Cabal: Johannes Cabal, the Detective Part 16

"Yes. And dear Herr Cacon apparently has family in Parila, so he's gone, too. I suppose he'll just have to make his own way onwards after he's said h.e.l.lo."

Miss Barrow turned sharply and looked at Lady Ninuka. Apart from being slightly startled by the sudden movement, she looked very much as a monied and landed simpleton dispensing gossip might. Or, just possibly, a monied and landed stone-cold killer pa.s.sing herself off as an ingenue might.

"I thought the Senzans were going to spend a long time searching the ship? They waved it through very quickly, didn't they?"

Lady Ninuka shrugged. "You should have seen them, my dear. The ship was absolutely heaving with Senzan soldiers. I think the captain was just expecting a few grubby little customs men. Instead, we must have had a whole regiment tramping around the place!" Her animation suggested that she was very enamoured of large numbers of young men in uniform marching back and forth in front of her. She frowned unhappily. "They were finished so quickly."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Searching the ship. Military efficiency, I suppose."

"Didn't the deaths aboard concern them?"

"Not as far as I know," said Lady Ninuka a little tartly. "I'm sure they were only too glad to leave poor Gabriel alone. The captain told us at the same time as he did the Senzan captain. Gabriel was Mirkarvian, aboard a Mirkarvian ship, who died within Mirkarvian borders. Poor Gabriel." She dabbed quickly and delicately at her eyes with a lace handkerchief as if drying soap bubbles. "Poor, stupid boy. Please, forgive me. I must-" And she fluttered away.

Miss Barrow watched her with mixed emotions, though none were sympathy. Even if Lady Ninuka was all that she seemed, that just made her a callous sensualist who hadn't killed anyone, as opposed to a callous sensualist who had. It hardly made her a figure worth pitying in either case.

From the salon window, she watched Parila dwindle into the distance until finally it was lost in cloud and haze as the Princess Hortense gained height. With it went Cabal and, unhappy circ.u.mstance, the only person she'd trusted in the game of death she'd rejoined. Despondent and perhaps a little scared, she ordered a pot of tea-a drink she enjoyed all the more since realising that the Mirkarvians disliked it even conceptually as having too little alcohol or caffeine to be trustworthy.

An hour or so later, and on her third cup, she was reading a book on Mirkarvian history (a dismal study of a country that never learns from its mistakes, akin to watching a baby play with a revolver; something dreadful is sure to happen, and only the exact timing is in question), when there was some commotion.

Colonel Konstantin, still p.r.i.c.kly after the Senzans had questioned him closely and been impudently thorough in searching his luggage on the basis that he was the most obvious manifestation of Mirkarvian militarism aboard, was looking out of the aft windows while smoking a foul cigar when he took it from his mouth with an expression of surprise and stared steadily through the gla.s.s. "What's that fella doing, hmm?"

The Roborovskis came over to join him. "It's one of those flying machines," said Frau Roborovski.

"It's an entomopter!" added her husband, in an enthusiastic tone at odds with his usual demeanour. "How wonderful!" When the Senzans sent a squadron of the machines to shadow the Princess Hortense toward Parila, he was the only person aboard who regarded them with anything but suspicion and trepidation. "They must have sent one to escort us out of their skies."

The colonel, always prepared in a way that many Boy Scouts frequently are not, had already pulled a set of small prismatic binoculars of the Daubresse pattern from his pocket and was observing the distant aircraft. "No," he said definitely, "it's nothing like the other ones. I don't see any weapons. I think it may be a reconnaissance model. Coming on d.a.m.n quick."

Miss Barrow joined them in squinting at the black dot against the white cloud. Amidst the speculation that murmured around her, she had trouble keeping a straight face. It was difficult not to be a little smug; not for the first time, she had read Johannes Cabal better than he knew. For a man with a stated hatred of the dramatic, she knew that he wouldn't be able to leave the mystery of the Princess Hortense alone, and here he was, riding to the rescue aboard what was doubtless a stolen entomopter. She didn't flatter herself for a second that he was doing this for anyone but himself, but the sense of knowing his mind before he did gave her a proprietorial sense of warm regard, like the owner of a well-trained dog.

