Pure Poison

by Pam Uphoff

  Scar boggled at the sweet innocent . . . trained to fool men . . . "Right. Umm . . . I need an evidence bag . . . two actually." he added as one of Captain Onca men opened a crime scene box. Wow. Looks like I get to play detective for a little while.

  He pulled on the gloves, took the tweezers and placed the torn tab, still with the LGI29 capsule in it in one bag, the rest of the poisons and the brag box in another. Sealed, labeled, and into the compartmentalized evidence box.

  "Right. Rael . . . I'm going to go search your room. Is there anything that I need to be careful to not touch?"

  She giggled. "No. I do not have any traps set. Fool or Eppa can open the door and safe. Have fun!"

  Chapter Three

  9 Rajab 1404 yp

  Fool did not take well to only being allowed—as the top princess—to unlock the fingerprint locks on the door and room safe. Then being sent out of the room.

  The layout of the room was the same as all the barracks rooms. And every hotel room he'd ever been in. A single large room, closet and bathroom.

  "Should be simple to search, right? Just because her boyfriend does dimensional . . . stuff . . . " Scar looked around. "We'll start with the safe . . . Icky go get a small table so we can spread stuff out . . . "

  He set up two vid recorders. One looking down at the table, one that covered most of the room.

  The safe held a jewelry box. It opened like a fishing tackle box, trays of rings and pins and earrings, boxes with matched sets. And everything in it was stuffed with electronics.

  "Does she record every date she has with Wolfson?" Ux looked down at the collection, clearly appalled. "Does she really love him or is he just a . . . job?"

  Scar stepped to the doorway. As he'd expected, Fool was still there. Arms crossed and leaning against the wall. "Where was the brag box?"

  "In the jewelry chest, which, yes, is mostly directorate spy gear. It was in the bottom, under the boxed sets." She glowered. "And Rael controls whether the electronics are on or off."

  "Right." Scar checked carefully through every box, and swabbed the bottom of the jewelry box for the lab. The safe held a few other items. An envelope with four memory chips. An envelope of papers . . . Birth certificate, diploma from the Princess School: Masters Degree in Magical Techniques . . .

  Icky was reading over his shoulder. "One, well, I guess we knew poisons weren't her specialty, but I rather thought . . . well, I guess they don't give degrees in Beating the Crap Out of Men . . . "

  "Ha!" From the hallway.

  Scar swabbed the envelopes, the empty safe, and put everything back. Locked the safe.

  "Closet or desk next?" Ux looked at the desk. Lamp, pictures, a small comp. A scatter of stuff. Knick knacks, souvenirs, a rock. With a Certificate of Authenticity, swearing it was from the Moon.

  Right. That British Empire World, with a Corridor to the Moon. Gossip was that Wolfson took her there on a date.

  A cup with pens and pencils and a square metal rod with a line running the length of it.

  Is that a . . . dimensional bag?

  Scar stepped away from the desk and looked in the closet. "She said something about boxes, and here are some moving boxes. Let's do them next."

  "Yeah, maybe it just fell out." Ux looked hopeful.

  He set the first box on the floor beside the table and opened it. "Looks like miscellaneous stuff she didn't have anyplace to put . . . One! I really hope we don't have to search her house!"

  He pulled out a pair of slippers, a wine bottle, a quarter full . . . they all stopped and boggled at it.

  "Surely that isn't . . . "

  "Couldn't be."

  They stared at it for a long moment. Then Scar grabbed a small evidence bag. Icky pulled the cork and dribbled a tiny bit into the bag. Scar sealed it . . . spotted Ux touching the side of the bottle, a drip . . . "Don't."

  Ux jerked his hand back.

  A couple of shirts, shoes, three paper books, references. Scar upended the box over the table and dumped a few photos, receipts, sand . . . and a little square of cardboard with yellow and brown stripes.

  He got out the tweezers and picked it up. Made sure the vid cam got a good shot of both sides, the magnified his own vision and read off the details. Expiration date. 1402. Two years ago? But how long is it good for?

  "Hey Fool? How old is Rael? When did she uh, finally pass that poisons class?"

