today.”

“Ah, Pops, I am surprised you didn’t tell the police about Julbo being here last night,” she said.

“That’s just it, Vixie, I did tell them. They said I shouldn’t jump to conclusions since I didn’t see him leave with a body. Still, I feel as if I am being temporarily worsted by an unknown group of schemers, and I am convinced that Julbo is an important member of them.” 

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (12)

 12

I sat up very late. To be precise, I sat up all night. At this point, I wanted to know what Mr. Lodimmick’s cause of death was. If it was natural causes of any kind, I could put my suspicious mind to rest and brush the rest off as coincidence. Since the ship had never before needed its own coroner, one was not stationed on it. The detective mainly handled cases of theft. This meant I had to wait until the coroner from Ventstot boarded and performed the deed. 

As I spent the day performing my duties in reception, my father wandered around and continuously checked in with me. He would tell me to increase this employee’s wages or decrease that one’s, and then wander off again. 

“Vixie, I saw a large amount of luggage being removed from the ship. What’s that all about?” 

“Well,” I replied, “some people travel a lot heavier than us and they like to express their luggage home. That is also the way they send their souvenirs home—especially the larger ones. However, them leaving the ship and new people boarding are the priority. So, once those things have occurred all the luggage leaves and is sent directly to the owners’ homes. We also help shipping things from one planet to another if we have space in our hold. I am not sure which you saw exactly.” 

“Excuse me,” Detective Marshaggins said, approaching the window. “The Head Inspector of the Ventstot authorities has come to oversee the autopsy and superintend the removal of the body of Cagginald Lodimmick. He brought the coroner with him. He would like to see you, Sir.” 

There was no way I was going to let my father have all the fun by himself, so I slipped out of the office and followed them.”

“Where are the remains?” the Head Inspector asked as soon as we approached.

“It was my belief they were stored in the ships morgue.”  

“I’ll be back with questions for you,” the inspector gave the least hint of a professional smile. and headed off with the woman I presumed was the coroner and the ship’s Detective Marshaggins. 

In a few minutes, Detective Marshaggins was back. “Baron Thomatian would you be so good as to come with me down to the morgue for a minute?” My father and I exchanged puzzled looks. 

“Certainly,” my father replied.

“May I come with?” I asked quickly.

“As you wish,” the detective replied. 

In the morgue, where the body of Cagginald Lodimmick had originally been placed, were the Head Inspector, the coroner, General Ribereus, two of our ships’ gendarmeries and two of the authorities from Majriti.

“Well?” said my father, after he and the General and I had exchanged bows. The coffin was out and laid across two chairs. 

“I see a coffin has been obtained,” I remarked.

 “Quite right,” the coroner said raising the lid. I gasped.

“It’s empty,” my father observed unthinkingly.

“Just so,” said the Head Inspector. “The body of the deceased has disappeared. General Ribereus informs me that he can throw no light on the affair.”

“Indeed, I cannot!” said the General, and though he spoke with sufficient calmness and dignity, you could see that he was deeply pained, even distressed.

“Well, I’m—” murmured my father and stopped.

The full book is available for sale HERE.

The Waylaid Count (11)

 11

On the Ritzavoy XI a great ball was given that night in the Celestial Sphere Dance and Music Hall. I learned about the affair when I saw it on the calendar, and I knew little about it except that it was an entertainment hosted by a Mr. and Mrs. Salas Leviri and exclusively for the friends who were travelling with them. Who Mr. and Mrs. Salas Leviri were I did not know, nor could I find anything about them except that Mr. Salas Leviri was a prominent member of Themisto’s Stock Exchange and a great financier as well as philanthropist. I also discovered that his wife was a stout lady with an aquiline nose and many diamonds, and that they were very rich and very hospitable. 

My father came into the office in an uproar. 

“I don’t like it!” he said. “After the murder last night, I do not want a ball or any sort of celebration where masses of people will gather in my cruiseshuttle that evening. 

