by P. S. Power
As long as they didn't ride on the trains.
That part had taken a lot longer to put together than anyone had thought it would. They'd known about the murders for weeks, but the locals had been resistant to the idea of them coming in and taking over. It was like some kind of bad cop movie. All the different branches of law enforcement jealously guarding their territories like dogs. There was even some real growling and teeth gnashing, if you were willing to count fairly polite ribbing to be that.
Gwen decided to do that, as she walked and Bethany followed nearly on her heels. Agatha wasn't the kind of person you wanted to keep waiting after all. There was just something about her that made you want to please, even if it didn't make sense. It was probably some kind of magic. If so it was pretty unique, but that had been in her lesson books. Sometimes people showed up with abilities that no one had ever seen or heard of before. They weren't really new powers, since there were basically only the five that humans had. It was more that some people's brains had just found new ways to use those five basic things.
She almost started to review them all in her head when they got to the Telestator room. It was sort of like a telephone, and an old fashioned one at that, because every call you made went through an operator. At the moment Ethyl was standing in front of the polished wood table, from which five dowels stuck up, all the same color of shining gloss. On top of those were five lead colored balls, all just slightly larger than a grapefruit. Her right hand was on the center one, her nails buffed, but not polished.
"Ah, here they are now Agatha. Gwen dear, I was just talking about your party idea. I was hoping that you might add some of your ideas to it? You mentioned some unusual guests?"
That was more than a little leading, and she had to grin. This time it was a bit forced, but she meant it to be. It was about two in the afternoon, if she had it right, and that meant that Agatha Longbranch was on the air. Live. Ethyl wasn't going with her plan, but a new one. Gwen knew it and after a few seconds could feel her combat linked precognition kick in, even though there was no fight happening. It was an ambush, and involved people, so her subconscious mind might just take it that way.
It was a habit nearly as old as she really was, and a good twelve years older than the body she was in.
"Oh, yes!" She sounded bright and cheery suddenly, since slightly miffed or not, you went with the plan that was happening, unless it was an awful idea. "I'm thinking that we should have the Westmorlands over. Some of those trained to Rift. After the events in the Capital, it will be good for people to understand that we have people that can do that on our side too. Also that they aren't dangerous. Not unless called upon by the King to do their duty." She was nearly done, but something made her look at Beth and then start speaking again. "I was also thinking that it might be good if Martin Cordell could come. We had a rather unfortunately tense time the last we met at a party, but I'm hoping to smooth things over."
That got a raised eyebrow from Beth, but it was followed by a smile. Cordell was one of the leaders of the national Westmorland hate group. One of them at least. Ethyl stiffened at the mention of the name, which was fair, since the man had tried to ruin her last birthday party. Mainly by calling Beth a whore, several times, in front of about five hundred people. He'd said something similar about Gwen, but that memory was actually one of the more pleasant ones that she'd had of being insulted by anyone. After all, saying she was a whore kind of implied that someone would want to have sex with her, didn't it? No one had ever said that about her before, back in her own world. She'd been called a monster, an abomination and even a demon, but whore had been a new one to her.
So it surprised her a bit when her Westmorland friend chimed in.
"Yes, I was thinking to ask if he wished to attend with me? We've met, but I'm afraid I've been remiss in keeping in touch with him."
That got Agatha to go silent, since trolling wasn't a thing she'd probably ever had to deal with. Not on her rather polite and proper show. She rebounded amazingly though, Gwen thought.
Perfectly, or nearly so.
"Wonderful! Well, it's rude to ask to be put on a guest list, so I won't mention it directly, but everyone at home, please note how my voice is cleverly trailing off now..."
Gwen moved in a little closer, "naturally we'll be inviting you, Agatha. This will be in a few weeks, since Beth and I have to go off on assignment in the morning. We could also invite King Ferdinand and The Marduk. I'm sure they'll be too busy to attend, but we're on good terms. That's the polite thing to do, right? Extend the invitation?" She should probably ask the other world leaders too, just in case. It wouldn't do to insult them. The Empress of the Chinoise was a person that she'd seen once after all, after being stabbed in a room full of insane people that were trying to open a gateway to the voidic planes. That, as she'd learned about half a second later, was a horrible idea. The woman had lived however, and might be up to doing something by then.
That left the Prime Minister of Europa. She'd seen him too, in passing, but wasn't really sure which sacrifice he'd been. That one was alive too, she'd heard. It couldn't hurt to ask, but he wouldn't come. The Western Kingdom and Europa rather famously didn't get along, and Debussey and her crew had blown up their Capital too.
Things were tense there, because it was clear that they didn't really believe that a small group of people had done it. They were, if covertly, blaming Ferdinand.
If you only knew of one gun existing, and you got shot in the night, it would be kind of natural to jump to conclusions, wouldn't it?
There was more chatter then, that lasted about fifteen minutes. Agatha was polite, but socially manipulative, which was a thing that Gwen couldn't match, so she ended up agreeing to invite several high society people, ones that they were all certain would want to come. When the line broke, without even so much as a goodbye being said, Ethyl smiled.
