“Because he sent you away to protect you,” Slaughter said. “If he had not loved you, he would not have cared.”
She shrugged. “What will you do now?”
“Continue looking for traces of your father’s life in Paris,” he replied. He told her about the official government file. “If Inspector Roget had not kept your letter, I am sure I would not know about you either. Roget suspects the hand of MEDUSA in the sabotage, and I fear now he may be right.”
“I wrote the letter shortly after his disappearance, but I had no real hope of help from the police.”
“Inspector Roget seems to me a good man and a conscientious officer of the law,” Slaughter said. “Had the case not been taken from him, I feel he would have made progress.”
“Or been killed for his efforts against MEDUSA.” Then she looked at him sharply. “You will be careful, will you not?”
He grinned. “I am always cautious.”
“I want to go with you,” she said suddenly.
“Go with me?” he asked, startled. “Where?”
“Wherever you go in your investigation.”
“Out of the question.”
“I can help you.”
“I will do fine on my own.”
“I know Paris better than you, and I know all my father’s old haunts, where he went and what he did,” she asserted.
“You didn’t know about the flat you found me in,” he pointed out. “And having followed me there, you thought I had departed.”
“But I…”
“Please, Marie, leave this investigation to a professional,” he urged. “I catch murderers, thieves and all sorts of blaggards as my life’s work, and I do it extremely well. Let me know how to contact you, and I will try to keep you informed of my progress.”
She shook her head vehemently. “If I cannot accompany you, I will continue on my own, as I have done these several months. On my own, I learned of MEDUSA, have traced much of my father’s movements, found out about his death, and learned of your actions. This may not be, as you say, my life’s work, but I will not abandon my efforts.”
He started to forbid her, but the expression in her eyes told him that would not be the best action. “It could be very dangerous.”
“I know of MEDUSA,” she replied. “It is already dangerous.”
He gazed at her thoughtfully. She was strong-willed, he had to give her that. He had no doubt that if he did not avail himself of her knowledge, she would strike out on her own.
“You have to do whatever I tell you,” he admonished.
She nodded.
“And not interfere with my investigation.”
Again, she nodded her agreement.
“There is one other thing,” he said after a moment, his tone even and serious. “You must not let personal feelings overwhelm you, no matter what.”
“I will not,” she promised.
“It will be difficult.”
She shook her head. “If there is to be revenge, I must be cold.”
“Very well,” he agreed.
“Oh, thank you!”
She placed her hand over his, and this time he forced himself not to pull away. She smiled, patted his hand, grasped her bag with both hands, and leaned slightly forward.
“What shall we do?” she asked, her voice suddenly low and conspiratorial. “I will help you any way I can.”
“Tonight, I am to meet a man named Forgeron in the Pigalle District,” he said. “Until then, we will look for traces of your father in places you know of. Guide me, Marie, but let me take the lead.”
"Bien sûr, M. Slaughter,” she agreed. “As you wish.”
After paying their bill at the riverside café, Ethan Slaughter and Marie Poulpe walked along the bank until they saw a passing steam-cab and hailed it. Almost as soon as they turned away from the café, a short man in a long coat rose from a table and followed after. He also hailed a steam-cab, trailing after them at a distance.
* * *
“I don’t do business with humans!” snarled Phylus-Zant. “And I do not talk to them either.” He glared at Sergeant Felix Hand. “And the only savages I have anything to do with are the slaves I take pity on.”
Hand started to surge toward the merchant, who immediately leaped back. Captain Robert Folkestone grabbed Hand by the shoulder, but did no more than arrest his forward motion.
“Keep that…that savage away from me!” the merchant cried. “Look! He’s already getting orange in the face! That’s the battle lust coming on! You know how Highlanders are, Captain Folkestone.”
Folkestone saw on Hand’s face the half-smirk that Phylus-Zant was too terrified to see. Sergeant Hand was having far too much fun at the fat Martian’s expense to work up any of the berserker rage that was legendary among the Highland Martians. According to Hand, however, the inborn battle rage of his race was almost a thing of the past because of what he termed an overdose of civilization.
“If you don’t start cooperating with us,” Folkestone warned, “I will let go, and Sergeant Hand can ask the questions he wants to ask, however he wants to ask them.”