  She pulled out her comp . . . "Born 6 Muharram 1364. Huh, she's older than I'd realized. Somehow she managed to dodge a fortieth birthday party. At any rate, she'd have graduated in 1388, give or take a year. Six years before she joined the Presidential guards."

  "Ha! Undercover in the Ministry of War!" Icky laughed. "I've always wondered if she was that stupid secretary."

  "Yeah! Red Hair!" Ux was grinning.

  Scar, on the other hand, was feeling a bit sick. "So she was working for the One. Against the interests of the president. And . . . why did the One then put her in the guard?"

  They all shut up.

  Scar swallowed and said it. "In case the Old Orde won reelection. Right?"

  "No!" Fool snapped. "The One would not break the trust the president must have in the Guard Princesses. This was just a place to get her out of sight."

  Scar relaxed suddenly. "After all, we know she's not an assassin." A glance toward the evidence box. The little square in his tweezers. "Right. Fool? Will you please check your Poisons Professor friend and find out how long these things are good for? I need a double check on expiration dates."

  He called Captain Onca. "Found the missing poison card in the bottom of a shipping carton with labels that show it's been from here to Montevideo and back. And . . . "

  Fool stuck her head in the door. "Fifteen years. Rael's would have expired last year or the year before. Assuming she was a senior when she got it, and it had been manufactured that same year."

  "And the expiration date matches when she'd have gotten hers. Can someone check that Bunny woman's . . . "

  "1410."

  "Wow, she doesn't look old enough to have been out of college for nine years." Except she probably didn't flunk twice, so she may have gotten it as a junior, and who knows what kind of stock pile that school keeps, and how old it was when she got it.

  The Captain snorted. "Princesses never do. All right. I didn't think it could be Rael, but we had to be sure."

  "Yes, sir. Her brag box publicly missing that particular poison may have . . . solidified an assassin's choice of weapons."

  "You have a nasty mind. Close up Rael's room and come back to Government House see if you can charm anything out of, One save me! Bunny. One of the guys loomed a bit too much and now she's stuttering. Your baby face may calm her down."

  Bane of my existence. Wish I did have a scar.

  "Right. Sir? How is the Director?"

  "Demonstrating how to be a bad patient. Now concentrate on the investigation, Corporal."

  Chapter Four

  9 Rajab 1404 yp

  Scar took one look at the huddled misery, and veered off to pick up a couple of sodas.

  Flopped down in the chair beside hers and held one out. "You look like you need something."

  "Oh . . . yes." She took a gulp. "Oh, I needed that. It's just . . . Why me?"

  "Eh, we're trained to be over-protective. Don't sweat it. Your problem is just that when Rael was afraid they might need that antidote, she knew your number. But we found her lost poison card thing, so it doesn't matter any more." Except for you being a trained princess in an odd place.

  "Oh, oh good. She's, like, my hero, you know? I hated to think she could possibly . . . and I didn't know what to say . . . if I said the wrong thing and it made it worse for her, but I'm no good at all at lying, and I did know what to lie about any way and . . . why are you laughing?"

  Because you're so cute when you're babbling everything a suspect ought not say.

  Scar kicked his brain back into gear. "Look, we all know Rael. We're her punching bags
in the dojo, you know? We didn't really suspect her, but we have to check everyone and everything by the numbers when anything like this happens. See, the reason we over reacted is . . . "

  She laughed at his story—barely embellished—about their bet and boggled at the results. "Three? Only three?"

  "Well, she concentrated elsewhere. She's got a Masters in Magical Techniques, and like I said, she beats us all up regularly. Poisons just aren't her thing. But in discussing the poison she lost, the symptoms were mentioned."

  Her eyes widened. "Did the director have those symptoms . . . diarrhea and dehydration!" her voice squeaked.

  "Yeah, so we all freaked out. And Rael started calling all the princesses she knows in the building trying to locate the antidote . . . and that's how you got pulled into the whole mess. But obviously, since you had your poison, and now we've found Rael's, so once they calm down a bit more, you can get back to work . . . " He glanced at his watch. "Or head home. You have an apartment down town?"

