“OK, I guess,” he replied.
Then, looking around, he added, “This is a strange sort of city, though. There’s water everywhere.”
“We’re in Amsterdam,” London said.
“Ohhh, yeah,” Mr. Tedrow said with a nod. “It’s on our itinerary, isn’t it? I should have figured. Nice town. Lots of water, though. Too much of it, if you ask me.”
London wasn’t really surprised that Mr. Tedrow didn’t know what city they were in. He’d shown the same sort of absent-mindedness in the past. But she still found it odd to find him out here all by himself.
“How is your book going?” she asked.
“The book? Oh, it’s going OK, I guess. But I’d rather not talk about it. I don’t want to spoil it for you.”
London remembered him saying almost exactly the same thing in the bar last night.
Mr. Tedrow continued, “But I’ve realized that my brain gets kind of cramped up if I stay cooped up in that room too long at a crack. Ideas get all clunked together. That’s why I came out for a walk—to get the creative juices flowing.”
London couldn’t help smiling at the irony of that remark. She wondered if it ever occurred to Mr. Tedrow that one good way to get the creative juices flowing might be to pay some attention to what was going on around him, especially when he was in a fascinating city like Amsterdam. But she wasn’t going to start giving him that sort of advice.
“You must have been walking for quite a while,” London observed.
“You think so? Why?”
“Well, we’re pretty far from the Nachtmusik.”
“I guess we are,” Mr. Tedrow said, glancing around. “Actually, it seems like I just left there a short while ago. Soon as I came ashore, a guy in a motorboat pulled up alongside me and waved to me and offered me a ride. I figured a boat ride would be fun, and he seemed friendly, so I got aboard.”
Mr. Tedrow shrugged and took another bite of his burger, which was almost gone now.
“He kept asking me where I wanted to go, and I kept saying I didn’t really care, wherever he felt like going. Pretty soon he started getting kind of impatient. Finally, he pulled up the bank and told me to get off. That was fine with me, he wasn’t such great company after all. Then he said I owed him some money, I didn’t know what for, and anyway I didn’t have any of the local currency on me. When he pulled away, he was waving his fist and jabbering pretty heatedly—in Dutch, I guess.”
“Um, Mr. Tedrow,” London said, “the boat was kind of a water taxi, and he expected to be paid for giving you a ride.”
Mr. Tedrow’s narrow eyes widened a bit.
“Is that right?” he said. “Well, I guess that explains it. I wish he’d just told me. Maybe we could have worked something out. I’d go looking for him if I had any idea how to find him. Anyway, he dropped me off right near a McDonald’s about a block away from here, and I was getting kind of hungry by then, so I bought a hamburger. Used my credit card.”
Mr. Tedrow finished his burger and tossed the wrapper in a nearby wastebasket.
“Say, where is that dog of yours, anyway?” he said. “Not sick or anything bad, I hope.”
“No, Sir Reggie is fine,” London said. She didn’t especially want to get into explaining why she’d left the dog aboard the ship.
“Glad to hear it,” Mr. Tedrow said. “There’s some kind of bug going around, you know. Did I mention that Bob Turner’s got whatever it is? He’s locked up in his room—self-quarantining, he says. I’d sure hate to have Sir Reggie come down with it.”
Mr. Tedrow wiped his hands with a napkin, which he also threw into the wastebasket.
“Well, it was nice running into you, Miss, uh …”
“Rose.”
“That’s right, Rose. I guess we’ll be seeing each other around.”
London spoke to him as he started to wander away.
“Mr. Tedrow, wait. Where are you headed next?”
Mr. Tedrow looked surprised at the question.
“Well, back to my room. To get back to work. I’m beginning to feel those ideas flow again and need to write them down.”
London hesitated, then asked, “Do you, uh, know your way back to the boat?”
Mr. Tedrow tilted his head curiously.
“Now that you mention it, I don’t guess I do,” he said.
London held back a discouraged sigh. Now was obviously no time for her to go searching for that mysterious address. Her own quest would have to be put off for a while again.
“Let’s go back together,” she said.
London flagged down a water taxi and asked the pilot to take them to where the Nachtmusik was moored near the Westerdok. During the ride, the mystery writer seemed to have again withdrawn into the story he was trying to tell. He had nothing at all to say.
The water taxi followed the same route London had taken into Amsterdam. Although the sights were familiar, the face of the city was changing now. It was late afternoon, and the sky was darker, and the surrounding buildings looked more shadowy. At the same time, the reflection of sunlight on the water shimmered brightly.
London had a sinking feeling that hours and minutes were passing by, more and more quickly. The Nachtmusik would leave Amsterdam soon after midnight. And between then and now, whatever time she had left to go looking for that address was getting shorter. She hoped she could leave the ship again quickly once she had Mr. Tedrow safely aboard.
When they got back to the ship and entered the reception area, Mr. Tedrow still seemed completely lost in thought. He headed obliviously to the elevator.
Although London followed after him, she was stopped in her tracks by a noisy crash from not very far away. She stood back as Mr. Tedrow got into the elevator and the doors closed in front of her.
That crashing noise had come from the nearby Amadeus Lounge. London figured she’d better go and find out what was going on in there.
