The Affair of the Mysterious Letter

by Alexis Hall

  “But why would he rescue us from a vampire?”

  “Firstly, it almost certainly wasn’t him; it was one of his agents. Secondly, that agent probably didn’t realise we’d pulled a switch at the station. Thirdly, if you’re planning to ruin a woman’s life, drag her away from her home, and force her into marriage, you don’t really want to contend with a malicious, scheming immortal who has exactly the same plan.”

  I adjusted my cuffs, still unaccustomed to wearing so much lace. “Miss Viola certainly inspires strong reactions.”

  “In my experience, people tend to bring their reactions with them. It’s certainly true that Eirene has been involved with some colossal ——” And here Ms. Haas used a disparaging colloquialism. “Myself included. But I think that says more about circumstances than her character. Though if you tell her I said so, I shall lay upon you the twice-blinding curse of Atlach-Nar.”

  “Fear not,” I reassured her. “Nobody will ever learn that you once said something that wasn’t entirely heartless and uncalled for.”

  Of course, in relating this incident in these pages I have now broken that promise. I take solace in the fact that it was largely made in jest, and that it represents one of only four times on which I have failed to keep my word to her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Further Developments

  As enjoyable as our sojourn aboard the Austral Express had been, there was nonetheless a certain warm sensation of homecoming associated with our return to 221b Martyrs Walk. The feeling was rather unexpected, putting me in mind of the time long ago when I had first said to my varsity friends that I was “going home” and meant returning to my room in college rather than returning to my parents’ house in Ey. It was a sense of natural belonging that I had not felt in many years. My satisfaction was marred by the realisation that I would have to explain nearly a week’s absence to my employers, and by the unexpected arrival of Miss Viola about ten minutes after I’d put the kettle on.

  I emerged into the sitting room to find her standing over Ms. Haas, who, having shown no inclination to shed her Vedunian finery, was stretched across the chaise in a cascade of red satin.

  “I would have thought,” my companion was saying, “given the trivial detail that we saved your life a few days ago, you could show at least a little gratitude.”

  Miss Viola was dismissive of this notion in colourful terms. “Cora,” she continued, “is going to the Myrmidons. She says it’s company policy in cases of blackmail. I told her that I am not part of her company and, in the likely event that those upjumped hoodlums can’t keep their mouths shut, that her parents will find out, they’ll cancel the wedding, and whoever is doing this will get exactly what he, she, or they want.”

  “That’s actually a rather interesting datum.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad”—Miss Viola attempted to kick Ms. Haas in the shins but made contact only with her voluminous skirts—“my incipient ruination is an interesting datum.”

  “Might I remind you that I am conducting this analysis for your benefit?”

  “Then conduct it. What’s interesting?”

  Ms. Haas lit a pipe with the enthusiasm of one who has been denied access to tobacco for far too long. “Well, I can scarcely believe I have to point this out to you, but your blackmailer’s behaviour is highly atypical. As you have just observed, the action into which this individual is attempting to coerce you—that is, the breaking off of your engagement with Miss Beck—is one into which you would necessarily be forced were they simply to reveal the information they have to Miss Beck’s family. They are, in a sense, not asking you to do anything they couldn’t do for you.”

  “And why,” sighed Miss Viola, “is that so terribly intriguing to you?”

  “It suggests your enemy is not your enemy, or not simply your enemy. Their goal is highly specific—the breaking off of your engagement to Miss Beck with the minimum possible level of collateral scandal. It was this rather obvious point that led me to suspect Miss Beck’s associates, although I swiftly eliminated them after that silly matter at the ball. So now we are left with only two possibilities.”

  There was a silence, which Miss Viola seemed to find unreasonably provoking. “Which are?”

  “Number one. That the culprit is, indeed, Citizen Icarius Castaigne of Carcosa and he wishes to force you to his side without rendering you an unsuitable wife or surrendering any leverage he might hold over you. Number two is something rather more interesting.” She paused again, smiling to herself. “Number two is a theorem not yet fully formed, but which I will share with you in the fullness of time.”

  Miss Viola did not appear to take this well and expressed her displeasure in no certain terms. I attempted to defuse the situation with tea and when that stratagem proved inefficacious endeavoured instead to change the subject. “Might it be possible,” I asked, “to prevail upon the Myrmidons to treat the matter with discretion?”

  Ms. Haas smirked through a haze of smoke. “You could write everything the Myrmidons know on the subject of discretion on the back of zero postcards.”

  “Which is why I am here,” snarled Miss Viola. “This is your fault. You fix it.”

  “Darling, this is not at all my fault. The moral of this story is that you should address the issues in your relationship before they show up at railway stations trying to murder people.”

  “You are the last sentient being in this, or any other, world who is qualified to lecture me on maintaining a healthy love life.”

  “Yes, but”—and here Ms. Haas wagged her pipestem in a manner that even I, as a dispassionate third party, found condescending—“I’m not the one trying to marry a fishmonger. Now come along, let us see if we can persuade Lawson to leave this matter in more capable hands.”

