by Candy Rae
“It concerns an ancestor of mine,” he lied, “her name was Ruth. She was a thief. I want to find out what happened to her. Family tradition has it that she may have changed her surname after she stole my grandfather’s half of the family fortune. Jewels, from old Earth.”
“You want to find these jewels? You might be better inquiring of the Jewellers’ Guild, see if any have come on the market.”
“Believe me I’ve tried and they have never come to light. I believe they’ll still be with her descendants.”
“When was this ancestress of yours born? I can search the birth records and the Land Registry and also the birth and death records.”
“She was born shortly after landing.”
“As far back as that?”
Tom nodded.
“Any idea where? In Argyll?”
Tom shook his head.
“Vadath then?”
Tom nodded, secure in the knowledge that Vadath did not keep central birth records.
“I do know she got married and I have a little more information, mostly from some old aunties and uncles who are just as angry about the theft as I am.”
He slipped a scrap of paper towards Artur.
Artur read the words; ‘Ruth - Howard – Russell – Kushner – Jessica - Xavier’.
“I will pay a bonus for any information on these names.”
“Where did you get these names? They’re not usual here. Was your original ancestor a southerner?”
“She might have been, my grandfather didn’t say.”
“Perhaps he didn’t know,” mused Artur, “there were quite a number of people from the South settled in the North during the early days. Most of them settled in Vadath though and they don’t keep the same records we do. They’d only come up if they or their descendants subsequently moved to Argyll.”
“If they did, can you trace them?” pressed Tom.
“Naturally,” promised Artur, “birth, marriage, death records, they always state the year and place of birth. It is the law. Very strict controls were implemented in the earliest years because the gene stock was so small. That law is still on the statute books. You think the one you’re looking for ended up in Argyll?”
Tom nodded, “so my grandfather said. There is no need for you to speculate on my antecedents. I’m paying you good money, more than the information’s worth if I don’t get the jewels at the end of it and remember, not a word to anyone.”
“I understand. How do I get the information to you?”
“Same time and place a tenday from now.”
Artur began his hunt with the records of year ten, with the Duchesne influx into Vadath. He found nothing in any of the three giant books. There was nobody with the surnames Howard, Baker or Murdoch. He then moved on to the third decade. There were Ruth’s aplenty but none of the right age. However, it was in these birth records that he found the first hint that he might be on the right track at last the day before he was about to meet his employer and he worked into the night following up the clue.
The entry occurred in AL26 and it was an entry pertaining to the birth of a boy, name of Joseph born to a Xavier and Ruth Kushner at a farmstead in the North. Three of the names on the list! A trawl through the records and he noted another child, this time a girl named Jessica born four years later then another boy, Xavier, six years after that, in AL36. Moving to the marriage records Artur found the marriage lines of the daughter Jessica who married a farmer called James Westbury in AL54. The third child Xavier appeared to have married a Sally Westbury, cousin of the James Westbury. He found no trace of the marriage of their eldest, Joseph.
Interestingly, Ruth Kushner’s date and place of birth was marked as unknown. This was strange in itself.
The death entry of Ruth when he eventually found it should have told him what he needed, but it was not to be so, however, the maiden name was Russell, another of the names on the list. Artur was sure he was on the right track.
The following evening Tom was more than pleased with the information Artur gave him and passed over a jangling bag of coins. It jingled in Artur’s hand. He would pay back the missing funds in the morning.
“The bonus is still up for grabs,” offered Tom, an unpleasant gleam in his eyes, “and I will double what I have given you already if you can trace where the family is now.”
Artur realised that there was something happening here he didn’t understand but he was in too deep. He was beginning to feel frightened but the prospect of so much more money was too much to resist.
“Remember,” warned Tom, no-one must suspect what you are doing.”
“I am always searching up the Land Registry and the others, the census records too, they should tell us something,” was Artur’s blithe response, no need to tell this man that he intended to ask one of the junior clerks to continue the trawl. The boy, not the brightest, would not ask the reason why.
“You have another tenday,” said Tom.
For Tom the next tendays were filled with impatience. He was close, he knew it and a tenday to the day and at the eleventh bell he sat down again at the scratched table.
Artur was on time; he handed over the sealed envelope with the information and accepted another large bag of money.
“These are the original documents, not copies?”
“The original copy documents,” Artur corrected, “the actual documents are in the hands of the family concerned, but there is no way of knowing if they still exist or not.”
“Did you manage to find the family?” Tom pressed.
“The family are no longer in Argyll.”
“Why is that? Tom asked the question with care, “and when?”
“The Land Registry records the farm as being sold and with the stock intact in AL114.”
“You have the document?”
