by Alexis Hall
Ms. Haas gave a heavy sigh. “Honestly, Captain. There were three rules. I’m beginning to think I can’t take you anywhere.”
“In my defence, I believe I was deliberately deceived into meeting the gaze of my reflection by a thoroughly dishonourable actress.”
“Acting is a dishonourable profession. Then again, honour is overrated. And if you tried to ——” And here again I shall not repeat her language. “. . . the bride of the Mad Duke Orsino during a production of The Most Lamentable and Bloody Tragedy of the Last Wife of the Mad Duke Orsino you really have nobody to blame but yourself.”
I can honestly say I was quite taken aback by so outrageous a suggestion. “Madam, I made no such attempt. The young lady told me that she was being held against her will and I made an effort to rescue her. That is all.”
“My dear man.” And here Ms. Haas paused to laugh heartily but not wholly unkindly. “Frankly, that is even worse. A little piece of advice for your future life. If you are ever told something by a professional liar in a place built of lies and overseen by supernatural beings that have the concept of falsehood built into their name and whose very breath is deception: don’t believe it.”
“I have no doubt you think me very foolish. But I shall always offer aid to those who may need it, and on this principle, I shall not compromise.”
Ms. Haas put one hand to her face and the other upon my shoulder. “You are going to get so utterly killed.”
It is, of course, true that my life was endangered many, many times during my long acquaintance with the sorceress Shaharazad Haas, although, despite her chiding me often for my naive altruism, she was usually there to extricate me from any predicament in which I might find myself. Indeed, it is somewhat ironic that, as I write this, I have almost certainly outlived her.
At this juncture, we were interrupted by the sudden arrival of Miss de la Martynière. Judging from her demeanour and language she was most upset at my survival and possessed, in truth, little of the modesty she had counterfeited during our earlier meeting. Indeed, her speech was so colourful that I have found it difficult to reproduce without including at least allusion to the various oaths and curses she scattered so liberally throughout her discourse. I have done my best to conceal the substance of the offending terms from my audience while preserving the clarity and character of the lady’s speech. If you are easily shocked you may wish to turn to the end of this segment.
“Who the —— are you? And what the —— do you think you’re doing? Have you any idea of the —— you’ve caused and what a ——ing mess I’m in now?”
“Perhaps,” I offered, “you should have considered that eventuality before throwing in your lot with a pack of face-stealing demons.”
She curled her lip at me. “Well, what the —— would you know, Mr. Blessed Are the ——ed. You were falling out of your smock to help me out when you thought I was getting ——ed up the —— by a dirty old man. But now you know I’m doing something about it, you’re all ‘know your ——ing place.’”
“Madam, you did attempt to murder me.”
“Saw an opportunity.” She shrugged. “Took it.”
“I understand. Perhaps I would have done the same had my circumstances been as yours.”
To my surprise, she did not take this reassurance in the spirit in which it was intended. “Oh, go —— yourself, you ——ing piece of god-bothering ——. You do not get to ——ing forgive me or pretend you ——ing know where I’m coming from. I tried to ——ing kill you and I’m not ——ing sorry. At least do me the ——ing courtesy of being ——ing angry about it.”
“This,” declared Ms. Haas, “is so much better than that dismal play.”
That seemed to distract Miss de la Martynière a little. “Tell me about it. Charlie’s ——ing obsessed with these blood ’n’ bosoms numbers.”
“On the subject of the good Mr. du Maurier”—Ms. Haas concealed her pistol within the folds of her frock coat once more—“I’m afraid I do need to speak to him rather urgently.”
“Well, that’s going to take a while, seeing as how you and your friend here —— near pulled this whole place down round our ears. He’s out front giving refunds, and he hates giving refunds.”
“How unfortunate. I feel rather the same way about waiting.” Ms. Haas cast Miss de la Martynière a look that I would have considered inappropriate in most circumstances but felt was even more so given that the lady in question had so recently attempted to orchestrate my demise. “Perhaps you could help me instead.”