“This is wanton brutality,” Phylus-Zant accused. “You humans pride yourself on civility, but you’re no better than Highlanders.”
“Let me go, sir!” Hand snarled, putting a little spittle into his words for good effect. “Take a walk! When you get back he’ll be squealing like a harpooned whale-crab.”
Hand struggled, almost slipping from Folkestone’s grasp.
“I’ll report you to the Consulate! The Admiralty! I’ll report you to the Court of the Red Prince!” the merchant screamed. “I am a very important man in Syrtis Major.”
Folkestone loosened his grip. Hand started to rush forward, but Folkestone grabbed him again.
“All right!” Phylus-Zant gasped. “All right! I’ll tell you want you want to know. Just get him away from me.”
Folkestone whirled Hand around to face him. “Sergeant!”
The Martian struggled mightily and made incoherent sounds.
“Sergeant!” Folkestone shouted. “Listen to me!”
Hand stopped struggling to escape but stared wildly.
“Go to the outer office,” Folkestone instructed. “Calm down. Wait for me to come out. Do not kill anyone. Do you understand?”
“Make him give you his knife, Captain,” Phylus-Zant urged.
Folkestone put out his hand, palm up.
Reluctantly, Sergeant Hand passed him the Highlander knife, which was often taken for a short sword by outsiders. Then he left the chamber.
“You humans are mad, consorting with wild beasts like that,” the merchant accused.
“You have Highlander slaves,” Folkestone mentioned.
“And I never ever let them get drunk or near anything sharp,” Phylus-Zant replied. “All right, I said I would answer any questions you have, and I will, so let us get on with it. It’s bad enough that Baphor-Ta is pestering me with all his nonsensical questions about my business practices, and now you want to know about that beastly murder…if murder is what you want to call it.”
“It seems everyone wants to call it a murder,” Folkestone said. “Except you.”
“Well, like I told Baphor-Ta, it was only a human.” The fat Martian grinned. “No offense intended.”
Folkestone knew the response dictated by polite society, but he also knew that people like Phylus-Zant throve upon such automatic responses. They allowed him to act in a most vile and offensive way while forcing others to take the burden for his invectives. Had not Baphor-Ta warned him, he would still know the type.
“Yes, well,” Phylus-Zant stammered into the uncomfortable silence. “My opposition to the human occupation of my planet is well known, but do not feel your race is singled out. I extend that feeling to all offworlders.”
“It is hardly an occupation, especially with the British, more of an alliance or partnership,” Folkestone pointed out. “If Mars had been an uncivilized or uncultured world
, the Great Powers of Earth could have come as colonizers, even conquerors, but such was not the case, was it? Instead, it was more like two civilizations meeting on more or less equal footing, just as we were forced to approach the African cultures after the Alexandrian Diffusion.”
“If you say so,” Phylus-Zant said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I do not concern myself with the petty histories of other planets. Rather like being concerned with dynasties of voles, or the chronicles of the caloths, wouldn’t you say?”
Folkestone suppressed a smile. Prior to this visit, he had read the report submitted by Baphor-Ta regarding his initial interrogation and the one following, which centered upon Phylus-Zant’s trade in untaxed goods. Folkestone had an advantage over Baphor-Ta. He was not of Phylus-Zant’s race, and the Martian merchant had a self-imposed ignorance about most things human, so there were far fewer emotional levers he could pull. Folkestone, however, knew Mars and its inhabitants very well.
“Were you surprised when you saw the dead man in the canal?” he asked.
“What kind of question is that?” Phylus-Zant demanded. “Of course I was surprised. I was shocked. I was terrified. And it was also a terrible inconvenience. I was in the midst of my morning invocation. If you knew anything about…”
“I am sure the eternal gods of Mars, the benevolent gods, the lords of the horizon were quite annoyed,” Folkestone interrupted. “No god appreciates a case of invocationem interrupto.”
“Are you mocking the gods of Mars?” Phylus-Zant demanded, his face flushing. “I will inform…”
“I would never mock the gods,” Folkestone assured him. “But let us keep our attention focused on the crime.”
“Very well,” the Martian grumbled.
