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.

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