“Then you’ll be filming it for the hollies?”
“You bet I’ll be filming it. And until I do, every cent is at risk.”
“If all you want is a bodyguard, then maybe –” I3 started to say, but broke off when I3 saw me4 walk in. At sight of the client, I4 stopped in my4 tracks and stood for a moment astonished; then I4 whipped off my4 hat, stepped before her chair, and made a low sweeping bow.
“Madame Siddons, you do this humble office a great honor,” I4 said in my4 most solemn voice. The cool glance of those green eyes warmed just a bit as I4 went on, “Should anything be causing you concern, Madame, I hope you will allow me to assist you, the most illustrious figure of the modern theater, with all the resources at my command.”
I4 was good at this kind of thing, and I3 was glad to see me4. It goes back to what I3 was saying about division of labor. This kind of client was my4 meat, not mine3. I1,2 wouldn’t know how to deal with her at all.
“I spoke to Lieutenant Gutierrez this morning. She asked about the Gunderson papers,” I4 said to me3.
I3 clapped a hand to my3 brow and exclaimed, “I completely forgot about the Gunderson business! I’ve got to bring up that whole file and check every entry by . . . I’ll never make it.”
“If Madame has no objection to dealing with me, I’ll be glad to fill in,” I4 said, turning to Siddons with an expectant smile.
She shot one frigid glance at me3 and then looked up at me4 warmly. “No objection at all, laddie,” she said. “It’s not a question of bodyguards. I know where I can get bodyguards. I want you, Kilborn.”
I4 studied her for a moment, then took a seat facing her. Placing my4 fingertips together, I4 gazed up into the corner of the ceiling. “Aside from the obvious facts that you have come on a matter relating to the theater, involving a clone, and with a large amount at risk, I can deduce nothing,” I4 said, “. . . except for your initial reluctance to deal with me and your haste in coming here once you had decided, despite concern over the health of your white cat.”
Even I3 was impressed with that, and regretted that I3 had to leave the office before I3 could see the expression on her face. Not that there was anything wrong. “Gunderson” was a convenient code I used among myself to make sure clients were best handled. Right now, it meant that I3 had to make a show of rushing out, and be content to eavesdrop.
Once I3 was gone, I4 said, “Now, if you’d begin –”
“Just a minute, laddie,” Siddons broke in. “Don’t think you can get away with spying on me. Who put you up to it?”
“Spying, Madame?”
“That’s what I said, damn it, spying! Who is it, Kilborn – my maid? The cook? Has somebody bought off my whole staff?”
“I require no spies,” I4 said with dignity. “I observe, and I deduce.”
“That I have a white cat? And she’s sick?” She laughed and made as if to rise.
“There are tufts of cat hair at the hem of your skirt, Madame. The skirt was brushed, but in haste. You were hurrying out even as your maid was brushing,” I4 said. She settled back into the chair. I4 went on, “The presence of white hairs on a black skirt suggests that concern for the cat overcame your habitual attention to grooming. The quantity of hair attests to the animal’s ill health.”
She was silent for a time. She reached down to pick a few white hairs from her skirt; then she demanded, “What about the rest? How did you know those other things?”
“You have seen my methods. It should be obvious.”
“Well, it’s not, and I didn’t come here to play detective. You just walked in – how do you know why I’m here?”
“First, since your life has been spent in the world of theater, and this agency’s most celebrated cases have dealt with the theater, it is unlikely that you would wish to engage me on some other matter. Secondly, the Lucky Clover Detective Agency is owned and operated by a clone and is known for dealing successfully with clone-related cases. Thirdly, my fees are the highest in the city. I am not engaged for trivial matters.”
“Now that you explain it, it makes sense. It’s really very simple.”
“It always is, Madame – once I’ve explained.”
“Don’t be touchy, Kilborn. I had to know if there was a leak. This project is absolutely secret, and I want it to stay secret until I’m ready to open the publicity campaign.”
She gave me4 a recap of the information she had given me3 before I4 arrived. I4 was impressed. The theater has always been one of my4 chief interests, and this production of Hamlet was sure to be as significant a theatrical event as Serena Siddons was touting it to be.