“But Pops, this ship makes a lot of money by renting out its salons for parties such as these.”

“I don’t care. Who am I to need more money? I am depressed and uneasy after everything that happened last night. Plus, I don’t like the name Salas Leviri.”

“Don’t be silly, Pops,” I countered. “I’m sure there are plenty of people, especially from some of the other planets who would find your name silly.” I was not going to mention that I found Elevixie to be a silly name because I was named after his favorite great-aunt. “Besides if you’re depressed, a party is just the thing to relax you.”

“Well, I happen to have a desire to show these so-called plutocrats that their wealth is nothing to me. Now that I am the owner of this operation, I want them to know that they cannot walk all over Baron Theodorick Thomatian. They need to quickly learn that for two pins and a whim I would buy them up, and the whole planet Themisto to boot.” 

“Now, Pops, this isn’t some mining industry. This is hospitality. You have to be nice to the guests so they will keep coming back. If Mr. Ritzavoy knew you were going to run his magnum opus into the ground, he would not have sold it to you.”

“Well, I could close the Celestial Sphere and forbid the ball, but I would let Mr. and Mrs Salas Leviri name the amount of damages suffered by them.”

“The thing is that if all these people are at the ball, it will give us the perfect opportunity to look around the ship and see what we can find.” 

“I suppose that what I can do in Hraindoral, I can’t be so highhanded about here.”

A wave of relief passed through me knowing that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Leviri would ever have the least suspicion about the narrow escape they had from looking very foolish in the eyes of the four hundred fifty or so guests invited to the Celestial Sphere that evening.

The Celestial Sphere was built as a ballroom with two side areas for a live band. A balcony, supported by arches faced with gilt and lapis-lazuli, ran around half of it, and from this vantage, men and women and chaperons who could not or would not dance were able to survey the scene below. What Pops and I did not know—and that I doubted many people knew—was that higher up than the balcony there was a little barred window in the end wall from this the cruiseshuttle authorities might keep a watchful eye not only on the dancers, but also on the occupants of the balcony itself.

At eleven o’clock Pops, afflicted by his vexatious spirit, and I found ourselves gazing idly through the little barred window. We had been wandering about the corridors of the cruiseshuttle, opening different locked doors, and it was quite by accident that we had lighted upon this small room which had a secretive view of the ball. Except for the light from the chandelier of the ballroom the little cubicle where we stood was in darkness. 

“I wonder which is Mrs. Salas Leviri?” I said, looking through the window. “Do you think she really wears so many diamonds as the rumors say?” 

The sound of violins and a confused murmur of voices rose gently up to us.

“Umphl” said my father. “Curse those evening news agencies!” he added, irrelevantly but with sincerity.

“Pops, you’re very horrid tonight. What have the evening news agencies been doing?”

“Well, my young lady, they’ve got me in their stories for one, and you in them for another; and they’re manufacturing mysteries for fun. It’s young Lodimmick’s death that started ‘em of course.”

“Well, Father, you surely didn’t expect to keep yourself out of the news. Besides, as regards to news, you ought to be glad we aren’t in Hraindoral. Just fancy what our news would have made out of your buying this shuttle last night.”

“That’s true,” her father assented. “But it’ll be all over Hraindoral soon, all the same. The worst of it is that Ritzavoy has gone off to Majriti.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Sudden fancy, I guess, for sightseeing.”

“What difference does it make to you?”

“None. Only I feel sort of lonesome. I feel I want someone to lean up against in running this cruiseshuttle.”

“Are you feeling ill? Or are you someone posing as my father?”

 “I admit it’s unusual with me to desire help of any kind,” he sighed. “But perhaps you haven’t grasped the fact, Vixie, that we’re in the middle of a rather peculiar business.”

“You mean about poor Mr. Lodimmick?”