  We took a hansom to New Arcadia Yard. Ordinarily one would not be permitted simply to walk in off the street and demand to speak to a ranking member of the Augurs. Ms. Haas, however, had little time for ordinarily and, after a certain amount of hectoring and no small amount of grandstanding, we were guided by a beleaguered constable to Second Augur Lawson’s office. He seemed neither surprised nor pleased to see us. Miss Beck, who was already in the middle of explaining the situation to him, appeared to be more of one but less of the other.

  There was a brief moment in which several persons exchanged significant glances. Then Second Augur Lawson said, “Let me guess, Haas. This seemingly inconsequential case of blackmail is, in fact, the key to a deeper conspiracy with profound implications for civic security.”

  “On the contrary”—my companion casually knocked a pile of papers from the desk and perched herself in their place—“I suspect it is entirely personal. Which is why you should drop it.”

  Miss Viola put a hand on her fiancée’s shoulder. “I told you I was having this handled.”

  “And I told you,” returned Miss Beck, “that we had to go to the proper authorities. I mean no disrespect, Ms. Haas, and I’m sure you’re very good at what you do, but this is a crime and it’s a matter for the law.”

  Ms. Haas liberated a packet of tobacco from her décolletage and her pipe from somewhere beneath her skirts. “Good to know you’re embarking on a lifetime together with absolutely no irreconcilable philosophical differences.”

  “Can we bring our attention back to the extortion?” suggested the Second Augur in some exasperation.

  Miss Viola fixed him with her lambent gaze. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, but I’m the victim here and I do not wish this matter to be pursued.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not up to you, miss. Strange as it may seem, my job is not to protect you; it is to protect the city of Khelathra-Ven, and I can’t let blackmailers run around making demands of upstanding citizens. It’s you this week; it might be someone else next week.”

  “I assure you,” put in Ms. Haas, “it will not be someone else next week. This is
a very specific matter.”

  The Second Augur drummed his metal fingers against the arm of his chair. “Is it that time already, Haas? Go on, then. Tell me how I’m looking for a florid-faced man over six feet tall with unusually long fingernails.”

  “Right now you are looking for nobody it is within your power to prosecute. Although I am still entertaining a number of theories, I am certain that the blackmailer is a native of Carcosa and resides beyond your jurisdiction.”

  “How convenient for you.”

  “Mr. Lawson,” Ms. Haas drawled, “you know full well I would never mislead the official force. To do so would be to pass up an opportunity to show you how infinitely superior my methods are to yours.”

  “I can talk to the authorities in Carcosa.”

  “In this situation, I suspect the authorities may be at least partially responsible.”

  The Second Augur rolled his eyes. “I know you said it wasn’t, but it’s beginning to sound a lot like this seemingly inconsequential case of blackmail is, in fact, the key to a deeper conspiracy with profound implications for civic security.”

  “Conspiracy yes. Security implications no.”

  Miss Beck put her hand on Miss Viola’s and turned to look at her. “Conspiracies? What is this woman talking about?”

  There was a tense silence, before Miss Viola replied, “When I was a child my parents arranged a betrothal for me. Shaharazad thinks he’s still alive, has attained some status in the party, and may wish to exert a claim over me.”

  “So you only told me about the vampire because she tried to kill us. You only told me about the blackmail because nothing else would explain why these total strangers”—she gestured at Ms. Haas and myself—“turned up to save us. And you’re only telling me you used to be engaged because I went to the Augurs and somebody else brought it up.”

  Miss Viola flushed. “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of—”

  “You’re not joking.”

  “While I could watch your engagement implode all day,” interrupted Ms. Haas, “I think the key point right now is that the prime suspect in this investigation is a foreign national with governmental immunity who lives in a city orbiting a distant star in an alien reality with which we have no extradition treaty. As such, and painful as I’m sure it is for him, the Second Augur must surely admit that I am far better placed to resolve this matter than he and his men will ever be. It’s a sordid mess of sex and politics, Lawson, neither of which is your strong suit.”

  He blinked slowly. “I’ll thank you not to pass comment on my suits, strong or otherwise. So here’s what’s going to happen. You”—he indicated Miss Viola—“are going to give me every item of correspondence you have received from this mysterious extortionist. I will pursue this case on the assumption that Ms. Haas’s theory is correct and that we are dealing with agents of a foreign power. If Ms. Haas chooses to travel to Carcosa and pursue the matter more directly, that is up to her. Now will everyone kindly get the heck out of my office.” He did not say “heck.”

  “I’m so glad you’ve seen reason. Come, Wyndham.”

  Ms. Haas swept out, her skirts disturbing several important-looking files as she did so. The other ladies followed in her wake, matters clearly unresolved between them. My sense of order and propriety, however, did not permit me to quit the office without making some effort to ameliorate the chaos that we had brought into it. I stooped and began gathering up the fallen papers.

  “Mr. Wyndham,” said the Second Augur, “are you attempting to unlawfully access privileged information?”

  I stopped dead. “N-no. Absolutely not.”

  “You are a right berk, you know that?”

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it in those words, but others have expressed similar sentiments.”

  “A little bird tells me you were involved with that business on the Austral Express: Vampire Attack Thwarted by Heroic Travellers.” The Second Augur swung back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “No pictures and no names, of course, but for someone who claims to hate publicity, Haas is remarkably good at getting publicity.”

