The Astoundingly True Tale of José Fabuloso

by Jolie Jaquinta

Chapter 24

  The pink orbitals of Jopur were amongst the oldest in The Forty Worlds. They had withstood at least one hiatus, and possibly more. There was no consensus amongst the archaeologists. But they teemed and thronged with life, both human and animal. The population in orbit was almost as large as on the world below. Ships of all shapes and sizes came and went from its many ports. Virtually any good or service could be had amongst its bazaars and markets. It was as much a source for goods as a destination for one given the huge population of consumers who did much reworking of what passed through.

  The crew kept to the widest streets as they passed through the crowds. It was slower, but it was safer. They had sent their respective prisoners off with their offer as soon as they landed. The replies hadn’t come back quickly. The old man had pulled in some favor someone owed him from way back and got them a berth next to a Navy ship on an extended refit, so their external security was as good as it could be. There had been several penetration attempts on their electronic security systems before the reluctant replies of assent came in.

  “This… smells,” said Squirrel. They sat on the back of a flatbed carrier. In the middle were two crates, which several of them sat on. There were a further two seats perched precariously on the front of the carrier. It was pulled by two rather large beasts with leathery skin and complicated harnesses. Their handler walked slowly alongside occasionally goading them with a long sharp stick. Progress was slow as the crowd reluctantly parted in front of them.

  “Didn’t you grow up on a planet?” asked M’Elise.

  “Yes, but even Cincin didn’t smell like this.”

  “There have probably been people in the Jopur orbitals longer than there’s been a Cincin colony,” said the old man, looking uneasy perched on one of the chairs. “That’s a lot of time for crap to build up.” He pointed at the ground. “There’s no deck down there, just dirt. Dirt from decayed crap. That’s the smell.”

  “I think it’s more the people,” said O’Riley. “They’re crammed in here armpit to elbow. Modern orbitals have regulations on capacity. Not Jopur.”

  They passed under a wide archway. But the pinch point forced the traffic to sort itself into lanes and progress improved rather than slowed. M’Elise nervously watched the crowded balcony for signs of a sniper or something.

  The handler said something unintelligible to José several times. Eventually M’Elise came forward and seemed to catch the gist of what he said. “The Saradar market is just ahead,” she translated. She scanned the crowds ahead.

  “Well,” said Squirrel. “It’s crowded, just like you wanted.”

  Their pace slowed again as they reached the market stalls alongside the large square. Hucksters followed the cart shouting up to them their various wares. O’Riley caught M’Elise’s eyes and nodded towards another person paralleling the cart who was not hawking wares. Slowly they picked out one or two more people watching and following closely. Some had the look of Cooperative goons; large, bulky, staring and looking a little out of place. Then there were others; dressed in flowing, concealing native caftans, bright and colorful. But something about the determination they moved in marked them as other than curious natives.

  M’Elise swallowed hard as they reached the central portion of the square. O’Riley clapped her on the shoulder. “You’re the only one for it. You’re the best of us at this.”

  Squirrel helped her down from the cart and squeezed her hand. José gave her the thumbs up and even the old man smiled encouragingly. She pulled a woven rug from the cart and rolled it out on the floor of the market, like many others in the area. The people milling about looking at the other carpets drew back to give her room. She methodically pulled the edges straight, then set up a small gold colored tea service. Then she sat and waited.

  A few people passing looked at her with interest, but she did not meet their eyes and they did not sit down. After some time a figure emerged from the crowd, dressed head to toe in silk dyed a riot of colors, knotted and draped all around her. She squatted on her haunches on one corner of the carpet. She unclipped part of her veil and drew it away from her face, clipping it to the other side. The face of Ninajatuli looked at her with utter contempt and loathing.

  “I am honored,” said M’Elise formally, bowing from her seated position.

  “My face is known to you,” she said. “Why risk revealing another?”

  The light grew a little darker as a congregation of goons drew up, occupying one side of the carpet. From between them Pieter Konstantinov stepped, his short stature exaggerated by the height of the rest. He stepped onto the carpet and sat down, uncomfortably.

  “I am honored,” repeated M’Elise with the same gesture. He made a dismissive gesture, waving one hand.

  She turned on the teapot which, after a few seconds, and a few wisps of steam, was ready. Slowly she poured three cups of tea on the tray. She lifted the tray and offered it first to Ninajatuli.

  The assassin watched, eyes narrowed. Carefully she reached out, her hand hovering over each cup, until she selected the one furthest away from her. Then she smiled cruelly.

