by Giles
“A very nice touch madam. Schleswig-Holstein has been in German hands for some five years but I suspect a man of the Baron’s purported character would indeed still think of it as Southern Denmark. Bravo!”
Tash made a half courtesy to the gentlemen. Half mockingly but half in appreciation for the compliment. “You’re as ready as you can be Colonel. Let's get you to the bridge.”
11:20 am
Sankt Jakobs Gate District
Copenhagen, Denmark
The man sat hunched over the small desk in the corner of the room he had claimed as his office. The dull scratching of the quill on the paper could scarcely be heard above the fading howl of the wind, and his travel fatigue made writing all the more laborious. But if he didn’t make a fresh report soon his masters would be less than pleased with him. Finishing his own summation of their progress he sat back in the leather upholstered chair with a sigh, wishing he had some brandy. Once again, he read back at the most disquieting entry in his agent’s last message:
“...I shall be glad to finish this dishonorable business. The subterfuge begins to sit ill with me. If not for Phillips we likely would have drowned on the way!”
Drumming his fingers against his temple the man thought on what he had read. The words had been innocent enough but there was a disquieting trend to Jade's communiqués that had begun to concern him. A fact he had been careful to gloss over in his own report. Would that the Marshal had granted him a little more time to put his teams together. Jade had all the qualifications his mission required but he was still inexperienced in the ways of espionage. Now that the initial thrill of deceiving the British had worn a little thin; the man was allowing himself to get involved emotionally. Emotions were always a mistake in war, be it with words or deeds, he thought. Marshaling his thoughts he began to compose his reply:
Dear Jade,
Gold has agreed to ease our way still further, after I made the right donation, we shall now reunite in Copenhagen.
Like you, I would rather meet all my foes in open battle, however the British people deserve this lesson in humility. Let that comfort you Jade. We do what we must for our country and not out of personal rancor to the individuals we must deceive. Some may indeed have honor, but we must sublimate that to the greater good of the Empire and do our duty as soldiers.
Your friend,
Marquise
Setting the quill down the agent known as Marquise shook his head. It might be that Jade was beginning to lose his nerve. He was an extremely competent officer however, his high mindedness was always a potential weak point in the grand plan to deceive British intelligence. Watching the last of the ink dry he clicked his teeth in frustration. How many times he wished he could have taken that aspect of the mission himself. But his skills were better served behind the scenes for now in the planning and orchestrating of the grand deception. “And had I done so Phillips would have seen through things in an instant!” He inadvertently exclaimed aloud.
“Sir!” His aide replied, leaping to his feet and coming to attention as if he had been summoned. He had nearly fallen asleep sitting in his chair in the corner waiting on his master's orders.
“No matter, a random thought Renaurd. I have a message I need to telegram to our mutual friend Jade.” He replied folding the now dry sheet of parchment and getting to his feet. He held out the paper to Renaurd.
“Is all well Sir?” The aide asked after noting the irritation still resting upon his superior officer’s brow. He gingerly accepted the folded paper.
“Well enough.” Marquis replied meeting his aide’s eye for the first time. “This ‘Carstares’ it seems is proving to be more intelligent than I first assumed. I think that we will have to intervene. It was not in the original plan to risk a meeting with any of the occupants of the Soul of Discretion. But now...now it has become clear to me that this Colonel Carstares must be thrown off of our scent, permanently.”
“Will you ask the LensBaron, I mean Gold, for another favor Sir?” The aide asked boldly. His superior rarely aired his plans aloud; perhaps at last he was becoming a worthy confidant to this master spy.
“No, I already owe our vainglorious ally too much as it is. I suspect Renaurd, that we will need the rifle, subtlety will have to wait on expediency here.”
“Open murder will arouse the authorities here in Copenhagen, Sir. Is there no other way?”
With his last question Renaurd had stepped just a hair too far for his commanders likes. “If another way presents itself I shall find it! But for now cease your questioning of my orders!” He thundered, slapping the man hard across the face.