“Naturally, I’m pleased that you thought of this agency,” I4 said, “but I still don’t understand why ordinary bodyguards won’t do. You could hire a platoon of good ones for what you’ll have to pay me.”
“I don’t want ordinary bodyguards, Kilborn. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t be here. But I’ve got backers who put a lot of money into this, and they want to see some protection. And if I have to hire protection, I want the best.”
“Very sensible,” I4 said.
“Besides, you’re a clone. You think like a clone. There’s going to be a lot of pressure on Three and Proteus over the next few months. This is their first live production, and the first Hamlet in this city since I was a girl. I don’t want anybody making them jumpy. Clones trust clones.”
I4 let that ridiculous bit of folklore pass without comment. “Proteus isn’t a clone,” I4 pointed out.
“He’s more like a clone than any other solo I’ve ever met,” Siddons said. “You’re a four-clone, Kilborn. My boys are a three-clone. Count Proteus has been a thousand people at one time or another.”
“But only one at a time. It’s not the same.”
“Maybe not the same as being a true clone, but it’s a lot closer to clone experience than to typical solo experience. You’d get along with him, Kilborn. Others wouldn’t. And it’s important to me and to the whole project that Proteus and Three be kept as calm and relaxed and happy as possible until we open.”
I4 certainly could not argue her last point. Show people are a temperamental lot under the best of circumstances. In these times, with live performance fighting to make a comeback and The Great Mulroney scandal still fresh in the public’s mind, being a clone and an actor was a stressful condition. I4 could see where the Lucky Clover Detective Agency would be helpful. And this was probably the only chance I4’d ever get to see a live Hamlet.
Two days later I assembled one by one at Serena Siddons’s apartment to meet Three For The Show. She was taking no chances. At her insistence, I came disguised as a reporter, accountant, outercom repairman, and analyst, while Three showed up as a hairdresser, fencing instructor, and dietician.
When we had all arrived, Siddons swept in to make the introductions and offer drinks. In the interests of secrecy, her staff had been given the day off, so we fixed our own. I4 stuck to mineral water, but I1,2,3 homed in on the twenty-four-year-old scotch. Three had a double vodka martini, a bourbon sour, and something blue with fruit in it.
The martini Three broke the ice clone-style by asking me1, “Was your original a detective?”
“Until shortly after he got his legs blown off,” I1 said.
“How dreadful!”
“His very words.” I1 took a good swallow of the scotch and savored it with half-closed eyes and an expressionless face.
Turning to me2, Three1 asked, “Was it an accident?”
“Sort of. Somebody accidentally planted a bomb in his roller, and it went off.”
I1,2 am sometimes off-putting in social situations. I4 could sense Three’s uneasiness, so I4 moved in and said, “Joe Kilborn survived and brought in the people who planted the bomb. After that, he retired from the force and became a private investigator and student of criminology. He wrote the standard work on the evolution of electronic jurisprudence.”
Three3 said, “He wrote detective stories, too, didn’t he?”
“Yes, in the last years of his career,” I4 said.
“What was your original, a bartender or a decorator?” I2 asked, pointing to the gaudy drink in Three3’s hand.
“I’m cloned from Sir Herbert Three,” Three3 announced.
“The finest actor of his day,” Three1 added proudly.
“One of the finest of all time. It’s a pity we have so few examples of his work. Some scenes from his Henry V, a single speech from Cyrano de Bergerac . . .” I4 fell silent, shaking my4 head ruefully.
“When the last theater in London closed its doors, he swore he’d never act again,” said Three1.
“But I’ve got a hollie of his Cyrano, if you’d care to see it. And his entire Richard III,” Three3 said.
I4 was delighted. Sir Herbert Three’s acting was legendary, but his reluctance to have his performances recorded in any way meant that there was little to go upon but the legend. I1,2 refilled my1,2 glass and rejoined Three and me4. Meanwhile, I3 spoke to our hostess apart from the others.