After a few minutes, it was apparent to all with or without binoculars that the entomopter was of a design different from the Senzan fighters', and that it carried no obvious weapons. It gained height until it was some little distance above the aeroship, and the last they saw of it was it slowly vanishing overhead until the salon ceiling got in the way.

Colonel Konstantin put his binoculars away. "That machine landed on us." He looked towards the doors as if hoping a member of the crew would enter and make an explanatory announcement, but the crew was notable by its absence. Even the bar was unattended. "Just what is going on here?" He marched off to find out.

Just what was going on there was not immediately forthcoming. Indeed, the remaining pa.s.sengers gravitated towards the salon and were eventually reduced to helping themselves to drinks from behind the bar. Colonel Konstantin returned in a bad humour, having been given short shrift by what few crew members he had been able to find. Apparently, the arrival of an unexpected visitor had caused quite an upset, and neither the captain nor any of his senior officers were available. Almost an hour pa.s.sed before Captain Schten appeared in the door, just as Herr Roborovski was filling a stein.

"Ah," Roborovski began apologetically, "we've been keeping a record of what's been drunk, Captain." But the captain just waved him to silence. It seemed that bar accounts were the least of his concerns at the moment.

"Exactly what has been going on, Captain?" asked Miss Ambersleigh. "There's been a very queer atmosphere aboard this vessel ever since we arrived at Parila, and things just seem to be getting worse." She would have expanded upon this theme, but Lady Ninuka shushed her sharply, and she sank into an aggrieved silence.

"The lady is correct," said Konstantin, referring to Miss Ambersleigh and not Lady Ninuka, which is to say, lady is as lady does. "What in blazes is wrong with this voyage?"

Captain Schten looked at them all unhappily. Then, at the sound of boots on the floor behind him, he stepped to one side.

The man who walked into the salon was an utter stranger to Leonie Barrow, but she disliked him instantly. Perhaps it was the way that he looked at the pa.s.sengers, with the disdain of a chess grandmaster faced with an opponent who refers to his pieces as "prawns," "castles," and "horsies." He was a lean man in a black uniform that, despite clearly belonging to someone of high rank, bore few decorations and was all the more impressive for it. In truth, since he wore the Imperial Star at his throat it could pretty much be taken for granted that he already had all the others.

He carried a shako under his left arm, while in his right hand he held a typewritten sheet of paper. Lady Ninuka started to say something, but he quelled her with a glance. Once he had silence, he studied the paper, then slowly looked around the salon, checking every face. His brow clouded, and Miss Barrow had the very distinct impression that this was a man inclined to violence with very little provocation.

"Where is he, Captain Schten?" he said in a voice low with threat.

"Sir?" Schten looked at the newcomer as if they had previously been rehearsing a drawing-room comedy yet he'd just been given a cue from Macbeth. "I thought I explained. We-"

"Two ... scheduled departures. One ... disappearance," grated the man. "One ... suicide. But there are five people missing here." The violence in him was bubbling to the surface as surely as a geyser. "Where is he?"

The captain finally understood the specifics, if not the animosity, and quickly said, "You mean Herr Meissner? He stayed behind in Parila, but-I a.s.sure you-he is a loyal servant of Mirk-"

"Herr ... Gerhard ... Meissner ..." spat the man, "is in Harslaus Military Hospital, Captain. In a coma." As he said this last word, he spun on his heel to glare at Captain Schten. Schten had two inches in height and better than forty pounds on the stranger, but he quailed before the man's anger, and Miss Barrow saw that she wasn't at all overdramatising his power. Schten was terrified of him, and that terrified her.

"The man who so easily pulled the wool over your eyes, Captain, is called Johannes Cabal. He is an agent provocateur. A saboteur! He a.s.sa.s.sinated our glorious emperor! He is the despised enemy of every Mirkarvian!" He was bellowing in Schten's face by now, and Schten seemed to shrink with every shouted syllable, with every fleck of foam the raging man spat into his face. "And you, Captain ... you have allowed him to escape justice and run off into his rat hole! If I didn't need you, you moronic piece of garbage, I would kill you now."