  “I’m sure the incident has been exaggerated. The confrontation was brief, and my involvement was minimal.”

  He huffed out a sigh. “I’m going to be very upset with Haas if she gets you killed.”

  “I thought you said your duty was to the city, not to its citizens.”

  “That I did.” His eyes were steady on mine for a too-long moment. “Enjoy Carcosa.”

  Somewhat confused, I made my way to the hansom. Ms. Haas did not comment on my lateness but smiled at me enigmatically.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The Coral Towers

  The day we were to depart for Carcosa, Ms. Haas accosted me in my bedroom. She was wearing a crumpled suit that looked as if she had been wearing it for weeks, although I knew for a fact that she had not.

  “Come, Wyndham,” she said, “we have a submersible to catch and you will need to change clothes. We are to enter hostile territory undercover and if you persist in walking around dressed like an itinerant preacher at a harvest festival you will be severely compromising our ability to pass as innocuous travellers.”

  “Might my cover not be that I am an itinerant preacher en route to a harvest festival?”

  “Don’t be clever, Captain. Now change into this.”

  She threw a pile of clothes onto my bed. I was pleased to see that they were somewhat more conservative than the last set of garments into which our adventures had forced me, consisting as they did of a grey wool suit with a matching waistcoat, a white shirt, and a paisley print necktie that I personally found a little on the garish side.

  Once my companion had decided that more important matters lay elsewhere, thus restoring to me my privacy, I swiftly reattired myself, completing the ensemble with an overcoat and narrow-brimmed felt hat. As disguises went, it at least made up in modesty what it lacked in honesty. I descended to the sitting room, where I found Ms. Haas waiting with her characteristic lack of patience. She extended towards me a document which, on inspection, proved to be a set of traveller’s papers, asserting that I was Mr. Anthony Childers, a citizen of Athra, and that the Council of Interested Parties requested that I be allowed to travel freely without let or hindrance.

  “It should go without saying,” she remarked, “that what we are about to do is terribly illegal. On this side of the portals, it will get you into serious trouble with the Augurs. On the other, it will get you shot in the back of the head.”

  Neither of these outcomes appealed to me. “And I take it there is no better way to bring Citizen Castaigne to justice?”

  “An interesting question. The difficulty, of course, lies in the fact that we have such radically different notions of what constitutes better. And, for that matter, of what constitutes justice. Now let’s go, and remember that, once we reach Carcosa, I shall be going by Kim Greene.”

  “Are you quite certain,” I asked, as we climbed into the waiting hansom, “that these papers will pass muster at the border?”

  Ms. Haas settled herself into the corner of the cab, draping one leg languidly over the other. “Not especially. The documents you carry are designed to withstand casual inspection, not close scrutiny. Fortunately, I do not intend for that to be an issue. We will not enter the city by the conventional route.”

  “I was under the impression that there is only one way into Carcosa.”

  “My dear man,” she said with a sigh, “there isn’t only one way into anywhere. The cosmos is like a worm-riddled skirting board. It’s simply a matter of wriggling through the right hole.”

  “And you can find the, um, right hole?”

  “I can’t, but I know someone who can. We have an appointment at the Coral Towers.”

  I had expected something less drastic, although, given what I had expe
rienced since moving in with the sorceress Shaharazad Haas, I could not say why. The Coral Towers were the ancient palace-prisons of the Eternal Lords of Ven and one did not approach them without very good cause and without having exhausted all other possible recourse. To say that seeking the aid of a near-impotent, quasi-living sorcerer lord in order to infiltrate an alien city once ruled by a mad god and now governed by a populist bureaucracy famed for its efficient brutality seemed unwise would be, at the very least, an understatement. I had, however, learned by this point that questioning Ms. Haas’s choices in these matters would prove utterly futile.

  Thus, I found myself boarding a public submersible and descending to the depths of Ven for the second time that month. Although the Coral Towers were, in many ways, the most perilous part of Ven they were also one of the most accessible. The Eternal Lords, having no need to fear assault or invasion, and requiring the intervention of legates and messengers to make their presence felt in the outside world, had established the travel routes through Ven such that it is easier to pass close by the towers than to avoid them. Even the hermetically sealed pipes and passages used by the city’s air-breathing inhabitants have connections to the Coral Towers. We were therefore able to disembark our submersible at an airlock station and make our way to our destination both dry and on foot.

  An unfortunate fact of travel in these parts of Ven is that, since the habitable parts of the city are wholly self-contained, one never has the opportunity to admire the majesty of Ven proper, except through the occasional tiny and always crowded porthole. Indeed, there are many who find it rather disconcerting to be encased entirely in creaking, century-old steel, conscious with every unexpected drip and passing tremor of the great weight of water pressing down atop one. As a student, I found the whole experience a mixture of romantic and depressing, for there are few things that simultaneously engender those two contradictory emotions so completely as gazing out upon an impossibly delicate spire of pink coral and white marble through a grime-encrusted window in a leaky cabin from which you have singularly failed to banish the pervasive smell of damp.