It was sort of fierce.
"There. That should show them. If I support you in having a bizarre set of guests a time or two, and let people know about it, then people will attend and I can write the whole thing off to your youthful exuberance. People will come, as you said, to see Lizzy Farris, and at the same time, still be attending at my home, served to our normal standards." She looked nearly smug for a bit, and Beth nodded far more happily about the idea than she'd seemed before, but then the older woman froze in place, her eyes going slightly wide suddenly.
"Or, I mean, if you don't wish me to put it that way, I can back out now. We can claim that you're working, since you mentioned that..."
It seemed genuine, but that didn't mean much. Gwen didn't let her slight irritation show, or let herself seem sullen.
"Whatever works for you, mom." The woman had asked her to use that form of address before, though, honestly she'd said to call her mother. They all knew what the word meant for some reason. It was a part of their culture that Gwen hadn't seen yet though. Everyone else used either the full word or mum.
That didn't keep Ethyl from beaming at the moment however. She actually moved in and gave Gwen a little hug.
"Thank you dear. I know that I shouldn't have presumed like that, but it was such a good idea. Mine that is. Yours wasn't horrible, but I do think that it might not translate perfectly to this social climate. People are being a bit conservative right now, after everything. Shall we set it for three weeks from now? I can start on the planning and invitations. We can hold it in the main gardens, I think." She nearly walked off then, as Beth and Gwen stood there, looking at her as if bemused by her antics.
It was good to know that Gwen wasn't the only one to feel that way. Sometimes it really seemed like everyone else was on the same page all the time and she was the one constantly outside, standing by the window and looking in, like a Dickens' street orphan. Alone.
Not this time, since clearly Beth had no clue what to really make of the older woman at all either. Shared confusion was still sharing.
It counted.
She waved at the woman
and then moved over to the door, gesturing for Beth to come along.
"We've packed, right now we need to get to practice, since we don't know when we'll be getting another chance. We'll contact you on the telestat every few days or so, if possible. If not, I'll send letters. I know, letters are the polite way to do it, but really, how many repetitions of 'We're on a train. It's nice. Not dead yet.' do you really want cluttering up your desk?" She had one of those. A great writing desk, and actual filing cabinets, all made of wood. Those were mainly for social correspondence. The business normally went to Robert's offices.
Wherever those were. Gwen needed to learn about that. Not that she planned to take over the business or anything, but that kind of thing was a lot more family oriented here, and if she was going to claim to be part of theirs, she had to pull her own weight. She was nearly certain that idea had come from a movie or television show, but it made sense to her. It might even make some to the people on the Telesar that thought that the evil Vernors were basically holding her hostage.
The latest bit that she'd caught, a few days before, had it that they wanted an heir and were planning to force her into a marriage to make sure one was provided. Oddly enough, the public had seemed to be split on that one, as far as she could tell. Half of them were shocked at the idea, and mortified that it would be suggested by anyone. The others mainly flipped their hands up and said that it sounded like they were taking their parenting duties seriously, which was the proper thing to do, if they weren't going off to prison for their daughter's crimes. For their part, all the Vernors had ever really done was suggest that some nice, very eligible, young men could be contacted, if she were so interested. True, Ethyl had, on several occasions, tried to sell that idea pretty hard, but it always seemed to be fairly playful when she did it, rather than a demand or ultimatum.
That was good, since Gwen was pretty certain she'd be an awful wife. After all, all she knew about doing that involved some online porn and sit-coms. That wasn't the best battle plan for a lifelong commitment.
Also, she thought of marriage as needing a battle plan, apparently.
Still, it wasn't that pressing, she didn't think. A lot of girls that had any kind of career in mind didn't get married until they were older. Nearly twenty-five or six even. It was important to pick correctly, since you had to know the right people to ensure you could have an annulment. Divorce was, she'd found out some months back, a real thing here, but you had to go to court and most weren't granted. Not even for spousal abuse. It pretty much had to be cheating, and even then, a lot of judges would make people live together for years before letting the paperwork go through, in case they could work things out.
She walked and thought at the same time, noticing that Mrs. Vernor had actually followed them a way down the hall, and looked like she wanted to add something. What that would be, Gwen had no clue. Something about the party, most likely.
She stopped and turned, smiling. They still had to change for the practice to come, since they'd sweat, and doing that in the dress she was wearing was to be avoided if possible.
"Mother?" She used the word again, which got everyone to freeze for a moment, since it hadn't been that common for her lately. It felt a little odd, but Ethyl smiled and batted her eyes, which were starting to water a bit.
"It's only that Robert and I got a rather unusual letter last evening. It's probably nothing, since those with money are often targeted for rather vile threats at times, but I was wondering if you and Beth might look at it? I didn't want to bother you with it, but Winslow suggested that we use the resources available, and since you're both rather fine detectives..."
Gwen snorted, then covered her mouth.