There was a horrible silence. Then Lady Ninuka said in a very small voice, "h.e.l.lo, Daddy."

"h.e.l.lo, Orfilia," said the man offhandedly, not turning his head.

Miss Barrow's eyes widened. This, then, was Count Marechal, of whom even the bloodless Johannes Cabal was wary. Now she understood his reluctance to continue the journey. Indeed, she now shared it.

The count spoke quickly and emphatically, his mind already planning ahead. "How far are we from the Katamenian border?"

"About ninety minutes, sir."

"At flank speed?"

"Less than an hour."

Count Marechal grimaced. "It will have to do. See to it." Captain Schten saluted, clicking his heels, and left the salon, apparently very happy to do so.

"Excuse me?"

Marechal looked over at the pa.s.sengers and saw that a young woman with rather unruly blond hair had her hand up. "Who are you?"

"Leonie Barrow. Would I be right to think you're Count Marechal?"

"You would. What do you want?"

"I was just wondering, really. What on earth is going on?"

"What is going on is none of your concern, Fraulein. We shall be reaching our destination a little earlier than scheduled, you will all disembark, and that will be the end of your involvement in this affair."

"Yes, but-"

"That," he barked, unused to women doing anything other than answering when spoken to, "will be the end of it."

"Oh, I doubt that," said a voice from behind Marechal.

Marechal spun on his heel to face the speaker and was both astonished and delighted to see Johannes Cabal leaning nonchalantly against the wall by the door.

Chapter 15.

IN WHICH CABAL SETS THE SCENE.

"Cabal!" cried Count Marechal warmly. "I cannot begin to tell you how very happy I am to see you!"

"Really?" said Cabal, his sangfroid slightly shaken.

"Really!" Marechal drew his revolver and levelled it at Cabal's head. "Now I can finally kill you."

Cabal rolled his eyes. "For somebody who fancies himself a great thinker, you don't tend to let it get in the way of doing something stupid, do you?"

"There's nothing stupid about shooting you, Cabal."

"In front of witnesses? Oh, but of course that's not really a problem, is it? There's not a person here who will ever tell."

"Hold your fire, sir," said Colonel Konstantin. "This is not the place for an execution."

"Oh, you're going to shoot him, Daddy?" Lady Ninuka stepped forward, face flushed with excitement and every inch her daddy's girl. She smiled. "Good. He was horrid to me."

Under different circ.u.mstances, Miss Barrow might have remonstrated with Lady Ninuka, but she had only just seen her ladyship for what she was. The vanity and solipsism, the lack of concern for others, the hunger for new amus.e.m.e.nts to t.i.tillate a palate that jaded too quickly. Miss Barrow could have kicked herself for not spotting a textbook case of psychopathy until now.

Count Marechal grunted with irritation. "Will you please be quiet, child? One thing at a time."

Cabal was growing irritated, too. He had been planning his grand entrance for the past few hours, and people kept chattering instead of letting him get on with it. He coughed loudly, and a gratifying silence fell. "You have the gun, Marechal, so you make the rules. I would, however, suggest that I know several things that you don't and that these facts represent areas of ignorance in your knowledge that may-no-that will prove very important soon. You can kill me now, but I guarantee that you will regret such precipitous action before very long."

Marechal sighed heavily. "Don't you ever shut up, Cabal?"

"In my laboratory, I may remain entirely mute for months on end. This is not a time for silence, however. I have a story to tell that will illuminate much for some, less for others, but everybody will learn at least one thing vital for their futures. Such as whether they have one."

"Why did you come back, Cabal?" said Miss Barrow. There was an electricity in the air that she did not like, an approaching storm of violence that contained at least one thunderbolt specifically meant for him. What was worse was the building sense that Marechal did not intend to stop with one body at his feet. Cabal had been right all along about the deaths aboard having political roots, and politics can be a more ruthless killer than any number of wild-eyed maniacs.