Embarrassment warred with naked rage on Renaurd's face as he took a step back from the officer. His hand darted toward his saber's hilt for a moment; but catching himself he changed the motion into a salute. “Yes, Major Gaspe!”
Gaspe looked the man up and down noting with a degree of evil satisfaction how enraged the fellow was. Good, if he can be provoked then he is not yet ready for further trust, but perhaps that fire could be put to good use. “Tell me Renaurd how well do you use that saber?”
Nonplussed the younger man blinked twice then rallied and declared proudly. “I was regimental champion, Sir!”
“Excellent! Then you have solved my problem. You will challenge this middle aged English pig to an honor duel. The authorities will be slow indeed to interfere in a matter of honor.”
Renaurd still angry at his disrespectful treatment managed to smile savagely back at his superior. “It will be a pleasure Sir. And I suppose that during the duel I might slip and accidentally skewer this meddling British dog, yes?”
“Yes indeed, accidents will happen. You will do very well Renaurd, very well indeed. Now send my message to Jade. It seems that I now have some new details to consider.”
With another, more genuine, sharp salute Renaurd turned and left him to his plans.
Major Gaspe flipped open his half written report once more. This was a message he would have to send personally and not entrust to Renaurd. The fiery young officer was a shade too likely to open and read it right now. Besides it is always prudent in such games as this to remain two steps ahead of one's enemies and at least one step ahead of one's allies.
The telegraph office in Copenhagen was a bold affair of brass ornaments and dimly glowing electric lighting. Gaspe surmised they were trying to project the look of technical competence. However the slight flickering of the lamps indicated to him that the Danish scientists had not yet found a way to stabilize the current when their trans national telegraphy system was in operation. While no scientist per say the Major had long ago found it useful to stay abreast of the developments in the new frontiers of learning. Airship technology had piqued his interest first making his transference to the newly formed Air Surveillance Corps a natural career choice.
Waiting in the line for the next operator he cast his eyes about for anything new or unusual; a habit that had helped him escape detection many a time. No individuals seemed out of place to his practiced eye but a garish poster managed to attract his attention just as the telegraph operator waved him forward.
"Next!" the odious dwarf of a man rapped out.
Smoothly Gaspe deposited the coded report in front of the operator. "Send this post haste Sir" he replied urbanely.
The operator squinted a the message title and addressee. "This will be expensive Sir in light of recent tensions..."
"Do I look as if money is an object to my wishes Sir!" With a calculated arrogance Gaspe flipped open his cloak and fished out the golden pocket watch in his waistcoat. Depressing the catch the ingenious device hissed open with a minute puff off compressed gas. Armstrong Klein powered devices were not easily made so small. The possession of one would mark him out as a man of means; assuming this fellow was not more than, say, half as stupid as he looked. Thankfully the operator took the hint and set about transmitting the lengthy report to his Marshal’s false address.
Returning to the poster Gaspe
read its headlines. “Der Thurm zu Babel” as performed by the Joachin Kornfeild Opera Company, coming to the Royal Theater Copenhagen for its first performance outside of the German principalities. Privately he was not a fan of German composers as a rule but Wagner was the exception. Apparently the great Herr Wagner was working upon a grand epic. Should this business finish on time, he would make plans to actually see it. But this operatic offering? Pah! He had more pressing matters for his attention.
He was about to dismiss the poster entirely when a line of small print near its end caught his eye. Here among the listed sponsors of the troop was that hated name "Starblower Ltd." With growing amazement he saw that they had supplied the opera troop with their footwear. Smiling to himself he took the dates of the up coming performances down in his pocket note pad. What would be more natural for a contingent of one of the sponsors to spend an evening at one of their own events, he reasoned. And if they did not plan to attend, he had a thought on how to get them there. A public forum like that would be an ideal place to engineer a confrontation between Carstares and the impetuous Renaurd.
