The Kaiser Affair (The Drifting Isle Chronicles)

by Lewis, Joseph Robert

  Arjuna nodded. He glanced back at Weber. “So I guess, now, we need to take him and his friend back to the Ministry. Can’t have them blabbing to the cops.”

  “No, we can’t,” Bettina said as she turned back to the carriage and then smiled over her shoulder. “I believe I’ll leave the business of wrestling with the prisoner in your capable hands, dear. Oster, please help Mister Rana, if you’d be so kind.”

  She climbed back into the carriage and settled into her seat while the men grunted and thumped about outside. She smoothed her dark green skirts across her lap and tightened her pale cream gloves on her hands.

  Ranulf Kaiser and Magdalena Strauss. A brilliant thief and a violent psychopath. Now there is an unlikely couple.

  Bettina folded her hands in her lap and glanced out the window at the train bridge and the dancing lights on the surface of the river below. And somewhere out in the darkness, she heard a raven cry.

  Chapter 4. A Murder of Ravens

  “A murder of ravens, a parliament of owls, a brood of chickens, and a flight of swallows,” Bettina said. “But a flock of birds. A flock.”

  Arjuna looked up from his waffles slathered in syrup, butter, and strawberries. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “A flock, Arry,” Bettina sipped her tea and peered thoughtfully out through the café windows at the bright morning light on the busy street outside. “I know what a murder is, and a parliament, and a brood. They’re all real words. But what is a flock?”

  He smiled and finished his coffee. “It’s a word, dear. Try not to overthink it.”

  “It’s far too late for that,” she muttered.

  “Why are you thinking about birds at all?” he asked. “Still worrying about that raven you spoke to last night?”

  “Just a touch. He seemed to know more than he was saying. What do you say to investigating a little murder before we set out in search of the notorious Magdalena Strauss?”

  “Can I finish my waffles first, please?”

  “Of course, darling.” She smiled. “I’m not a barbarian. Although I should point out that it is a myth that breakfast is most important meal of the day. That honor belongs to supper.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it suits my mood.” She winked at him. “Now hurry up, please. We have crimes to foil.”

  “In a moment, dear.” He had The Times open on the chair beside him and between over-sized mouthfuls of sugary pastries he would scan entire pages of the paper.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular, or just reading for the sake of it?” Bettina asked.

  “I’m looking for something about Kaiser’s prison break,” he said.

  “The Minister said she squelched it with Warden Meier,” she replied. “So I doubt you’ll find anything. Why? Have you found anything?”

  “No.” Arjuna folded the paper and tossed it aside, and hunched over his plate. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Not if the Minister handled it.”

  “But that’s just it. She said Kaiser paid off more than a dozen people to help him and he walked right out the front door,” he said. “Think of all of all the people involved, all the witnesses. The warden couldn’t possibly shut them all up. And you know how the editors at this rag work. They’ll print anything, even a rumor. Why isn’t there even a single line in here about Kaiser? Someone must have seen something, and someone must have said something.”

  Bettina pursed her lips in thought. “You’re right. But I don’t have an answer for you. Now hurry up, please.”

  “Yes, dear.” He winked at her.

  They finished breakfast, paid the bill, and stepped out into the harsh glare of the early morning sun. Theirs was a quiet neighborhood of modest brownstones and family-owned shops, a district that had escaped the wrecking balls and bulldozers of the Steel Era, when so many architectural relics had been torn down and so many gleaming skyscrapers had been erected in their place. Today, the Alzig Corner remained a quaint reminder of Eisenstadt’s more colorful past, before the rise of the steel barons and the new aristocracy.

  Bettina adjusted her hat and slender black sunglasses, and glanced across the street. A small park divided two clothiers’ shops, and through this green gap she could see clear out across the city, over the bright waters of Lake Sherrat and between the dark outlines of the steel towers of industry, all the way to the eastern hills where the sky was blazing with cold pastels around a white sun. And silhouetted against that rising sun was Inselmond, the drifting isle.