“I do. The sellers were Jessica Russell (nee Kushner, born in AL60) and her husband, James Russell (born in AL54). Interestingly, although Jessica was born in Argyll, James is noted as his birthplace being in Vadath. She was the daughter of Xavier Kushner and Sally Westbury. From the birth records I found that they, Jessica and James Russell, had two children, a daughter, named after her mother (born AL80) and a son named after his father (born AL84) and before you ask, all the relevant birth, marriage and death certificates are in the envelope. More importantly, I found out where the family went.”
Tom leant forward.
“Their destination was Vadath and the reason they went was to join their family. I presume the two children had left for Vadath in earlier years. They might well have bonded with one of the Lind. Their father would be sixty years old by then and perhaps was finding the farm too much for him. There are a large number of hectares mentioned in the land registry records.”
“Never mind that, what else do you know?”
“I found nothing more. The census records told me nothing I didn’t already know. I’ve copied out the relevant entries though, thought it might help.”
“You’ve given me all I need Artur. I am well pleased. Now, while I look through the papers, take a sip of that beer before you. It’s the Landlord’s best brew. It would be a pity to let it go to waste.”
Tom took a sip from his own glass and his informant did the same, savouring the sharp tangy taste.
Artur did not take another.
His body slumped back into the chair.
Tom had access to a myriad number of fast-acting poisons.
Tom rose to his feet and took one last dismissive look at the body before he slipped out of the room. Passing the Landlord he gave him the large bag of coins that he had taken from Artur Bernardson’s lifeless hand.
He then made his way to the local office of the ‘Express’. There he would complete the next stage of his investigations and at the same time send a progress report to his employer.
Two days later Artur’s young wife notified the authorities that her husband had gone missing.
* * * * *
Crisis (4)
No-one had seen Artur since the Tenth Bell two nights previously when he had been seen leaving his offices with a sheaf of papers under his arm.
Completely baffled, the local police sergeant passed the case over to his superiors.
John Branling, the Police Superintendent of the City of Stewarton was a plain man with a plain name. His office, to which Junior Clerk Dafid Charleston had been summoned, was devoid of embellishment.
Dafid looked round the office with quiet disinterest; imaginative reasoning had never been one of his strong points.
In front of his interviewee sat John Branling himself and his deputy, the Inspector of Police in charge of capital offences.
“Now Dafid,” John began in a conversational voice, “what exactly did Artur Bernardson ask you to do? Take your time boy, we’re in no hurry.”
Dafid was happy to oblige. This was the most exciting thing that had happened to him during his short life and, little imagination or not, he saw himself dining out on this experience for many a tenday to come.
“Did Artur Bernardson often ask you to look up things?” queried John Branling.
Dafid nodded.
“Quite a lot, yes he did sir.”
“And was this last time in keeping with what he had asked you to look up before?”
Dafid stared at him, not sure what exactly the Superintendent meant.
John Branling was a patient man. He tried a different tack.
“You’re good at looking up things are you not?”
“Yes sir. I take my time you see, get it right. Not like some of the others.”
“So what did you look up?”
“I had to go through the census records of the Kushner farm and write down the information; all the people that were there at the different census times.”
“What did you find?”
His face screwed up in concentration, Dafid told him what he could remember, which wasn’t much, but it was enough.
John Branling turned to the stolid duty sergeant sitting at the door.
The sergeant rose to his feet.
“Go get them,” he ordered and turned again to Dafid. “Wait a moment though, Dafid, these censuses, what years?”
Dafid thought hard.
“AL120 I think,” he said at last, “the first three volumes.”
“What else did you look up?”
“Land Registry.”
“Same farm, same years?”
“Yes.”
“Them as well sergeant,” John Branling instructed, “and if any of the office officials try to make things difficult, mention my name.”
“Yes Superintendent,” and the Sergeant was away.
John Branling turned back to Dafid. “When the Sergeant returns, I want you to again find for me these entries you looked up. Can you do that?”
“Yes sir,” grinned back Dafid. He was feeling like a real police officer.
“You’re very important to the case, so I’m going to ask the desk to get you something decent to eat. What do you fancy?”
Dafid was in seventh heaven. Not only did he feel like a real live detective but the Police Superintendent was falling over himself to be nice to him. He would be able to dine out on this, not for tendays but months!
While Dafid was waiting for his meal the Superintendent and the Inspector discussed the situation. Dafid heard nothing, lost in the land of daydreams.
“What do you think all this is about?” asked the Superintendent.
“It might be related to Artur Bernardson’s disappearance,” offered the Inspector, “might not.”
“My gut feeling says it is,” John Branling answered, “and it’s the only lead we’ve got. Bernardson is a clerk, deals with births, deaths and marriages. It is definitely odd that he was interested in the censuses, especially those of so long ago. We know he was desperate for money, anomalies in the department’s accounts have been found and I believe he was searching the records on behalf of someone or someones unknown and was being paid for the information.”