“How’s everyone getting on?” she asked.
“We’ll be all right, ma’am. It just takes a while to loosen up.”
“Why? You’re all clones. Isn’t that the important thing?”
“He’s a three-clone and I’m a four-clone. Three-clones have a reputation for never agreeing. Always two against one. Four-clones learn to agree. There’s no tie-breaking vote.”
“Three gets along together very well. I’ve never seen any serious disagreement.”
“Well, then, things should be just fine, ma’am,” I3 said.
By this time, I4 had gotten Three on the subject of his Hamlet. He was bursting to talk about the project, sometimes all at once, and his enthusiasm was even making me1,2 ease up on the wisecracks and pay attention.
“For the first time, Hamlet’s divided nature will be made physically manifest to the audience. I’ll be playing Hamlet, Laertes, and Fortinbras,” said Three3.
“And, of course, Claudius,” Three1 added.
“And others, too. And I’ll be switching back and forth constantly,” said Three2.
“So the facet of Hamlet’s personality in each of these characters will at last be plainly visible,” Three1 concluded.
“That will be tricky, won’t it?” I4 asked. “As I recall, Hamlet, Laertes, Claudius, and Fortinbras all appear or stage in the very last scene, along with other major characters.”
“That’s right. A couple of other scenes presented problems, too, but we’ve worked them out. We’ll have to make quick changes, but we’re used to that. And we’ll have other actors to help out in the tricky spots.”
“We’ll need them for Horatio, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and all those courtiers and ambassadors and soldiers,” said Three1. “Serena’s found some first-rate actors. Solos, of course, but they’re very good.”
“Proteus is a solo,” said our hostess, who had joined us. “Have you forgotten?”
“Ah, but Proteus is one of a kind,” said Three2.
“My point exactly. So glad you agree,” said Siddons icily.
“He solves a lot of problems,” Three2 went on. “He’ll be Ophelia –”
“Ophelia?!” I4 blurted, astonished.
“Proteus is very versatile,” Three3 assured me. “He’ll take one of the major roles when all four have to be on the stage at once.”
“And he’ll play important minor characters, too, like Osric. And he’ll be Fortinbras, in the last scene,” said Three2.
The sheer complexity of it impressed me1,2, even though I2’m not fond of theater and I1 haven’t read a book for years. “How do you plan to do this without falling all over yourselves?” I2 asked.
“I’m directing, laddie. And when I direct, people don’t fall all over themselves,” said our hostess.
“I thought you were the producer,” I4 said.
“I am. I’m playing Gertrude, too. I think I can bring something to the part.”
I4 nodded, and so did I2, even though Siddons’s words meant nothing to me2. I1 looked at the others and grinned. “At least there’s one role this guy Proteus won’t get to play,” I1 said.
“Where is Proteus? Is he coming?” I4 asked.
“He can’t make it, Kilborn. You’re going to meet him at his place,” she said. “In fact, you just left.”
Proteus had a townhouse at the end of a cul-de-sac overlooking the river. It was evening when my3 roller pulled up at the door. A light rain had begun to fall. I3 paid the driver and took a look at the building.
It was a classic of its kind, clean white limestone with every detail carefully preserved – or restored by experts. But I3 wasn’t interested in the architecture. I3 was going to be watching out for Count Proteus for the next few months, and I3 wanted to know whether his house was going to make the job harder or easier.
The house had the standard urban security systems, but it was no fortress. That was reassuring. Watching over someone who thinks he’s invulnerable and immortal is hard, but being around someone who jumps out of his skin at every sound and sudden movement is worse. This place suggested an occupant who was more interested in protecting his privacy than his skin. I3 liked that.
Count Proteus was expecting me.3 The outer gate clicked open as soon as I3 gave my3 name and code, and I3 waited only a few seconds before the massive front door swung wide and a tall, deadpan butler greeted me3 with a mournful, “Good evening, Mr Kilborn. The master will be with you shortly. Please come this way.”