  It hovered there, roughly one mile above the countryside just beyond the outer suburbs, simply floating in the sky. The great mass of earth and rock had been studied for centuries, first by the naked eye and later with telescopes, and once there had even been talk of building a grand tower that would reach all the way up to it, but no such vision had ever been realized and the drifting isle had remained, as always, out of reach.

  Inselmond presented a slightly lumpy outline and most scientists agreed that there were grassy hills and living trees atop the isle, but with most of the view obscured by the extreme height of the mysterious object, little else was known, though much was guessed.

  Bettina had no time for guessing, and no reason to, either. The drifting isle had drifted in the skies of Eisenstadt for a thousand years, circling the city every half century or so, slowly dragging its vast shadow, known as the Drift, across the city every day, often plunging whole streets into a dim twilight until it passed.

  Arjuna stepped into the street and raised his arm, and a moment later the sleek Ministry autocarriage rumbled up and stopped in front of the café.

  “Good morning, Mister Oster,” Bettina said as Arjuna helped her up into the passenger compartment. He climbed in beside her and slid open the window so they could see the side of their driver’s young face.

  “Good morning, ma’am, sir,” Oster said. “Where to?”

  “Black Hill, please,” Bettina said. “The south gate, I should think.”

  “Black Hill it is.” Oster put the carriage into gear and the steam engine roared a bit louder as the vehicle accelerated up the lane and out of the quaint little neighborhood. They dashed across one of the older parts of the city that had also survived the Steel Era, but with far less grace and care. The houses were crumbling, the streets were pitted, the yards were overgrown, and no people were outside at all.

  “I don’t have many negotiating tactics for dealing with birds,” Arjuna said. “If I’d known you were serious about this, I would have picked up a few extra muffins at the café.”

  “That would only work if you were trying to bribe a sparrow, dear, and sparrows can’t speak to people, only to other birds.” Bettina gripped the handle as the carriage rattled over yet another pothole. “But not to worry. I think our feathered friend will talk without much coaxing from us.”

  The carriage crackled to a halt on a gravelly stretch of road and Bettina glanced out at the grassy lawns outside. Black Hill was quite still and silent.

  Good. No funerals this morning.

  She opened the door and climbed down, and without waiting for her husband she set out across the cemetery, hiking up a shallow incline with the help of her cane and weaving gracefully between the leaning and chipped headstones until she came to a small mausoleum in the shadow of a massive old willow tree. She stopped well back from the tree and read the name over the little crypt: Lange. She had no idea who the Lange family had been and suspected that no one else alive did either.

  A flutter of black wings in the tree drew her gaze upward and the glare from the sun made her squint as she peered into the waving green willow wands that drooped nearly to her feet and swayed gently in the morning breeze. There were at least a dozen ravens roosting in the cold, dark shadows of the tree, and she suspected there were many more where she couldn’t see them, but where they could see her.

  “Good morning,” she said loudly. “My name is Bettina Rothschild. This is my husband, Arjuna Rana.” She gestured to the ma
n walking up to stand beside her. “I believe one of you was following us last night through the city. We would like to speak with that raven again, if you please.”

  A low cawing filled the willow tree as the ravens shuffled about on the branches and whispered to one another. Then a rather small one of their number swept down to a lower branch, one who had no rumpled feathers or damaged beak, and it said, “Why do you think it was one of us?”

  “Convenience,” Bettina said. “I only know of three murders of ravens in the city, and the other two are on the far side of the lake. That leaves you.”

  “Indeed,” the little raven rasped. “And why do you care if a raven follows you or not?”

  “We are detectives with the Ministry of Justice, investigating a case, looking for a person of interest. I was hoping that this raven might have some information for us.” Bettina squinted up into the shadows of the willow, searching for the ragged creature she had spoken to last night.

  A second black bird swooped down out of the tree and came to perch on the roof of the mausoleum. His bent and torn feathers shuddered in the breeze, and when he turned to look at the two detectives, the gouges in his beak gleamed brightly. “Took you long enough,” he croaked.