“Sir? Your message has been dispatched.” The gnome like telegrapher announced.
“Good” he grunted in return and snatched up his receipt of transmission at the same time as he flung down the payment. His agile mind was focused on how best to implement his idea as he turned to leave. But the operator hadn’t finished with him and raised his voice once more.
“Sir! Herr Gaspe! A moment please! It seems you have a message waiting for you. Please wait while I transcribe it Sir!”
A message? So swiftly? But from whom? Gaspe wondered. Tapping his foot impatiently on the ground he checked his pocket watch once more. Not because he needed to, but out of a sense of theater for anyone observing him.
Impatiently grabbing the proffered message paper; he scanned it rapidly.
++ MARQUISE THEY PLAN A DECEPTION. THE SHOPKEEPER IS POSING AS THE PATRON OF THIS SHIP WHO IS INJURED. SUGGEST REVEALING THIS TO CAUSE THEM TO BE DETAINED AT THE OPTIMUM MOMENT. ++ALABASTER++
Interesting, so the elusive ‘Mr. Starblower’ had declined to personally intervene in this affair, had he? Evidently the English money grubber had had enough of the crown agents dragging his assets across Europe. The Major could appreciate that, maybe there was a chance of dealing with this Starblower another day. The implication seemed that he was more interested in his own comfort and desire than helping his country.
Alabaster had made a reasonable point. Unmasking such a deception might ground the Soul of Discretion just where they needed it to be. But why was he making the report at all? Jade should have passed this on post haste or at least commented on it before detailing Alabaster to send it. Gaspe was worried, indirectly it was another indicator that the worthy Jade was losing his focus, he had to be extracted as soon as possible. Before he became a liability to the success of the whole operation.
In any event, it provided a stronger opportunity for the idea he had just begun to consider. If ‘Starblower/Carstares’ was invited to the Theater where an altercation with Renaurd ensued...then the resulting confusion might be just the distraction he needed to retrieve his men. It would be an added bonus to see Carstares struck down while ignominiously posing as another man. Not to mention that the initial reports of ‘Starblower’s death’ would send a minor shock wave through English financial world. This in turn would further destabilize the British Empire’s ability to act in the coming European conflict. Gaspe did not bother to stop the evil smile spreading across his face as he left the telegraph office and added another task to his list.
An hour or so later he exited the grand frontage of the Royal Danish Theater with a very satisfied smile. The reservation of two boxes had cost him quite a bit, but the cost would be doubly worth it. He just wished he dared to attend himself to watch Renaud carry out the insult that would lead to the duel.
All that remained was to draw the players together. Despite what he had said previously to Renaurd it seemed he would have to avail himself of Gyldenfeldt once more. Perhaps he ought to give Renaurd the task of informing the baron his services would be required? It would be a salve to Renaurd's ego and make the junior officer think he was far more important than the pawn he was.
It was a pity that the crew of the Soul Of Discretion was getting suspicious of his maneuvering this soon. On a high note though, Gaspe had to admit to himself that the the over all plan had developed far beyond his expectations. Never the less it was still going to be tricky getting Doctor Nordstrom from here to Hamburg. That was where he desired to make a great show of revealing him as a defector. That city’s international reputation ensured that the great powers of Europe sit up and take notice. Oh how embarrassing for British! Especially when the, would-be rescuers of the Discretion were just a short way behind. How sad that their failure would be writ large upon the world’s stage, and with them just far enough away to be completely helpless. Such an ending to this subterfuge would be the perfection he was striving for!
Striding into the small rented apartment Gaspe shared with his men; he cast off his coat at Corbin who was the first to respond to his dramatic entrance. As the man fumbled with it he bellowed; “Renaurd! Attend me!”
The would be duelist entered the apartment’s hall-way from a side bedroom, his face far too bland to be anything other than furious at such an abrupt summoning. Perfect, Gaspe thought, now to exalt him when he is expecting more incivility.