  "Oh, no. I share an apartment with three other women . . . it's . . . cheap. That's why I bring everything with me, or keep it in my locker. Things go missing, at home."

  "Oh, sounds worse than the barracks." He glanced toward the bustle down the hall. "Do you know Peic? She's probably having a bad day too, but I'm afraid she won't get any sympathy. We all call her Pique."

  Shit! The Director's Princess! She ought to be suspect #1, because if the One told her to kill him, she'd do it.

  Bunny's eyes rounded again. "Oh! She makes us all call her Epic. She thinks she's the Number Two Princess in the Government and we all ought to , I dunno, defer to her or something. We call her Peck, down in the female employees' break room. Because she pecks away at everyone's self esteem. And she's so . . . stupid."

  Scar wheezed. "Peck . . . oh that's perfect. She doesn't seem very . . . competent. How the heck did she get assigned to a Presidential Director?"

  Bunny sat up and looked around for listeners, then dropped her voice. "Because no one thought the president would win, so his obvious choice of a director didn't need a princess. And when he did, they figured he'd only last one term. Peck was put there to terminate Urfa, if he turned out to be really bad for the Empire. They didn't realize they needed anyone with brains or training in much of anything but fetching coffee." She ducked her head. "Not that she's actually stupid, she used to teach, at the School. She thought she was taking a five year, at the most, break. And then she'd go back with all this glory—the Presidential Director's Princess—or better yet, suspected of killing him for the good of the Empire. Oh hey, that's all just gossip! Not, not . . . !"

  "Oh, I know. Scary to think back, now. Did you take any of her classes?"

  A glum nod. "My first year there. She taught etiquette and, umm, manipulation." Then a thin smirk broke through. "The gossip here is that she's been completely unable to manipulate the director."

  Scar's thoughts bounced from guilt that not only were they being overheard, they were being recorded, to horror that some of the girl's gossip might be accurate.

  And this cute little princess doing a job that no princess ought to be caught dead doing? Who is throwing suspicion toward the Director's assigned princess. One dammit all, she's so damn cute . . .

  His stomach knotted.

  And I have a job to do.

  "Hmm, well, I'd much rather sit here and talk to you, but maybe I should go talk to Princess Peck now. Would you like another soda? Maybe I should get one for her . . . " he had no trouble sounding dubious.

  "Oh no! She only drinks tea! From her own china cup! With her favorite blend!"

  He grinned. "Something tells me that's a quote. I'll take her some hot water. Soda for you?"

  "Yes please . . . and thank you for being so nice of a questioner."

  No one came onto his earbud to tell him to do otherwise so he grinned, and headed for the cafeteria.

  ***

  "Miss, er, Princess Peic, er, Epic? Sorry. They said you preferred to make your own tea, so I brought . . . well, it's not boiling any more, but . . . " He ignored the two men keeping an eye on her as a he held out the insulated thermos. "Hot water."

  The director's princess looked a very attractive thirty, which meant she was probably pushing a hundred. She sniffed a bit at his diffident approach.

  "Put it there, young man. Very thoughtful of you. Oh do sit down, I realize you're the next questioner."

  "Thank you, Ma'am."

  Her brows rose.

  "I mean, Princess."

  "Humph! I thought the Black Horse Guards were around Princesses often enough to know how to address them."

  Scar shifted uncomfortably. "We mostly just get beat up by them."

  That got a thin smile.

  He looked around her little office while she pulled out a china cup and saucer. A tea bag from a sealed container. the walls were hung with high quality reproductions of famous paintings. The Arrival. The Defense of Kolkutta. "Do the Professors at the Princess School go to Makkah very often?"

  She glanced at the art. "We celebrate the One everyday, and feel the whispering of the One at the edges of our minds."

  "You must miss it. Not," he added hastily, "that Paris isn't an exciting place to live. But . . . When I was in college, I loved the . . . feeling of being around the best and brightest, the background of deep complex thought and . . . and . . . elevated consciousness."

  She eyed him, then poured hot water.

  "Very well put. Yes, that sense of a purpose above mundane cares. I do miss it." Her brows came together and lowered. "You didn't stay, did you?"