  “If you were in a hurry to speak with us, you might have simply come to us,” Bettina said. “So, Mister Scratch, would you care to tell us why you were following us last night?”

  “My name is Kray,” he rasped.

  “Old ravens with scratched up beaks who lurk in the shadows, speak cryptically, and then force me to come find them in a cemetery in an unseemly part of town are called Mister Scratch,” she said calmly. “Now, about last night.”

  The bird raised his wings and shrieked at them, but then settled back down again and shuffled his feet on the stone roof. “I’m looking for a crow. Goes by the name of Ripper. He tore me up, him and his friends, caught me alone, almost killed me,” the raven said. “I want him dead.”

  “We don’t work for birds,” Arjuna said. “If you have a problem with a crow, then you need to take it up with your parliament, not ours.”

  “I don’t want a hearing,” the raven snapped. “I want blood. I want Ripper dead. He’s been killing ravens for years. Parliament doesn’t care. What are a few dead ravens to the eagles and owls? We’re just scavengers to them. Carrion eaters. There’s no justice for us.”

  “Is that all?” Bettina asked. “You followed us around all night because you want to hire us to kill a crow for you?”

  “Hire you?” the raven laughed. “You stupid apes. I was following you because I hoped you would lead me to Ripper.”

  “And why would we lead you to your crow?”

  “Because he’s working for your prey, he’s working for Ranulf Kaiser!” the bird raised his wings again and hissed down at them.

  Bettina glanced at Arjuna. He raised an eyebrow and said, “How do you know that?”

  “Last night I was watching the crows. They’re always together, never apart, never alone, never vulnerable. But I watch and wait, hoping to catch Ripper alone so I can thank him for my scars,” the raven croaked. “And I heard them talking about Ripper. The crows do jobs for apes, you know. Usually illegal. The crows said Ripper was gone on a job and wouldn’t be back for a day or two.”

  “I’m still waiting to hear a connection between your friend Ripper and our friend Ranulf,” Bettina said.

  “The crow who was doing most of the talking, he came in with a scrap of paper. Apes leave notes in certain places when they want to hire a crow, and this was the note left for Ripper.”

  “And what did the note say?”

  “I couldn’t see it,” the raven rasped. “But it only had a few words. The crows read it a few times to each other. Every time some new bird came inside, they started the whole conversation over again. Idiots! The note said, Ranulf Kaiser at Bordeim, eight o’clock.”

  “Eight last night?” Arjuna asked. “Where in Bordeim? That neighborhood is huge.”

  The raven nodded. “Must have been some meeting place he already knew from other jobs. I flew over the shops and alleys around eight o’clock, looking for him. But it was pointless. That’s when I got the idea to find you instead. I figured the law would be looking for Kaiser.”

  “But how did you find us so quickly?” Bettina asked. “I saw you just an hour later outside the pub. And the Ministry is keeping everything about Kaiser very quiet.”

  The raven chuckled. “Tell that to the sparrows and pigeons. There’s no end to what a little birdy can tell you, if you can understand what he’s saying.”

  “I see,” Bettina said.

  “Do you? If Ripper is with Kaiser now, then he’s all alone with none of his crows to save him. And if you lead me to Kaiser, then I can have my private little chat with Ripper.” The raven scraped his talons across the marble roof of the mausoleum.

  Bettina considered the old bird for a moment.

  So Kaiser escaped from prison, hired Magdalena Strauss and a dozen thugs to cover his back side, and then hired a crow to help him… do what? It’s all so out of character. The files paint the picture of a mild mannered con artist and paper shuffler, but now he’s running his own little crime syndicate, less than a day out of prison. Whatever he’s planning, it must be massive, and it must be very time-sensitive.

  “Mister Scratch,” she said, “Can you take us to these crows? I think we’d like a word with them as well.”

  “Call me Kray!”

