by William Ray
It was a familiar tactic—having failed with superior bluster, the manager was trying to restart their conversation on more equal footing now. If that failed, the manager would be reduced to interacting with the stiff formality used with someone approaching his master’s social graces. It was an awkwardness inherent in service positions. Those in service had to exercise authority over their lessers and submission to their superiors, but not everyone came clearly labeled.
Having held, or at least pretended at, all sorts of positions on the social ladder, Gus knew that an equal had the best chance to get more conversation out of the manager’s sort. He gave the man a sympathetic nod, then gestured for the manager to lead them inside. Buoyed by his successful flirtation with the cook, Gus did his best to exude confidence—he would play an equal but one backed by authority.
The manager hesitated. An inspector from the Crossing was really just a spy for the crown, and the man might get in trouble for admitting him without more of a challenge. Then again, if the manager were resistant, an inspector would just come back later with an unseemly host of uniformed officers, and then the manager would find himself in trouble for not allowing something more discreet. With a defeated exhalation, the man stiffened his back and made the conclusion Gus had hoped for.
They stepped past a housemaid and a footman who stood idle by the back door, and the manager led him through the servants’ passages into the house proper. “My name is Garnick, by the way. I’ve been with Mister Saucier for over twenty years now, and, well, we’ve never been more worried for him.”
They strolled through a wide hall lined with paintings and pedestaled objects of art. Everything was in the Modernist style, with flowing, surreal contours and images of nature in emulation of the lost works of the Elves. Some details were strikingly realistic but surrounded in complex abstract patterns and swirls. While he didn’t find the fad as objectionable as traditionalists seemed to, Gus typically suspected Modernists were just including their fanciful flourishes to conceal mistakes.
Modernism was not the only theme present in Saucier’s choice of décor. Nude and nearly-nude men with long flowing hair posed awkwardly in forest glades or amid strange swirls of color. Statuettes of similar style and subject matter were also highlighted, liberally scattered among decorative boxes. The columns they sat upon had over-wrought insect themes, which Adelaide had once explained was part of the movement’s naturalist motif. Emily just called it creepy.
The abundance and intricacy of it all left the large house feeling cluttered and crowded. Remembering his conversation with Norville James, Gus said, “I’d heard he told some people he was headed to an art show?”
Garnick nodded and replied, “Yes, sir. That was his plan. We packed a week and a half’s worth of clothes for him, which he took to the station.”
A week and a half worth of clothes narrowed down the list of likely destinations. An art show wouldn’t be in some small town, and Verinde’s next most likely location for such a thing would be Oulm, which was only a few hours away by train.
Outside of Verinde, Piago was only a few days south by train but was known more for its beaches than its art scene, and so close to Rejju, Gus suspected it was likely a socially uncomfortable place for a man of Saucier’s apparent inclinations. There were several places in Garren, but that trip took several days by train each way, meaning that a trip of only a week and a half would leave him very little time at his destination.
“In Khanom?” Gus asked as if he knew and were only seeking confirmation, although it was only a guess.
Garnick nodded glumly. Khanom seemed to be where everyone was going these days. Gus had never been to that booming city on the southern edge of Aelfua, and though he knew that they had industry and money, he still always pictured it as a collection of the sort of ramshackle wooden buildings he had seen in other frontier towns while in the army. Clearly there was more to it.
Looking around the hall, Gus asked, “Is there a writing desk or something where he handles his correspondence? Or does he do all that from work?”
“Upstairs, sir. If you’ll follow me?”
Desperation had probably made the man more gullible than usual, and Gus felt a twinge of sympathy. Unless Saucier left more cash on hand than most, the house’s coffers must be nearly empty after such a long absence. Garnick no doubt needed his master to return soon, or else he and the other servants would not be paid. With the crowds on the street outside, they had daily reminders of how hard that next engagement would be to find. Gus wondered if Garnick would be in trouble for letting him in once Saucier returned.