“Depends what’s in it for me.”
“While I respect your independent spirit, I fear you have grossly misjudged the balance of power in this situation. Did it not escape your notice that I just plucked your sacrifice from the depths of the Mocking Realm with, though I say so myself, very little effort?”
Miss de la Martynière’s shoulders slumped. “Oh ——. You’re Shaharazad ——ing Haas, aren’t you?”
“Currently only Shaharazad Haas, but I could be ——ing if you play your cards right.”
“For someone with your reputation, you’ve got some really ——ing cheesy lines.”
“I have two modes. Flirting and turning your blood to boiling lye within your veins. Which do you prefer?”
The actress rolled her eyes. “Fine. What do you want?”
“You’re clearly sleeping with du Maurier. And I know for a fact that he’s even more monstrously braggadocious when he’s refractory. Has he told you anything about a woman named Eirene Viola?”
“He was doing her, or leastways trying to, for a while way back when. Said she was an ungrateful, lying, cheating, thieving little ——.”
“Yes, that sounds like Eirene.” Ms. Haas braced her lower body against a rickety wooden item that may once have been a table. “Did he say anything else?”
“Not a lot. He’s not paying much attention to what goes on outside the theatre these days. Sometimes I think he don’t know what year it is.”
“The moral of that story is never move into an alternate reality that you cannot unmake.”
Miss de la Martynière seemed to be growing restless. “We done yet?”
“I believe so.” Ms. Haas came languorously to her feet again, smoothing her coat. “If you hear anything, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
“Do I have a choice?”
From some interior pocket, Ms. Haas retrieved a mother-of-pearl card case, carved with symbols that seemed to writhe obscenely as one stared at them. And, from that, she produced a plain white calling card, offering it along with a terribly ambiguous smile. “We always have choices. That’s what makes life so unpredictable.”
And so we departed Mise en Abyme and returned, via autonomous hansom, to 221b Martyrs Walk.
For the benefit of those readers who felt, quite understandably, that they would do best to avoid Miss de la Martynière’s testimony entirely I can summarise thus: that she expressed great anger towards me personally, showed no remorse for attempting my murder, and was slow to recognise Ms. Haas but was nevertheless persuaded, having realised her error, to assist us in our enquiries. Owing to her intimate relationship with Mr. du Maurier she was in a position to inform us that while he bore a great deal of ill will towards Miss Viola he had made no immediate plans to inconvenience her.
During our ride home, I enquired with Ms. Haas whether, given her admonitions about the inadvisability of trusting professional dissemblers, she felt that we should take Miss de la Martynière at her word on this matter, and she told me she thought we could. The young woman was plainly ambitious and had no love for du Maurier. Further, the fact that she had attempted to kill me strongly implied, according to Ms. Haas, that she had plumbed some of the deeper secrets of the Mocking Realm. Such knowledge is acquired only by du Maurier’s very personal favourites and only by those who are capable of handling t
he man with discretion and finesse. Such an individual would never permit the distraction that would inevitably ensue should du Maurier rekindle his interest in a former protégé, even if such interest was vindictive or vengeful in nature.
I must admit that I was rather pleased that Mr. du Maurier did not turn out to be our blackmailer. Although it would, of course, have set Miss Viola’s mind greatly at rest to know the identity of her persecutor, I was beginning to enjoy both the sense of mystery and the sense of adventure that came with working alongside the sorceress Shaharazad Haas and would have been disappointed for it to have ended so soon. I did not, as it transpired, need to worry on that account.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Ubiquitous Companies
In the days following our return from Wax Flower Hill I was not in the best of spirits. The matter of my near devourment by the Princes of the Mocking Realm was itself of little consequence, but the details of the experience had nonetheless brought to the forefront of my mind certain recollections upon which I preferred not to dwell. Ms. Haas, either out of sympathy for my mood or indifference to my existence, permitted me the space to marshal my reserves, making no attempt to engage my attention for almost a week.