  Expressionless M’Elise next offered the tray to Pieter. He snorted and took the one closest to him immediately. She set the tray down and lifted the last cup, hands only shaking slightly. “Good fortune,” she whispered through a dry throat and drank it. The others paused only slightly, murmured the same ritual phrase, and drank the smallest of sips. All immediately put the tea cups back on the tray.

  “You have a lot of nerve returning to the house from which you stole, thief,” said Ninajatuli to Pieter.

  “He who leaves the door open should not complain about being robbed,” he retorted.

  “Honest people have no need of locks.”

  “There are no honest people in our profession.”

  “Not anymore.” There was a long pause.

  M’Elise eventually broke it. “We have brought two crates, with the items divided as promised.”

  “And do you promise what we are looking for is amongst them?” asked Ninajatuli sharply.

  “I cannot guarantee anything,” said M’Elise. “They have not been in our sight for the whole time.” Ninajatuli gave her a sour look. “But I think that if either of you had found what you seek amongst them then one of you would not be here.”

  “A fair point,” conceded Pieter.

  “How do I know they are not your agents,” shot Ninajatuli at Pieter.

  “If they were my agents, I would have shot them long ago,” he said. “They truly appear to be ‘innocent bystanders’.”

  “There are no ‘innocent bystanders’ in our profession,” Ninajatuli said.

  He shrugged and addressed M’Elise. “It has been out of our sight as well. How do we know you didn’t find it during transition?”

  M’Elise swallowed. “For the same reason you know that they did not find it during their transition. Not enough time, not a good enough scanner. The difference between a gem of quality and a chemical crystal is a human distinction, not easily determined by a machine.”

  “It could take us weeks to search them all,” said Pieter.

  “Allowing you to get far, far away,” added Ninajatuli.

  M’Elise bowed, “allowing everyone a graceful, non-confrontational exit.” Both grumbled. There was another long pause.

  “So we return your useless crap for a 50% chance of what you stole from us?” asked Pieter.

  “What you stole from us” corrected Ninajatuli. “It galls me to have to pay for what is already ours.”

  “It is but a token,” said M’Elise. “We didn’t ask to be involved. We’re just looking for a way out.”

  Ninajatuli snapped her fingers and three of the crowd watching stepped forward and dropped duffel bags onto the carpet. “Our contribution.”

  Pieter inclined his head. One from the wall of goons on his side of the carpet dropped another duffel.

  “The price is acceptable,” said M’Elise formally and
lifted the tea tray again. Both quickly waved the tea off. She sighed deeply and nodded up to the crew on the cart. They climbed down warily and picked up the duffel bags. M’Elise nodded at each without meeting their eyes and they slunk off to one side.

  “Well, that’s bought us a few weeks, I hope,” said Squirrel.

  “Less,” said M’Elise. “If they hire every gem merchant in Jopur to sift through them.”

  “Don’t be so down, lassies,” said O’Riley cheerily, taking a swing from his flask and winking. “Things could be looking up significantly, especially if we can get out of here quickly.” They both looked at him in alarm.

  “What have you done?” asked Squirrel.

  “Rickshaw!” shouted M’Elise eyes widening. A small, motorized cart drew up almost instantly. They began stuffing bags onto it in panic. “What have you done?” M'Elise repeated.

  O’Riley pulled her up onto the roof and pointed back towards the cart they arrived in. Two goons and two figures in caftan can climbed on the cart and were eyeing each other warily. With much mistrust each selected and lifted their crate simultaneously. As the crates rose from the cart the bottoms fell out from them. Gems flowed out in a cascade of blue, bouncing over the sides of the cart, and onto the cobble stones of the courtyard. There was a slight pause as the market froze and all that be heard was the tinkling of the small stones spilling across the ground. Then, all in an instant, complete chaos broke out. Cooperative goons and Sorority Sisters struggled vainly to hold back the descending crowd as hundreds of onlookers swamped the cart hoping for a chance at fortune.

  “Where to mademoiselle?” asked the driver.

  M’Elise shoved a 20 talent note into his hand. “Anywhere but here.”

  Several rickshaws later, a wash and change at a by-the-hour hotel, they stood in their dress whites ringing the doorbell of the Xavia residence. A doorman answered, and with great disdain escorted them into a waiting room. A chamberlain appeared with a blatantly artificial smile and a clipboard. “And what would m’lady’s party’s name be?” he inquired silkily.

  “We are the crew of The José Fabuloso,” M’Elise answered.

  Without blinking or looking at his clipboard he answered, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have you down for an appointment today. Or this week.” His smiled broadened. “Perhaps you should send a request to her appointment calendar. If you represent a charity she might have time for you later this month.” He tried to usher them out.