"Beth is a Detective. I'm more in the side-kick category, but I'd like to look at it. Normally such things would be run by Con-Sev, I think. Unless it was posted locally? Then the local Constabulary would get it. In my world we have a division like that at least. But, we are here, which has to count as it being at least polite for us to look at, in case it's nothing. We wouldn't want to waste those other agencies time. Not right now." The very odd thing there was that she really meant it. People were still reeling from the rifting of Worthington, which would have been the same as Washington D.C. being nuked.
The population here was smaller over all, but it had been a major city and nearly a million people just stopped existing a few weeks ago. Dead. So fast that even someone trying to teletransport out, which was normally considered instant, wouldn't have made it. They weren't even tabulating the monetary cost of the damage. The lives were enough. It was one of the most evil things to have ever happened on their world. Worse, it had been an act of pure and real terrorism. Doctor Debussey and her freak helpers had used the fear generated to try and open their gate to the plane of the Elder Gods.
Bethany however gave her a smile that, while very subtle, seemed to indicate that Gwen had said something wrong. It was hard to tell, because her words went in a very different direction than that. Maybe she was just wrong about the expression? That happened. A lot in fact, even after a year.
"I have to agree with that assessment. After we look at it, would you be open to us handling the issue for you? We might need to report it to others. Is that permitted? For that matter, will we be allowed to look at the content of the letter? You mentioned it being vile, but if it contains delicate facts, we'll understand if you wish to keep it private." Bethany sounded very professional suddenly, as if they'd been called in by some random couple to see to things for them. Possibly in secret? That...
It was all right there, wasn't it? In her own words. At least if you looked at them right. Ethyl had come to them, instead of the constabulary, or the Continental Service, which was pretty much the FBI for this place, for a reason.
Beth's words got a soft sigh and a slightly prim look from her.
"I'd rather hoped to avoid the letter being read by anyone. It's," there was a pause that took nearly five breaths. Gwen counted, staring at the woman the whole time. "Well, it's not a dark letter, but it contains a threat of, well some rather vile things. Against you, Gwen."
Then she shifted.
"You, as well, Beth. You might find it distressing. I did and my name wasn't mentioned at all. Robert's name was the one on the outside of it, but he opened it after dinner, when we retired to the sitting room."
That would explain why Gwen didn't already know about it then. She'd gone off to practice her precognition skills. It wasn't a fun program she was on, but it wasn't pure torture either. That would apparently come later. In fact, Beth had nearly promised that. Westmorland super-soldiers, or even their detectives, weren't people to play around with things like that, it seemed. That was, of course, the biggest understatement that Gwen had ever made. About anything. They were balls out crazy when it came to whipping her into shape and didn't think that a spot of torture to keep a body motivated, every now and then, was a bad idea at all.
Everyone else would, if they knew about it, so it was kept pretty much a secret. Because, as everyone knew, when you had a problem with your society, the best thing to do was to hide it and lock it away in a deep vault, so that no one would ever find out and try to fix it. The Westmorlands didn't get a choice in the matter, and she didn't think that it was really her place to correct an entire culture on something like that. Not yet. She was searching pretty hard for a rationale, to tell the truth, but nothing had occurred to her yet.
She'd gotten what amounted to the training that little children had done to them, when they were about nine or ten. If they were Westmorland orphans. She still had nightmares about it, waking up in cold sweats and fearing the pain. Nearly as much as she feared the tentacles that might rip a hole in space and carry her off to the void. That last bit was worse, but it was only that greater fear that let her keep up with the training. The kids didn't get any choice at all, and by the time they were adults, the Westmorlands all thought it was more or less normal, and had to follow orders. That included torturing child
ren, and the cycle just kept going.
The letter was in Robert's office, which was a nice and manly looking space, with a lot of brown wood and leather, with a new brown throw rug in it. The man himself wasn't in, but the letter was laid out very properly, with the envelope it had come in next to it. That was the first thing to look at.
She didn't touch it, since there was a small chance that they could get a reading from it, either using their skills, or with one of the forensic devices that Doctor Grainger, from Western University, had built. She'd paid for them all, which cost a goodly amount in the local currency. Each one had the rough value of a very fine Lorrie, which was what they called their wagon-car hybrids here. Expensive, top end, lorries.
Looking at it though, she noticed the first clue right away. It was the postmark.
"From Aubry?" Gwen let her finger point at the red stamp, and both Beth and Ethyl looked at it. From the quick intake of air coming from the other two, that was correct. Ethyl's was louder though, and she groaned softly.
"Oh, please no." It was a bit too plaintive, that early into the investigation.
Then, she'd read the letter.
Which was next up on the list, however, when she got to the threat, she very nearly laughed.
"Wait, this is a threat to out us as gay? I mean, we aren't, but that isn't a very good threat at all. Do you care about that Bethany?" She looked at the woman, who flipped a single palm up. That, Gwen knew, was different than a double palm flip and meant that she actually didn't care. The double was a bit more sullen and pushy, Gwen thought. Manipulative. Beth just couldn't be concerned with that as a threat.
"So that's not going to get a lot of traction. If anyone tries it, I'll just march forward and say that it's absolutely true and let the Newsies have at me for a while. It would be a good way to take some of the heat off of you and Robert, if nothing else."