Garnick led Gus up the main stair and into his master’s private quarters. Within the master bedroom itself sat the writing desk, the top rolled up, and the surface strewn with various letters that his household staff were clearly forbidden to touch, given how orderly the rest of the room appeared.
One letter sat atop the rest at the center of the desk, and Gus stepped over to get a better look. It was a short, perfunctory note, despite its fancifully flowing script written in a dark green with an unusual metallic sheen to it:
Dear Mister Saucier,
It has been months since we met in Khanom, but I recalled with much fondness our discussions on art and your love of the Modernist styles. A friend is opening a new gallery and asked me to invite potential patrons. I will forward a sample of the works to be exhibited. The first showing will be on the 12th, which I fear will only be a few days after you get this letter. Please wire if you plan to attend, and someone will meet you at the hub.
Yours,
D.M.
“Any idea who D.M. is?” he asked, but Garnick shook his head.
A small box sat nearby, near enough to seem related, so Gus tipped back the lid. There atop the wood shavings in which it had been packed sat a shimmering golden token. From small loops extended the heads of two stags butting heads with their antlers intertwined.
Ignoring Garnick’s indignant gasp, Gus reached down to pick it up. It wobbled in his fingers, and Gus quickly realized the thing had two pieces; the intertwined antlers formed a clasp connecting two sides of whatever went through those loops. A small belt, perhaps.
“Oh, please do be careful with that!” worried Saucier’s man, but Gus ignored him and focused instead on the golden clasp. It was too light to be gold, and gently pressing at the intricately sculpted antlers, he discovered it was too stiff as well. Holding it closer to the window, he saw the color was slightly off, and just to tease Garnick, Gus lifted it up and gently bit onto the metal.
The man gasped in horror, so Gus laughed and held it out to show no harm had been done. “It’s not gold; it’s elfsteel. I’d need much better teeth if I wanted to bite through that.”
Garnick gingerly took the buckle from him and inspected it, then sighed in relief to see that it appeared unblemished. “It looks like gold.”
Gus chuckled, then nodded and said, “Well, in better light you can see the color is slightly more yellow, and of course it’s much harder. Since the Elves couldn’t touch iron, they figured out how to make this stuff instead. When they left, they took it with them too, except for those pieces that were already in someone else’s hands. There weren’t too many of those, so to the right collectors, it’s worth far more than gold.”
The house manager laid the buckle reverently back into the box and replaced the lid. Seeming surprised by Gus’s ready expertise in the subject, Garnick said, “How do you know all that?”
“Friend of mine wanted to be a history professor,” he said, leaving it at that. If this had been mailed from Khanom, or anywhere else in Aelfua, it was also a legally complicated piece to be in possession of. After the unexpected disappearance of the Elves, Elven treasures found in those lands had special rules. While Gus supposed there were ways around those laws, he also knew documentation was important, and he doubted D.M.’s letter would be sufficient.
Gus glanced over the other missives on
the table but didn’t see anything else in a matching hand and certainly nothing else with that shimmery green ink. The others he could read were fairly pedestrian invites to events here in town and what appeared to be some family correspondence concerning the health of an elderly uncle. “You’ve heard nothing from him since he left for his trip?”
“No, sir, not even a wire that he had arrived and been unpacked, which is unusual for him. He often leaves something behind at home—a letter or a particular ornament he neglected to have us pack. He almost always sends a request to have something forwarded to him on the next train.” The poor man was fretting with his hands, and Gus suspected the man was beginning to reconsider having invited this stranger into the house.
Gus nodded and looked at the letter again, “Any idea what he was up to, the last time he was in Khanom? That might help me find this D.M. Did he talk with you about his trip?”
Garnick frowned as he pondered the question but eventually replied, “He only went on business before. Most recently he made a presentation to their Exposition Council and was confident he had won the Council over on financing. I recall no mention of any D.M., sir.”