“Who I wonder?”
“If we knew that I think we’d be much farther along with our investigation. However, I feel sure that his employer is long departed from Stewarton.”
It took Dafid the rest of that day and most of the next to replicate his findings.
The detectives then spent the next tenday and a half tracing the names on Dafid’s list to the indexes recording the births, deaths and marriages.
The investigators made the not so pleasing discovery that all the copy documents pertaining to these individuals were missing. It took time to work this out, the checking difficulties compounded by the fact that careless clerks over the years had replaced some copies in the wrong places in the files. The original documents in the land registry files relating to the Kushner farm had also vanished.
“What is so important about this family that he needed the original documents?” asked a perplexed John Branling.
“I have no idea,” said the Inspector.
“I do, however,” answered his superior, “know a man who might be able to help. The Kushner farm, it rang a bell from somewhere within the depths of my memory when it first came up and now I realise where I heard the name before and from whom.”
* * * * *
Lokthed (Third Month of Winter) – AL156
Crisis (5)
“My man found nothing of a Ruth Murdoch but he extended his search and, using information I provided, he did manage to find something that warranted further investigation.” William Duchesne picked up a scrap of parchment, “here it is. He found the marriage lines between one Xavier Kushner and not a Ruth Howard as I might have expected but a Ruth Russell.” William Duchesne smiled with satisfaction at a job well done. “I was right in thinking she would use an assumed name but she shouldn’t have used Russell.”
“She married the man who rescued her,” breathed Charles.
“What more?” asked Henri.
“He traced them all and my man is on his way here with the proof. He sent word ahead with the salient points but thought it best to bring the documents himself.” He waved an envelope in front them. “This summarises the salient points.”
“Where is the family?” asked Henri Cocteau, “in Argyll? And these proofs, can they be verified?”
“Undeniable proof,” affirmed William Duchesne, “birth, marriage and death records and other back-up information.”
“And the Argyllians gave it to him, just like that?” asked a sceptical Charles.
William Duchesne shook his head in denial, “they cost a fair bit,” he admitted, “I told you that my man had bribed an official? He got the lot, births, marriages and deaths.”
“You said that already. You are sure that there is no way your man’s activities can be traced back to us?”
“Absolutely not and don’t ask any questions about how he got the information. Let me just say that the official is no longer with us. It appears that a drink disagreed with him. Unfortunate but necessary. My spy had to cover his tracks because I might need him again. He also acquired the land tenure documents, land registry records, even a copy of the census record for the farm the family hid in.”
“How did he discover their location?”
“It is the law in the North,” replied William, “if selling land or property you have to state where you are moving to. I believe it is a form of security for the buyer. The sale document clearly said that they were moving to Vadath and also noted the specific area and name of the farm within Vadath.”
“Vadath? Where exactly in Vadath?”
“My man struck lucky. He didn’t especially want to venture into Vadath itself so, I told you he was good, he went to that Lind messaging service of theirs, the Express and they, all unsuspecting, sent a message to Port Lutterell …”
“I’ve used the service myself,” admitted Charles.
“… where one of my ships was waiting to deliver this env
elope that I hold now in my hand and then they told him all he wanted to know. Believe it or not my friends, the Express messengers knew the farm to where Princess Ruth’s descendants had gone; they had delivered a letter to the farm recently.”
“Were they not even a bit suspicious?” asked Henri, “I thought that these Lind of theirs could read minds.”
His son shook his head, “they can sense emotions Father, but not with everybody. They can’t read minds, that is only a myth with which generations of nursemaids have frightened their charges to keep them in order.”
William continued, “My man says they only asked of his interest in them and he told them that they were distant relatives. He had one moment when he thought the messenger office might be suspicious but a bit of fast-talking got him through. He had asked for the Wallace Farm, which was the name on the sale documents but hadn’t realised that, in Vadath, names are more transitory and that the name had changed with the ownership. The man in charge of the station had actually done the run and more than once. He knew the family. He could update my man on what had happened after Jessica and James Russell arrived in AL114. Their daughter had a daughter and she is married now with four children. The messenger only asked him if he wished the envelope to go fast delivery to Port Lutterell and then, to my man’s horror, asked if he wished his Lind to send on a message telepathically to the farm, an offer my man declined with many thanks and false regrets. He feels sure that the Express operative was not suspicious of him in any way.”
“So now we know. Worryingly, the Larg know the king is ailing and his heir a sickly toddler. Her death will be the only excuse they need to start ravaging our borders. What do we do now?” asked Duke Henri Cocteau.
“We go and get the family,” William Duchesne replied. “The king is weakening by the day. The last tendays has put a great strain on his heart and Princess Susan is not responding well to all the lavish care and attention she is receiving. If she does ascend the throne I fear it will not be for long and then where will we be?”