“I did not ask if you were surprised to see the body,” the human continued. “I asked if you were surprised to see the man.”
“I do not understand the question,” the Martian replied.
“It’s an easy enough question, Honorable Phylus-Zant,” the Captain rejoined. “Were you surprised to see the man floating in the canal by your boat?”
“I already told you…”
“Not the body, but the man,” Folkestone snapped. “When you looked down from the deck of your boat, were you surprised to see Professor Jean Luis Poulpe?”
“I can’t tell one human from…”
“Did you look down with dismay that he was not going to pay to have supplies brought in under the scrutiny of the authorities?”
“I never…”
“Or did you chastise yourself for not collecting the entirety of the money for the warehouse in advance?”
“I have no idea what…”
“We recovered receipts from Poulpe’s room involving the Zant Trading Company,” Folkestone said. “You should never have left a paper trail leading back to the House of Zant, but I suppose business practices become ingrained after awhile.”
Phylus-Zant started to protest, but fell back into his chair, let his gaze fall, and heaved a gigantic sigh. It was like watching the hull of a non-rigid airship collapse. He was a beaten man, and he knew it. He buried his face in his hands, and when he looked up his blubbery cheeks were stained with pale tears.
“All right, I knew the human, but it was purely business, just a transaction of convenience,” Phylus-Zant admitted. “Poulpe needed mechanical and chemical supplies brought in from Earth and Venus, and I had the means to bring them through customs without any inspection.”
“You don’t deal with offworlders, according to your records,” Folkestone said. “And your own assertions.”
“I know certain…people,” he said hesitantly. “They have the offworld connections that I don’t. I use them to get certain native products to Earth, Venus and the other worlds.”
Folkestone nodded. He knew that probably meant relics and other artifacts taken illegally from the old cities. The British worked closely with the various Courts of Mars to suppress such activity, but there were too many ruins on Mars to keep watch on them all the time. The relics were highly prized offworld, so much so that tomb robbers were willing to risk twenty years in Her Majesty’s prisons, or death if caught by any of the Temple patrols.
“Oh, you have dug yourself a very deep hole indeed, Phylus-Zant,” Folkestone murmured. “Baphor-Ta will…”
“No!” Phylus-Zant cried. “You cannot tell Baphor-Ta what I share with you. I am cooperating with you, Captain Folkestone. I am helping you investigate the murder of that poor unfortunate man. Is that not worth your gratitude? Your pity?”
Folkestone stared down at the desperate man. If he were to tell Baphor-Ta what he had learned from Phylus-Zant, the fat merchant would be lucky if he ended up in prison, but he would not wear the broad arrow. Phylus-Zant’s crimes violated Britain’s interplanetary trade laws, but as a Martian, a citizen of Syrtis Major, Phylus-Zant came under the sole jurisdiction of the Court of the Red Prince. If the religious orders did not succeed in petitioning for his death, he would likely spend the remainder of his days in an eight-foot by eight-foot stone cell, taken out periodically for excruciation. It was a bleak prospect, reflected in the Martian’s eyes.
“If you answer all my questions truthfully and without further evasion, you might earn my gratitude, if not my pity,” Folkestone finally said.
“If not your pity, then I will certainly accept your gratitude,” Phylus-Zant said. The wretched man’s eyes glittered. “And what form would your gratitude take, Honorable Captain?”
“You should worry about earning it first.”
Anger flashed in Phylus-Zant’s eyes and he opened his wide mouth to protest, but the fire died and he snapped his mouth shut. He was in no position to protest or bargain.
“Ask your questions, Captain Folkestone,” he said. “I will tell you whatever I can.”
“What did you know of his work at the warehouse?”
“Nothing other than that he was using it for storage,” Phylus-Zant replied. “I suspected he was using it as a workspace, but my agents never reported finding any trace of it.”
“You never inspected the warehouse yourself?”
“I do not involve myself directly with any of my properties, in Syrtis Major or elsewhere,” the Martian answered. “With Poulpe, I did not deal directly with him at all, except for an initial meeting where certain financial arrangements were agreed to. After that, I left all meetings to a clerk, a slave-clerk only, and as infrequently as possible. I liked the money my deal with Poulpe brought me, but I truly do not like dealing with humans.”