This state of affairs changed abruptly when I returned home from the hospital to find her waiting impatiently in the hall.
“What are you doing, man?” she said. “You’re not even dressed.”
I hasten to clarify that I was most certainly dressed and that her comment referred to the fact that I was clad in my habitual workwear while she was attired in an extravagant court dress of the style fashionable in the Uthmani Sultanate. That is to say, layers of flowing silk, in jewel-bright colours, trailing sleeves that would be considered sinfully impractical in Ey, and voluminous trousers, the ankles of which were plainly visible under her skirts.
Removing my hat, I attempted to place it on the hatstand, only for the furnishing in question, still unfortunately haunted, to shuffle out of the way. “Dressed for what?”
“For the ball. We are late already.”
“I was not aware of any ball.”
“Really, Wyndham.” She made a sign of warding in the direction of the hatstand. It gave one last shudder and stopped dead. “Must I tell you everything? The Grand Ball of the Ubiquitous Companies is an annual event, and surely it must have occurred to you that, should we wish to seek information regarding the peers, associates, and rivals of Miss Cora Beck as they might pertain to our current investigation, we would be well advised to attend?”
I did not think it entirely fair of Ms. Haas to expect that I would make quite so significant a leap unprompted. “My apologies. I shall change directly.”
Returning a few minutes later in my best tunic and collar, I drew an exasperated look from Ms. Haas.
“Were we not,” she drawled, “about to attend a gathering of glorified shopkeepers I should insist you allow me to supply you with a more suitable ensemble.”
Given my companion’s own sartorial choices, that was not an eventuality to which I looked forward. There was not, however, opportunity to protest, for Ms. Haas hurried me out the door and into a waiting hansom. As we were whisked through the cobbled streets of Athra towards the counting hall of the Ubiquitous Companies I risked asking whether we actually had an invitation.
My companion gave me a condescending look. “I am the sorceress Shaharazad Haas. Being uninvited is sort of my thing.”
“That seems like it could get one into rather a lot of trouble.”
“Getting into rather a lot of trouble is also my thing.”
The veracity of this statement was fast becoming apparent and it gave me, at the time, some cause for concern. I had, after all, been raised to see the value in living as unobtrusive a life as possible. Over the years, however, getting into trouble became very much our thing. And although Ms. Haas was nigh invariably the instigator of our adventures, and I never quite came to share her delight in chaos, I would not have traded my part in them for the world.
The counting hall, like many of the city’s most ancient buildings, was an eclectic mishmash of architectural styles and features. Its facade had been renovated within the last century, following the damage caused in the unrest following the Khelathran secession from the Uthmani Sultanate, but the original building—designed in high Athran style, emphasising pointed arches, vaulted ceilings, and needle-like spires—was much older. Indeed, the catacombs beneath the counting hall were said to date back all the way to ancient Khel, whose empire had dominated much of the northern seaboard for several hundred years. Presently it was illuminated with a great many lanterns and alchemical lights, which made the ornate stonework gleam golden against the night sky.
Owing to the sheer number of carriages and conveyances all presumably headed to the same location as ourselves, it would have taken us almost as long to travel the last few hundred yards up Alderman’s Way as it had taken to make the whole of the rest of the journey. Never one to exhibit the virtue of patience, or for that matter propriety, Ms. Haas insisted that we disembark and proceed on foot. This earned us disapproving looks from the uniformed gentlemen who waited by the doors, verifying the identities of would-be entrants.
“Name?” said one of them in the resigned tones of a person who has been doing a tedious job for some while and expects to be doing it for some while yet.
“Shaharazad Haas and John Wyndham.”
He checked his papers. “You’re not on the list.”
“No, I’m not.” And with that, my companion walked confidently into the building.