London headed past the library and into the lounge. The large room was unusually busy even for late afternoon. That was because of the special discounts, of course.
The source of the sound was immediately visible. Amy was here to help out again, but apparently she had just dropped an entire tray full of drinks. Several customers had been drenched, and broken glasses littered the floor.
Amy stood there looking stunned and helpless while Elsie’s assistants scurried around trying to clean up with the mess and make peace with the wet customers. Meanwhile, Elsie had caught sight of London from behind the bar and was waving to her in a frantic appeal for help.
I guess I’ve got to pitch in, London thought with a sigh.
*
It was night by the time London was able to get away from the ship. She’d expected the lounge rush to last only a couple of hours, but it had continued in wave after wave as more and more passengers returned from their excursions into Amsterdam. London simply hadn’t been able to extricate herself from her work until much later than she’d hoped.
Finally, things quieted down a bit, and other crew members were recruited to help out in the bar. At long last, London hoped to be able to coax Bryce to join her on her errand. But when she went down to the Adagio deck, she saw that the Habsburg Restaurant was still far too busy for Bryce to get away.
She was on her own. But this was her last chance to check out that Amsterdam address. She stopped by her stateroom and scooped up her delighted little dog to go along with her.
As she descended the gangway with Sir Reggie on his leash, her spirits began to rise. As they set foot on the dock, she took out her cellphone and brought up a map to find that address:
65 Poppenhuisstraat
“Good news!” she said to Sir Reggie. “It’s just a short walk from here. We won’t even need to take a water taxi. Who knows? Maybe we’ll find Mom shortly!”
Sir Reggie let out a cautionary growl.
“I know, I’d better not get my hopes up,” London said to him. “It’s a long shot at best. Still, I can’t help thinkin
g maybe I’ve got luck on my side this time. And if not—well, a little sightseeing won’t hurt us. According to the map, this address is right near the Oude Kerk—the ‘Old Church.’ It’s the oldest building in Amsterdam, and it’s supposed to be quite beautiful. We can stop by and pay it a visit if our search for Mom doesn’t pan out.”
As they continued across a low bridge over a canal, London observed that Amsterdam was even more charming by night, and still bustling with foot and bicycle traffic. Here and there the narrow streets with their neatly laid stones and bricks widened out into small plazas. Still open and busy were a range of businesses that included bars, cafes, pancake houses, restaurants, karaoke bars in full swing, and parlors for tattoos and body-piercing.
Friendly, smiling pedestrians kept waving to London and saying goedenavond—“good evening”—as they passed by, and she waved and said goedenavond in return.
Others stopped to tell her, “Je hebt een aardige hond”—“You have a nice dog”—and even asked permission to pet Sir Reggie, who was, of course, perfectly delighted by all the attention.
“I wonder whether Mom likes dogs,” London said to Sir Reggie as they continued through the winding streets. “I hope so. I guess we’ll have a lot to learn about each other.”
Again, Sir Reggie let out that skeptical growl.
“I know, we might not find her,” London said, “but even so …”
London’s words trailed off as they rounded a corner. There was a marked change in their surroundings. Instead of streetlamps, candlelit outdoor cafe tables, and lighted storefronts, there seemed to be a sudden explosion of garish neon everywhere.
“Oh, dear,” London murmured to Sir Reggie. “I hadn’t expected to wind up here.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As London stopped in her tracks and took a look around, she noticed a peculiar smell hanging in the air.
Marijuana, probably, she realized.
Which confirmed what she’d already suspected. She had accidentally stumbled into De Wallen, Amsterdam’s Rosse Buurt—its red-light district, where both cannabis and prostitution were legal and regulated.
Sure enough, as she approached the nearest building facade, she saw a row of vertical plate glass windows. Behind each window was a scantily clad woman.
One of those women smiled and waved at London and mouthed the word goedenavond.
“Uh, goedenavond to you too,” London mouthed back to her with a shy wave of her own.
As London looked around, she noticed that, in some ways, her surroundings hadn’t really changed. The area was neat and tidy, and the glare of neon was augmented by same ordinary streetlights she’d seen before she got here. The pedestrians looked as respectable as they did elsewhere in Amsterdam, although a larger percentage of them here were male.
There were no prostitutes on the streets at all. They were all doing their advertising from indoors, behind those large windows, where they struck sexy poses for prospective clients. Some of the women were bathed in red light, while others wore body paint that glowed under black light.
“Well, this is a surprise,” London said to Sir Reggie.
Sir Reggie let out a whine of agreement and sniffed the drug-scented air with curiosity. London hoped the small animal wouldn’t get high off the smell alone. She’d read quite a bit about the Rosse Buurt. But since she hadn’t planned to come here herself, she hadn’t bothered to look for the district on a map. When she’d found the address on her cellphone map, she hadn’t noticed that she would be passing through this neighborhood of legitimized vice.
“I should have been better prepared,” she said to the dog.
But what did this mean for the address she was looking for? She reminded herself that 65 Poppenhuisstraat was located right near the Oude Kerk—the “Old Church,” which she assumed wasn’t part of the Rosse Buurt.