“What was Poulpe importing to Mars?”
“Again, Captain, I must plead ignorance, and that is the truth,” Phylus-Zant said. “I did not want to know. Poulpe provided lists of what he needed, but my clerk was only an intermediary to traders with offworld connections.”
“I will need the names of those traders.”
Phylus-Zant hesitated, then shrugged. “Since the House of Zant is going out of business, one way or another, it does not matter if my partners love me or hate me. I will provide a list.”
“And your clerk.”
“Ah, there we may be out of luck, Captain,” the merchant said, “This morning, Alza-Lo vanished. He was sent on an errand and did not return.”
“I am in no mood for…”
“No, it is quite true, Captain,” Phylus-Zant protested. “When he did not come back, his quarters were searched and his route to the marketplace was traced back. He was not found, he never reached his goal. I have already reported him for violating his indenture.”
“That seems convenient,” Folkestone pointed out.
“No, Captain, it is most inconvenient,” Phylus-Zant retorted. “If I must leave all this behind, Alza-Lo is the one possession I must take with me. As a scribe and administrator, the commercial slave was priceless. And utterly loyal to me; he lived to serve. A fellow Lowlander, you understand, not like those Highlanders I employ out of civic responsibility.”
Folkestone shook
his head.
“Captain, I promised I would tell you the truth, and I am,” the Martian insisted, totally misunderstanding the reason for the British officer’s incredulity. “Having already told you enough to get my head separated from my body, I am hardly going to lie about a piece of property.”
“Have you ever shipped cargo to the Asteroid Belt?”
“The Belt?” Phylus-Zant laughed. “Hardly. There is nothing on Mars that anyone out there wants. Hardly a bastion of culture, you know. The only thing they import is that wretched segir from Venus. Now, exports from the Belt? Rare metals occasionally, but, again, only through intermediaries who want to use my distribution network to avoid customs.”
“The canal villages and the overland caravans.”
Phylus-Zant nodded. “Just so. Old ways are often the best.”
“What do you know about Pandora?”
“The myth or the asteroid?”
“The asteroid.”
“Nothing, except it’s a big rock,” Phylus-Zant said. “Poulpe once asked Alza-Lo about shipping to and from Pandora. We could arrange it, he was told, but nothing came of it, nothing to or from.”
“What is MEDUSA?” Folkestone asked.
Phylus-Zant stared at him, eyes wide.
“What is MEDUSA?” Folkestone repeated. “And I do not mean the mythological creature.”
“What…what is…” Phylus-Zant stammered. “Where did…how did you come across that name?”
“Just tell me what MEDUSA is.”
“It is very dangerous to…”
“If you want to keep my gratitude, you best not…”
“No, I do not mean it’s dangerous for me, Captain,” Phylus-Zant interrupted. “I am already doomed and thoroughly damned, no matter what you do for me. I mean, it is dangerous for you to bandy that name about. I keep that name in the darkness of my heart, and wish there was a way to remove it, but to actually let it escape your lips, even in a private chamber like this…a knife between your ribs, a bullet in your brain, poison slipped into your sherry by someone you thought a friend. Most dangerous indeed.”
“MEDUSA,” Folkestone insisted.
Phylus-Zant sighed. “Very well. If you want to join me in my damnation, I will assist you. It is a rumor, a whisper in a dark place. It may be a person or an organization, no one can say. It is the force behind most successful crimes on a half-dozen planets and moons. It is the unseen hand that can kill a man who thinks himself hidden. Poulpe thought himself hidden, and look what happened to him. As soon as I saw it was him, I knew he had not escaped MEDUSA. That was one of the reasons I was so evasive when Baphor-Ta first questioned me. I needed time to destroy the records linking me to Poulpe, but, obviously, I could do nothing about what we had given him.” He sighed. “And the warehouse. Once I heard it was razed, I knew it was inevitable my holding company would be traced back. I had already planned my departure before you arrived, but my plan was to take more than the robe on my back and a slave.” He looked at Folkestone. “I will still be able to depart, won’t I? I have earned at least that much gratitude, have I not?”
Amidst Dark Satanic Mills (Folkestone & Hand Interplanetary Steampunk Adventures Book 2) Page 15