“Partly Lodimmick and partly other things. First of all, that Miss Surcer, or whatever her wretched name is, mysteriously disappears. Then that Lodimmick took my room, and we caught that rascal Julbo conspiring with him at three o’clock in the morning. Then your precious General Ribereus arrives without any servants—which I believe is a most peculiar and wicked thing for a General of his status to do—and moreover I find my daughter on very intimate terms with the said General.” Here I rolled my eyes. My father always had a bad habit of disliking any gentleman I met. “Young Lodimmick goes and dies, and there is to be an inquest. Then Count Yougen and his servants, who were expected here for dinner, fail to turn up at all—”

“Count Yougen hasn’t come?”

“He hasn’t. General Ribereus is in a deuce of a stew about him, sending messages all over Majriti. Altogether, things are working up much livelier than I expected when I bought this place.”

“Do you think there was something between Julbo and Mr. Lodimmick?”

“Think! I know! I tell you I saw that scamp give Lodimmick a wink last night at dinner that might have meant—well!”

“I thought you had seen that wink as well,” I said.

“Why, did you see it, too?”

“Of course, Pops. I was going to tell you about it.”

He grunted.

“Look there, Father,” I whispered, pointing to the balcony immediately below us. “Do you see who that is?” The man wore a bald patch on the back of his head and was propping himself up against the railing of the balcony, gazing down at the dance floor, but I was sure I recognized him.

“Well, who is it?”

“Isn’t it Julbo?”

“Great Scott! By the beard of the governor, it is!”

“Perhaps Mr. Julbo is a guest of Mr. Leviri?”

“Guest or no guest, he goes off this cruiseshuttle, immediately even if I have to throw him out myself.”

“I guess it’s good for him that we are still docked.” I grinned, following my father out of the small room. 

By the time we arrived on the balcony, we could see nothing of Julbo, neither there nor on the ballroom floor itself. My father quietly whispered a wicked expletive, and we split apart to search the room in vain. Upon meeting again, we took the twisting stairway instead of waiting for the elevators and returned to our original post of observation, hoping the vantage ground would allow us to find the dismissed employee again. To our surprise a man was already in the dark little room, watching the scene of the ball as intently as we had been doing. Hearing our approach, the man turned with a start.

It was Julbo.

My father and I exchanged a look and moved to block the door.

“Good evening, Baron Thomatian,” said Julbo calmly. “I must apologize for being here.”

“Force of habit, I suppose,” my father said dryly.

“Just so, sir,” he smiled, his eyes glinting.

“I fancied I had forbidden you to re-enter this cruiseshuttle?”

“I thought your order applied only to in my professional capacity. I am here tonight as the guest of Mr. Leviri.”

“In your new role of man-about-town?” I asked, unconvinced.

“Exactly.”

“I don’t allow men-about-town or Mr. Leviri’s guests up here, my friend. The door is clear it is for employees only.”

“For being up here I have already apologized,” he said a little too sharply.

“Then, having apologized, you had better depart. I suggest you follow me to the exit. That is my disinterested advice to you,” my father’s jaw was set.

“I can find the exit myself. Good night, sir.” We did not move from our places blocking the door.

“On the contrary, you shall follow my father, and I will follow you. We wouldn’t want you to slip into any other cubbyholes where you might have had a habit of hiding,” I said.  

“And, I say, Mr. Julbo,” my father added. “if Mr. or Mrs. Leviri, or any other person in the galaxy, should again invite you to my cruiseshuttle, you will oblige me by declining the invitation. You’ll find that will be the safest course for you.”

When we finished escorting him, we both headed into the Reception Office. 

“My dear, Vixie, I know your mind is turning the same way as mine. Do you have the guest list?”

“You know I do,” I said, popping on the ship’s main com-tab and pressing my hand against the passlock. The screen took up half of one of the office walls, and I could have allowed my father to help with any project on the same screen. However, he would be at a loss as to what he was looking for, so I quickly pulled it up on my own. 

Before midnight, we had ascertained that the Leviri’s invitation list, though a somewhat lengthy one, contained no reference to any such person as Julbo.

The full book is available for sale HERE.