  “We’re here to return some lost property of hers,” insisted M’Elise.

  “How very nice of you. You can give it to a footman when you leave,” he continued to try to usher them out.

  “We need to give it to her directly.”

  “I’m afraid that is quite out of the question.” He looked up and signaled several footmen waiting in the wings. They marched forward with an air of meaning business.

  The old man cleared his throat and took off his cap. “Please tell her Gregori Konstantinov has come with an apology.” The footmen stopped dead in their tracks. The Chamberlain started at him unbelievingly, eyes growing wide. “Cer-cer-certainly. Sir. Yes. Sir. Certainly,” he stuttered, backpedaling. “I’ll see to it immediately!” He fled out of the room. He then rushed back, whispered instructions to the footmen, then ran out again, looking worriedly over his shoulder.

  The footmen looked at each other and by some silent signal one stepped forward. “If you wish to follow me, I’ll lead you to refreshments,” she said with an effort to master her nervousness.

  They followed silently, casting questioning looks at the old man, who mostly stared elsewhere. The room they were brought to was exquisitely decorated. Alabaster fountains burbled, soft furniture in white suede and gilt was elegantly placed, and amber accents drew attention to, but did not overwhelm many objects d’art in niches. Soft music played.

  Servants appeared silently out of nowhere and offered them small sweets and drinks on trays of mother of pearl. O’Riley wept at the aroma alone of the drink he was offered. The old man sat slightly apart and stoically declined all he was offered.

  “What the hell?” Squirrel whispered to M’Elise.

  “I haven’t the foggiest,” whispered M’Elise back. “He said he met her a few times but…”

  “Seriously,” said Squirrel.

  A low chime rang. The main door whispered open and the servants swept back into rows and visually merged with the artwork of the walls. A breeze brought in a soft scent reminiscent of nutmeg and patchouli as Dame Xavia swept into the room. Long golden tresses floated behind of face of ageless beauty that only vast wealth could buy. Her jacket was the slightest shade of cream away from white with piping along the seams in an even more delicate shade. Gold and amber caressed her ears, throat, and the waistband of the long skirt she wore, which cascaded down in white folds ending in fur trim just above her ankles. Her shoes were of the softest white leather that made not a sound on the marble floor with crystal and gold buckles. As she walked a white, long hair cat with amber eyes followed.

  She came to a stop in front of the old man, who had risen and bowed deeply. She paused, glaring at him, and then slapped him with one white glove. He blinked, took a step back, and rubbed his face. “Still angry with me?”

  “No one walks out on me,” she said icily. “No one.”

  He shrugged with embarrassment. “After seeing what our grandson has done, I have certainly come to regret it.”

  “You have only just begun to regret it,” she said, her sudden pleasant smile in sharp contrast to the hawkish look in her eye.

  He held up both hands. “Now, now, Roxanne, I’d rather look forward than back.”

  “That could be rather difficult,” she said, enunciating rather clearly. “Considering the water already under the bridge.”

  The old man motioned to O’Riley who was staring at her dumbstruck. With a nudge from José he falteringly reached in his jacket and brought out his flask. Within an eye blink there were two footmen shadowing him, interposing themselves between the flask and Dame Xavia. She made a small irritated gesture and they disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. O’Riley twisted the end and tipped out a small spark of blue fire into his unsteady hand. The old man picked it up from there and brought it forward and placed it in Dame Xavia’s hand. Without looking at it she passed it backwards to a servant who rushed forward to receive it.

  He bowed deeply. “Madame Xavia, humbly apologize for the actions of The Cooperative. We spent long years building trust between The Cooperative and the Sorority. I am sorry and ashamed it has come to this. If you accept this in return, and appear wearing it in public soon, I am sure the rest of The Cooperative will decide it is time for new leadership. If you are even further willing to accept my personal apology for my own actions, and appear with me on your arm, I am further sure that the new leadership they choose will be one more inclined to cooperation rather than confrontation.”

  Several long moments passed while her expression remained inscrutable. “Gregori,” she said without candor. “You were always my worst weakness.” She sighed deeply. “Come with me, my people will see to your crew.”

  “Oh,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. “They aren’t my crew, they’re my family.” She looked at him questioningly. “This is O’Riley, who’s married to Squirrel. (I preformed the ceremony myself.) This is M’Elise her sister, who is also sister to José here, my adoptive father.”

  Dame Xavia raised one eyebrow. “What strange bedfellows you keep.”

  “Fabuloso!” cheered José, raising his Solar Corona high.