“The address must be beyond this area,” she said to Sir Reggie. “Come on, let’s keep going.”
As she and the dog kept right on walking among the sex shops, sex theaters, peep shows, and brothels, London couldn’t help but feel self-conscious and embarrassed to have wound up here.
“At least I don’t see anybody else from the Nachtmusik,” she said to the dog. “And that’s probably a good thing, because …”
But before she finished her sentence, Sir Reggie gave his leash a telltale tug, as if he wanted her to see something.
She looked, and sure enough, she did see a couple of familiar faces.
They were about the last people she would have expected to find here—Walter and Agnes Shick, the elderly couple she’d last seen riding away from the Rijksmuseum on a tandem bike.
Walter was simultaneously reading something on his cellphone and eyeing the women in the windows.
“Come on, Walter,” Agnes said, tugging him by the arm. “I’m sure we’ve seen enough.”
“Not yet, Agnes,” Walter said. “This is really quite educational.”
For a moment, London hesitated to make her presence known. She didn’t want to explain what she and Sir Reggie were doing here. But on the other hand …
What are Walter and Agnes doing here?
Agnes turned around and caught London’s eye. Even in the red light from the nearest window, London could see that she was blushing.
“London!” she said. “Oh, dear!”
Walter turned and looked embarrassed as well.
“Uh … I can explain,” he said. “This isn’t how it looks. We were just out for an evening stroll, and we stumbled into this area.”
London had no doubt that he was telling the truth.
“Something like that happened to me,” London said.
Agnes scoffed and added, “I haven’t been able to get Walter to leave. He’s been looking up all kinds of information about this area online—and taking in the sights, as it were.”
“Like I said—it’s educational,” Walter said, skimming over something on his cellphone as he kept glancing into the windows.
“That’s no excuse for all this window shopping,” Agnes said.
“It’s not window shopping,” Walter said defensively. “It’s merely observing. And learning all kinds of interesting stuff.”
Pointing to some text on his cellphone, he added, “For example, did you know the tradition of regulated prostitution in this area dates all the way back to the Middle Ages? The Dutch have never been prudish, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Agnes said to her husband. “Come on, it really is time we got back to the ship.”
But at that moment, something caught Agnes’s eye.
“Oh … my… goodness!” she exclaimed.
London looked where Agnes was looking. Standing in a row of windows were several other people advertising their wares—although these people were men. They were even more scantily clad than the women, and they flexed their muscles when they caught sight of London and Agnes.
Agnes clucked her tongue and tilted her head.
“Well … this is rather … educational.”
London tried not to laugh at Agnes’s sudden change of attitude. Her husband, too, was singing a rather different tune now.
“Now, Agnes, dear, there’s no need to ogle,” he said, wagging his finger at her.
“It’s not ogling,” Agnes said. “It’s merely observing—remember? Walter, check something out online for us. Find out what percentage of the workers in this district are, well, male.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” Walter said.
“Oh, for goodness sake, give me that thing,” she said, grabbing the cellphone away from him.
As Agnes started running her own search, Walter said to London, “Maybe you can talk some sense to her.”
London couldn’t help but chuckle.
“I can understand her curiosity,” she said.
Meanwhile, Agnes had found some information on the cellphone.
“I see here that only five percent of the workers in this area are male.”<
br />
Walter let out a huff as he crossed his arms.
“Hardly enough to make for any serious sightseeing,” he said.
“To the contrary, my dear,” Agnes said. “The scarcity of male specimens simply makes the search more … well, sporting. Besides, I see this district has its very own sex museum. I wonder if it’s open at this hour. If so, I’ll bet it’s fascinating. Let’s go look for it.”
“But darling—” Walter began.
“Let’s get moving, Walter. The game’s afoot!”
As Agnes trotted on ahead, Walter turned toward London with a shrug of resignation.
“We’ll be seeing you back at the boat, I guess,” he said, and hurried to catch up with his wife.
“Don’t be too late,” London called after them. “Remember the ship will be leaving tonight.”
For a second or two, London wondered whether she and Sir Reggie ought to follow along after the elderly couple, just to make sure they wouldn’t get into danger. But as she took another look around, she wondered …
What danger?
Aside from the smell of pot in the air—perfectly legal here in Amsterdam—and the human merchandise in the windows, this neighborhood looked …
Well, almost wholesome.
The pedestrians looked as respectable here as they did anywhere else in Amsterdam. London certainly didn’t get any sense of any actual criminal activity. In fact, she saw a couple of friendly policemen idly walking their beats and saying hello to passersby. Considering how well-regulated De Wallen was, the Shicks were probably just as safe here as they would be anywhere else in Amsterdam—maybe even safer.
“Come on,” London said to Sir Reggie. “Let’s be on our way.”
London kept following the map on her cellphone. The route took her and Sir Reggie past the nearest canal, where she happened to notice a plastic cup floating nearby. To her surprise, the piece of trash was actually moving, as if being carried by a current.
A current? London wondered. In these canals?
But the phenomenon didn’t seem worth wondering about, and she and Sir Reggie continued on their way.
Misfortune (and Gouda) Page 11