“If I were to guess, I’d say it was a woman’s hand. Is it possible he met anyone over there of romantic interest?”
The manager fidgeted a bit, then in a pained voice replied, “Sir, he … is not the romantic sort. Strictly confidentially, we’ve always assumed he will, uh, remain a bachelor.”
Grinning a bit at Garnick’s discomfort, Gus considered at least one of his suspicions on Saucier confirmed. “I see. No chance he ever mentioned or ever did business with one Miss Aliyah Gale? Dark haired woman?”
“No, sir, that name is not familiar to me, I’m afraid. I would know it if she had ever come here, and I handle his private post and have never seen the name.”
Gus glanced down at the table again, scanning for her name among the scattered letters across the top of the desk, but nothing caught his eye. He wanted to fish through them all for more hints but thought Garnick would draw the line at that without a more formal show of the authority Gus didn’t actually have.
Gus nodded and to Garnick’s apparent relief announced, “I think that’s all I can get from here. If I get any notion of Mister Saucier’s whereabouts, I’ll be in touch.”
Garnick nodded and led him out again and down the stairs towards the foyer, apparently discomfited enough by the entire situation that he absentmindedly led Gus towards the front door instead of the back. Or perhaps he just had a higher opinion of the social station of inspectors than Gus did.
Although he hated to give himself away, particularly with Clarke as the one working the Crossing’s investigation, Garnick represented too good a resource to pass up. Gus dug into his coat pocket for a calling card; Emily would complain again about the pennies spent on cards, but it seemed worth the gamble. “If you hear anything before I get back to you or think of any additional details that might help, please send word to my office. Anything at all might help me locate your master and hopefully Doctor Phand as well.”
Garnick took the card, studied it for a moment, and then paled as he read aloud, “Inquiry agent?” The man’s face reddened in mounting outrage, his mouth moving as he struggled to formulate it into words. “You’re not with Chandler’s Crossing? I only told you all of that because I thought you were with the police! What’s this all about?”
Gus smiled and held up his hands in surrender, trying a bit of disarming charm. He was better at that with women than men, but he wasn’t sure what other approach to take, and anything new Garnick might find could be vital. In an apologetic tone, he said, “I’m sorry if that wasn’t clear. Doctor Phand was kidnapped, and that someone may have Mister Saucier as well. I’m just here to help and make sure everyone’s safe.”
Garnick glared at him and down at the card, looking not the slightest bit mollified by Gus’s explanation. Emily would definitely begrudge him the cost of that card. Whatever decision the man might have announced next was interrupted by a heavy rapping upon the door. Scowling, he muttered, “Can’t they see all the cards out there already?”
A fist insistently hammered at the door as Garnick looked about for the footman who should be answering it. After one last accusatory glare at Gus, the manager stepped forward and started to open the door himself and was then pushed back as a familiar plain-clothed inspector stepped inside without further invitation.
Detecting-Inspector Clarke looked Garnick over a moment and then announced, far louder than necessary, “Sir, we are with Chandler’s Crossing, investigating the disappearance of Doctor Edward Phand, and I have a judicial writ allowing us to search the premises. Is Mister Saucier at home?”
Garnick sputtered a bit, looking to Gus and then back to Clarke with a mixture of confusion and indignation. “What? Another? This gentleman just let me believe the very same thing! Do you have any sort of credentials?”
Clarke smiled, looking more than happy to demonstrate that he did as he reached into his pocket and produced a slip of paper, which he held before Garnick’s face. As he did, the inspector gave a sharp whistle, and the door behind him was flung wide by a press of bodies dressed in the crisp olive and gold of the Gemmen police.
Without pausing, they swarmed past the startled manager and throughout the house. Shocked Clarke had caught up to his own investigation so quickly, Gus watched the police spreading into the house, and he wondered what they had been told to look for. It had to be something concrete; Ollie Clarke himself wasn’t always the sharpest investigator, but the uniformed police he commanded were positively dense and useless without an obvious target.