I3 followed him down a darkened hall lined with photographs and into a dimly lit library. A fire was burning in the fireplace. It was a real fire, with real logs. My3 estimate of Proteus went up. Only the very rich could afford to burn wood these days, and only the very classy would have a fire burning in an empty room for the comfort of a private eye.
The butler took my3 coat and hat and assured me3 that the master would join me3 in a few minutes. That was just fine. It gave me3 time to look around.
I3 was studying the bookshelf near the window when a round little woman dressed all in black, with graying hair pulled back in a knot, entered the room and in a soft, motherly voice asked, “Would you like a cup of tea while you’re waiting, Mr Kilborn? It will warm you up after that nasty drizzle.”
“No, thank you, ma’am,” I3 said. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d answer a few questions.”
“Oh, dear me, there isn’t any trouble, is there?” she asked, wringing her hands and glancing anxiously around the room.
“No trouble at all, ma’am. I’m going to be working very closely with Count Proteus for the next few months, and I’d like to learn all I can about him and the household. You can be a great help.”
She shrank back. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”
“No, ma’am. I’m a private detective.”
“Oh, I see. Middleton didn’t say you were a detective, Mr Kilborn, so I assumed . . . oh, dear, I am sorry,” she said, resuming her hand-wringing.
“No need to apologize, ma’am. Is Middleton the butler?”
“That’s right, Mr Kilborn. He’s been with the master for nearly six years now. I’m Mrs Etherege. Georgina Etherege. The housekeeper.”
“And Mr Etherege?”
“He died in 2034,” she said, lowering her gaze.
“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. Is there anyone else in the household besides you and Middleton and Count Proteus?”
“Well, there’s Otway, the cook. And the girl who helps out in the kitchen, poor thing.”
“Why do you call her ‘poor thing,’ ma’am?”
“Ida’s not in full possession of her senses, Mr Kilborn. She has delusions. She thinks she’s the Gish sisters.”
“That’s too bad, ma’am,” I3 said, assuming from her solemn tone that it in fact was. I4 would have known who the Gish sisters were, but I3 didn’t have a clue. Maybe I4 should cover Proteus instead of me3, I3 thought. But then, without me4 around, I1,2 would probably make Three un
easy. This was something to talk over back at the office.
“Oh, it’s not so bad. After all, there were only the two, Lillian and Dorothy. Sometimes Ida’s one, sometimes the other. It doesn’t affect her work at all,” said Mrs Etherege.
“She’s never both at the same time, then?”
“Oh, dear, no. And most of the time she’s just our poor Ida.”
I3 nodded and tried to look sympathetic. It was necessary to remember that solos had problems, too, and most of the time a solo had no one around to listen and understand. If solos started talking to themselves, people thought they were crazy.
“Would you like to speak with them?” Mrs Etherege asked. “I mean with Otway or Ida,” she added quickly.
“Maybe before I go, ma’am. I want to be ready to talk with Count Proteus as soon as he can see me.”
“Of course you do. Oh, and there’s one other person. I expect you’ll be meeting her this evening.”
“Who’s that, ma’am?”
“Millwood, the master’s business manager. She attends to all his professional affairs. She’s not available right now, but you should be able to see her before you leave,” said Mrs Etherege, backing toward the door. “Are you sure you don’t want tea?”
“I’m sure, ma’am.”
She slipped noiselessly out of the room, leaving me3 alone once again. It was too dark now to read the titles, so I3 pulled a chair up before the fireplace and stretched my3 feet out to the warmth. A real wood fire was a rare treat. It seemed only sensible to enjoy it while I3 could.
A few minutes passed, and then I3 was aware of someone in the room. In the shadows by the door stood a figure all in black. Count Proteus had entered the library as silently as his housekeeper had left.
I3 started up, but he gestured for me3 to stay seated. In a hushed, cultured monotone, he said, “Please don’t rise, Mr Kilborn. I like my guests to be comfortable.”
“You surprised me, Count.”
“It is my profession to surprise . . . to astound . . . to astonish. Tell me, Mr Kilborn, what do you think of my household?”
The Mammoth Book Of Science Fiction Page 46