“Ah Renaurd, I have thought again about your suggestion. I want you to compose and dispatch a missive to that Danish slug Gyldenfeldt. Tell him to direct our pursuers to accompany him here to Copenhagen. I don’t care how he does it but it is imperative that he and our tenacious shopkeeper Carstares attend the opera upon this date.” Gaspe thrust the reservations into his aide’s hands.
Renaurd glanced at the elaborately engraved paperwork in his hands. “We shall be attending the opera Major?” He queried, his face and tone still perfectly neutral.
“You, Sir, at least, shall be. I suspect that the occupants of the next box will draw your attention and in due course your sword, yes?”
Renaurd smiled as he read the other names on the reservation list. “Oh, yes Sir, I think there is likely to be a regrettable misunderstanding given the nature of this gathering.” He replied with a just a hint of satisfaction entering his tone. “What of yourself? Will you not be there for the performance?”
“As much as I would like too, I shall be otherwise occupied. I think it is time to retrieve Jade and Granite from their cover.”
“That is sooner that you desired, is it not Sir?” Corbin commented hanging the Major’s greatcoat on the stand by the door.
“It is somewhat, but I think we are sufficiently close to ‘der fatherland’ to achieve our goals. The confusion surrounding the death of a fake Phineas Starblower will strand the Discretion for some time. ”
Renaurd looked puzzled. “A fake Phineas Starblower Major? Whatever do you mean?”
“The devious Colonel Carstares is, it seems, masquerading as the owner of the Soul of Discretion. Whatever his reason for this, it provides us with an even greater opportunity to distract and discredit the British government. Deal with him for me Renaurd, then we can make our way overland almost to the very border before they get underway once more.”
“Overland would be the less conspicuous route Sir. But Phillips is known to be creative...” Corbin commented to his superior.
Gaspe clicked his teeth together thoughtfully. It was true that eliminating Carstares would take the brains from the British operation but as his man observed, Phillips was present, and the damned man was uncommonly lucky. How he had escaped the ‘malfunction’ that had been arranged for his ship was an infuriating puzzle! Had the devices Gaspe planted worked as desired, Phillips should have crashed after ditching his bomb load onto Rurberg during the International Air Competition. Gaspe never trusted to luck, but he recognized it as the whore it was, always ready to change
the dice unexpectedly.
Gaspe shrugged. “Very well, pass the message on to our crew in Maribo to have the “Amerie” fueled and ready. If Phillips manages something so that we need speed rather than stealth we shall have it available to us, ja?” He said a shade ironically.
“As ever Sir, you have every angle covered.” Renaurd stated a trifle sarcastically.
“Careful planning is all, gentlemen.” Gaspe agreed holding Renaurd’s eye. His second was a potential rival for certain now. No matter, let the man plot all he wished and let Jade have his pangs of conscience, if either of them survived the next few days, they would see that they were still just pawns. As was everyone else in this carefully crafted intrigue.
About 11:30 am
Aalborg,
Northern Denmark
Jerard and Fred stood in the forward observation bubble in nearly identical poses; both were standing with legs slightly spread, arms akimbo and looking down between their feet. Their hats were nearly touching, making it obvious to all that the Captain and the Navigator had worked together for a very long time. The absurdity of their pose was not lost on Mr.. D’Arcey as a small sad smile graced the Frenchman’s face. So too was Mr.. Wallace watching closely, albeit for different reasons.
“No you’re right Fred that's just too risky to land there even with the lateral props dropping us right down. Waterside landing it is.”
A wide grin split Mr.. Wallace’s face. “Aw c’mon Captain! ah kin do it!”
“Of that I have no doubt Mr.. Wallace. However I doubt the local traffic will appreciate it very much. Have you ever seen a horse react to something as large as an airship hovering over it’s head?” Jerard shook his head, trying to hide his own grin. “Not a pretty sight lad!”