In some confusion, I trailed after her and the doorman trailed after me. We had made it only a short distance into the spacious and sumptuously decorated atrium when we were descended upon by a number of serious-looking individuals who I took to be guards. I could not help but think that, for a mission whose purpose was to covertly reconnoitre the event, we were making rather a scene.
“You have to leave, miss,” insisted the doorman. “Otherwise we’ll be forced to summon the Myrmidons.”
Completely ignoring him, Ms. Haas instead called out across the hall to a diminutive dark-skinned woman in a gown of the most remarkable cobalt blue, accented with complex patterns in subtly different shades that made her look for all the world as if she was wearing the entire sky. “Perdita, could you help me out of a spot of bother?”
The woman turned and gave Ms. Haas a look I would see again many, many times over the years. It was a look that said “Although it is monstrously inconvenient for you to impose upon me in this manner at this time, I am sufficiently indebted to or respectful of you that I will choose not to emphasise the fact.” She swept towards us, her sizable entourage following. “What is it this time, Shaharazad?”
“My friend and I need to get into the ball, and by some terrible mischance our invitations have gone astray.”
“What a terrible oversight.” The newcomer folded her arms and I had the distinct impression she was not much convinced by Ms. Haas’s story. Then she sighed. “The Ubiquitous Company of Dyers will vouch for these two.”
The doorman bowed, only slightly resentfully. “As you wish, mistress.”
“I am sure”—the lady’s attention landed heavily upon my companion—“that they will do nothing to make us regret our generosity.”
“Regret is such a waste of energy,” returned Ms. Haas. “Come along, Wyndham.”
We proceeded into a vast and crowded hall. Like the exterior of the building, it was a marvel of the architecture of its day, with ornate columns and high arched windows more reminiscent of a religious institution than a civic one. Of course, I suppose, in its way it was a temple of sorts—one dedicated to commerce and industry rather than to anything so impractical as a god. From a gallery above us came music I did not recognise to which the guests were performing dances also unfamiliar to me. Although since dancing at all was strongl
y discouraged in Ey, while dancing in public with mixed company was flatly illegal, this was not, perhaps, surprising.
My companion caught me by the sleeve and dragged me behind a pillar. “Now,” she said, “I shall circulate and see if I can pick up anything about the good Miss Beck. You should find Eirene and keep an eye on her.”
“To what end?”
“Mostly, I just think it will annoy her.”
“Madam,” I protested. “I hope we have not come all this way and infiltrated a gathering of some of the most influential persons in the city merely out of a peevish desire to vex our client.”
“Not merely. That’s just an added bonus. But if you can, see how they are with each other and let me know if you think Miss Beck is the kind of person to concoct an elaborate charade in order to disentangle herself from an unwanted engagement.”
I blinked. “I’m not sure I know what such a person would be like.”
“Quite a lot like Eirene, now I come to think of it.” Ms. Haas tapped her chin with a finger. “You might also try to get in with the family. If it’s not Miss Beck it might easily be one of her parents.”
“Get in?”
“Ingratiate yourself. Be charming. I have every faith in you, Captain.”
Having thus instructed me, Ms. Haas spun on her heel and disappeared into the crowd. This left me somewhat at a loss. None of my experiences to date had prepared me for searching a room full of strangers, all extravagantly attired and moving in complicated patterns, in search of a woman I had met once and from whom I understood I would be expected to conceal myself. Falling back on my training and treating the hall as a site of potential enemy activity, I put my back firmly to the wall and skirted the perimeter. I was very conscious that this behaviour, coupled with my attire and general demeanour, made me somewhat conspicuous and proved not to be entirely suitable to my purposes. Although I was able to get a very thorough sense of the layout of the room, including potential sources of cover, hiding spots, and firing platforms, I was not able to locate Miss Viola. I did overhear snatches of a number of conversations, mostly regarding highly technical issues of trade that I could not repeat even had they been pertinent.