  Scar ducked his head. "No. My sense of adventure got the better of me, and I joined the Army. So here I am, pacing the halls, watching other people doing important things."

  He glanced guiltily over his shoulder at the door to the meeting room. "I truly respect the director."

  She eyed the door. Shrugged. "He's doing a much better job than we'd ever expected. He's a major prop in the president's peace agenda." She dropped her dripping teabag in the trash, shrugged again. "I never did like him. Never warmed up to him." A careful sip and nod of approval.

  Past tense. Oh One, no!

  "Does the One like him?"

  And Onca's voice in his ear bud. "Go ahead, ask her."

  "Did the One order you to kill him?"

  She stiffened, set her cup down with a clink. "The One approves of him!" Outraged offense in her growl. "And I don't have to sit here being treated like a criminal!"

  She stood up, picked up her cup, and looked around, sniffed and dumped the tea all over the desk. Scar jumped back to avoid the flood.

  "Miss, err, Princess? Are you . . . " Flaming mad and throwing a fit?

  The princess opened a drawer and pulled out a small case and a scarf. Wrapped the cup and saucer carefully and placed them in the case. Closed it and walked out.

  Scar looked from the dripping mess to the guards hustling after the princess.

  "That didn't go nearly so well."

  A chuckle from his ear bud. "Depends on what we wanted to know. She was so pissed at the One's approval that I think we can relax about it being sanctioned. Can't rule out a personal attack, but that's not nearly as scary."

  "Yeah. She sounded pretty pissed she never got orders to kill the Director. But I didn't see any guilt about trying it without approval from on high." His stomach was definitely unhappy. Do I really have to suspect that nice little fluffy Bunny?

  Onca walked in from the hallway as he finished speaking . . . comm to his ear, listening to something else . . . grinning.

  The captain looked over at the mess on the desk, still grinning. "Eppa's at the hospital. He says four other people from that press luncheon are sick, and they've called around and found plenty of other mild cases, and the Health department is all over the caterers. Looks like it's . . . Well, just the usual hazards of a political diet of low-bid catering."

  "Oh. Thank the One."

  Maids hustled in and
Scar picked up the soaked papers that were on the desk. Stamped top secret. "Guess we'd better dispose of these properly. Are you letting her go?"

  "Yes, but followed. Should be interesting to see what she does, when she gets over her pique." Onca grinned. "Take that down to the incinerator. Probably nothing, she just liked to look important and in the know.

  "Oh, and send your new buddy home, then you're off duty. See you tomorrow for a wrap up."

  "Yes, sir." Scar headed down the hallway.

  Bunny was staring the other way, turned back to look at him. "She looked, you know, really angry."

  "Yeah. Oh well. Umm, you're free to leave, but I was wondering if you'd like to catch dinner . . . somewhere . . . "

  Did I actually just say that?

  She bounced out of her chair. "Sure!"

  It worked? Holy One!

  "I, umm, just need to take this down to the incinerator . . . Do you like Chinese?"

  Epilogue

  Scar suppressed a squirm. "I had no idea she'd quit. Sorry, sir."

  "Ha! If I'd known that was all it took, I'd have gotten suspiciously sick years ago. There simply isn't anyone they could send who'd be worse. And if I install an actual executive secretary before someone shows . . . up . . . "

  Scar turned to followed the director's gaze.

  Tall, elegant, long, long black hair.

  Meeting the director's gaze. "I am Puur, assigned by the One. Did you say you needed a secretary?"

  About the Author

  I was born and raised in California, and have lived more than half my life, now, in Texas.

  Wonderful place. I caught almost the first bachelor I met here, and we’re coming up on our thirty-seventh anniversary.

  My degree's in Geology. After working for an oil company for almost ten years as a geophysicist, I “retired” to raise children. As they grew, I added oil painting, sculpting and throwing clay, breeding horses, volunteering in libraries and for the Boy Scouts, and treasurer for a friend’s political campaign. Sometime in those busy years, I turned a love of science fiction into a part time job reading slush (Mom? Someone is paying you to read??!!)