Garnick looked entirely dumbfounded by the sudden invasion and stared blankly at the writ Detecting-Inspector Clarke held forth. There was no way for Gus to slip out this time, but as a matter of professional pride, he hated to let Clarke think he had the upper hand. Putting on a swaggering grin, an expression full of confidence he didn’t feel, Gus called over, “Saucier’s not here, Clarke. Been missing a while actually. You boys are slow as usual.”
The inspector turned a baleful eye to Gus, and his mouth curled in an unpleasant smile. “Mister Baston,” he intoned, emphasizing the ‘mister’ to Gus in that way Clarke always did, which Gus never quite understood. “You seem to be getting to all sorts of places early. Suspiciously early.”
Gus forced his lips to maintain their cocky upturn. He had no idea what Clarke might know, but giving the inspector any sign of unease would doubtless make things worse. “Nothing suspicious about it, Inspector, it’s just the sort of sharp investigatory talents my clients pay me for.”
The grin that elicited from Clarke sent a chill down Gus’s spine.
“See, now that’s the kind of sloppy detection we expect from you freelancers. Investigating a crime two days before it happens is actually quite suspicious.” Snapping his fingers at one of the boys in uniform, Clarke continued, “It’s nice of you to save me a trip though. Bind him up, Jerry. Mister Baston, you are under arrest. We’ll arrange a ride for you down to the local constabulary, and when I have time, you and I will discuss this further from there.”
The ‘when I have time’ seemed particularly ominous. Without formal charges, Gus would sit in a cell until Clarke decided he’d had enough or Emily managed to figure out he was being held by the law, find out where, and then send over a petitioner. That could take her days, depending on how loyally obstinate Clarke’s men were.
Panicking at the thought of prolonged confinement, Gus blurted out, “What? No, I was hired by Missus Phand before the kidnapping! Now I’m just chasing the reward she offered!”
Clarke waved off his objections, and Constable Jerry DeRime, Clarke’s usual gap-toothed crony, roughly bound Gus’s hands together and shoved him out the door.
Outside, the vagrant crowd had gathered into a wide semicircle around the front of the house to watch the proceedings. Gus was sure nothing pleased them more than seeing
the police rush into a well-to-do home and haul out someone in irons, and as they emerged Jerry received a round of applause for his capture. Had Gus known he was to be arrested, he’d have worn something shabbier, if only so the crowd would take him for a house-breaker rather than a bank swindler or other loathsome profiteer.
Playing it up for the crowd, Jerry gave Gus a kick towards the waiting carriage. The constable driving leaned down to give Gus a hand up, but Jerry would not wait and shoved him roughly inside where he tumbled to the floor between benches. Climbing over him, Jerry took a seat and slammed shut the carriage door.
Gus’s leg ached from the rough handling, and he grimaced as he levered himself up onto the bench opposite. Seeing his discomfort, Jerry gave an almost-apologetic smile in response to Gus’s glare, then shrugged as if to let him know there had been nothing else to be done under the circumstances. The crowd outside continued to cheer the arrest and only quieted down as the man up front cursed at them and drove his horses forward.
~
“Art Sale Concludes”
The sale of the second portion of the great collection of pictures and works of decorative art belonging to the Duke of Gonlin, and brought from Gonlin Palace in Oulm, was conducted by Messrs. Christie, Manson, and Woods at their rooms on Young Doe Blvd., Old Park, on the 5th, 6th & 7th. Many fine pictures by the Garren masters were sold; and six of these were bought for the National Gallery by Mr. Gilmot in his current role as acting director, and by two of the trustees, Mr. Pullman and Mr. Wilson, at very moderate prices. We shall give some further illustrations of this collection and of Gonlin Palace.
– Gemmen Standard, 8 Tal. 389
~
- CHAPTER 10 -