"Now, there's a funny thing," replied Cabal. "That is exactly the thing I would like to talk to you all about first. With your permission, Count?" And, without waiting for a reply, he walked into the centre of the salon, where he stood like an entertainer about to start his act. "Please, sit down. You may as well hear this in comfort."

n.o.body moved for a moment, then Konstantin stepped over to Miss Ambersleigh and drew out a chair for her. "Ma'am?" With a weak little noise of affirmation, Miss Ambersleigh sat. It was the catalyst, and the other pa.s.sengers found chairs, too. Marechal watched the proceedings with contempt, but realised that the perfect moment for shooting Cabal had come and gone, and that he could no longer do it with panache, at least for the moment. He would have to wait for Cabal to finish his piece, and then kill him. This could represent his last wish, Marechal decided. It would have been more convenient if he had just asked for a cigarette and a blindfold like a normal person, but no matter. It would serve only to sharpen Marechal's antic.i.p.ation. He'd arranged the execution of so many peasants while putting down the short-lived revolt that he had got quite bored with it. This, he hoped, would serve to clear his palate and restore the pleasure of revenge.

He strolled to the bar, helped himself to a gla.s.s and a bottle of Mirkarvian spirits that bore a similar chemical composition and taste to de-icing fluid, and settled himself on a barstool. His revolver remained in his hand. "Very well, Cabal. You have your few minutes' grace. Amuse us all with your intellect."

Cabal bowed. It was possible that it wasn't meant to be mocking, but that was certainly the effect.

"To begin with," he began with, "it is important to understand how we come to be in this situation. I shall start with my own journey."

Interludes

And so he did. It is unnecessary to recap much of what he said, but to emphasise that, for reasons best known to himself, he was entirely frank in all details. There are, however, two parts of his story that have not appeared in the narrative thus far. These sections we shall refer to as How Cabal Defeated Count Marechal in a Duel and How Cabal Came to Change His Mind.

HOW CABAL DEFEATED COUNT MARECHAL IN A DUEL.

"I cheated," said Cabal evenly.

"Aha!" said Marechal. "Finally! I should have you write that out and sign it, Cabal. Everybody from the generals to the sneeriest little putzer has decided that you're some sort of master swordsman, and that you bested me!"

"Well, technically, I did."

Marechal's paper-thin patience was beginning to tear. He slammed his gla.s.s on the bar and tightened his grip on his revolver. "You cheated! You just admitted it!"

"I am well aware of that," replied Cabal, perfectly unperturbed. "I bested you by cheating, but you were definitely bested. I was off and running while you remained behind, tied up. You could not have been much more bested. Although, in hindsight, perhaps I should have killed you while I had the chance." He was pensive for a moment. "Yes, I should definitely have killed you. So much unpleasantness could have been avoided."

"It was very easy to outwit the count," Cabal said to his little audience, which by this time included Captain Schten, who had returned from the bridge and was standing by the door. "He is a creature of pride, and as such is p.r.o.ne to appeals to his vanity-in this case, that of being a great swordsman. Which, in fairness, he is. And, my, doesn't he like to demonstrate the fact? In this instance, he gave up his revolver, unloading it beforehand, dropping both revolver and bullets to the ground."

"Go on then, Cabal," growled Marechal. "Tell them what your great party trick is."

"I can load a revolver very quickly. I forced the fight to one side of the room, then dashed to where the revolver and the bullets were, and had a round chambered before the count could reach me."

"d.a.m.n your eyes," said the count. He emptied his gla.s.s and refilled it immediately, demonstrating one of his own party tricks in the process.

"Oh," sighed his audience, disappointed.

"See?" said Cabal. "This is why illusionists and conjurors never reveal their secrets. The sheer ba.n.a.lity of it more than offsets any pleasure the feat may have created in the first place. You're sorry you asked now, aren't you?"

And, indeed, they were.

HOW CABAL CAME TO CHANGE HIS MIND.

It meant Leonie Barrow was in terrible danger. No phantasm of peril but true, real, and immediate danger. It also meant that it was none of his concern. He could just walk away.

So he did.