  “I’ll call you what I want, and you’ll like it, or you’ll go away,” Bettina replied. “Now, I’d like to speak to the crows.”

  “Not a chance. They don’t play well with the law. If you show up there asking questions, the first birds they’ll come after is me and mine,” the old raven said.

  “Well, it sounds like our Mister Kaiser is up to something at this very moment, but if we can’t track down him or any of his associates, then we can’t make much use of your information, can we?” she asked. “All we know is that Kaiser hired a crow. But we don’t know why, and we certainly don’t know where to find either of them.”

  “There’s something else,” snapped the raven. “Something that was on the note. I didn’t see the side with the writing, but there was something else on the back. Not writing. A picture.”

  “A picture of what?” Arjuna asked.

  “Not a real picture. A shape. Lines. Like this.” The old raven flapped down to the ground just in front of the mausoleum and carefully dragged his sharp, crooked talons through the dirt to create a group of circles and triangles. And then he flew back up to his perch on the roof.

  Bettina took a few steps closer to look at the crude drawing. “It’s nothing I recognize. A symbol, perhaps?”

  Arjuna frowned at the lines in the dirt. “It was on the back of the crow’s note. A watermark? Stationery?” He looked up at the raven. “What color was the ink? Blue, black?”

  “Red,” the bird croaked. “Red ink.”

  Bettina stepped back. “A calling card? Something to identify the person who left the note?”

  “Maybe.” Arjuna pulled a small pad from his inner jacket pocket along with a stubby pencil and deftly sketched a copy of the drawing on the ground, although his circles were more perfectly round and his lines were more perfectly straight. He paused to regard his work. “It sort of looks like a sundial or clock.”

  Bettina looked at the pad. “It does. We should take this to the cryptography office at the Ministry and see if the specialists can identify it. It might point us in the right direction.”

  “I’m sure they could,” Arjuna said. “But if we show this to anyone in the Ministry, there’ll be records, and shop talk, and questions. Someone might put two and two together and figure out what we’re doing. Hell, with all the gossip down there, Brandt might even figure it out.”

  She turned her back to the raven and asked quietly, “You have an alternative?”

  Arjuna grinned. “Always. We can find a private cons
ultant of our own. There are other experts outside the Ministry.”

  “The University?”

  “Exactly,” he said.

  “A wonderful idea,” Bettina said, and she looked over her shoulder at the raven. “Are you ready to go, Mister Scratch? We’re going to continue with our investigation now, and I’d rather not have you trying to follow us through the streets. You’re not as discreet as you might think. I spotted you three times in the dark last night. Goodness knows how many people, or crows, might spot you in broad daylight. And I can’t risk one of them reporting on our progress to Mister Kaiser. So, if you please.” She gestured to the path.

  The old raven peered across the cemetery at the autocarriage waiting down by the gates. “Damn apes and your damn machines. Fine. But only to get to Ripper.”

  “I’m so glad you agree,” Bettina said.

  Chapter 5. A Pleasant Lunch

  It was only a forty-minute drive from Black Hill Cemetery to the central campus of the University of Eisenstadt, but Oster was forced to pull into a garage to refill the autocarriage’s boiler with water and the hopper with coal. And after that delay they found themselves idling in the city center while a pair of overturned produce wagons were righted and hauled off the street and their smashed fruits and vegetables were cleared out of the way to allow traffic to get through.

  They were still only halfway there when their feathered friend grew agitated and demanded to be let out, and Arjuna opened the window to let Scratch take to the air, to follow them as discreetly as he could. By the time they arrived at the University, Arjuna was sighing loudly and glancing repeatedly at his pocket watch.

  “Yes, dear, it is approaching lunch time,” Bettina said. “Shall we eat now, before we go in search of our unsuspecting symbology consultant?”

  “No,” he sighed. “I’m fine. Let’s just go and get on with it.”

  “If you say so.” She glanced out the window. “It’s been years since I’ve been here. It hasn’t changed at all, though. I suppose we need to decide who to ask first.”