L Neil Smith - [North American Confederacy 03]

by Their Majesties' Bucketeers (epub)

  That being as it may, the evening of the Kiiden Riot (as it afterward came to be called, typifying the general reliability of history) there existed for me no recourse but to allow our Bucketeers to escort away those persons capable of carrying themselves, a contingent suffering minor fractures, lacerations, and similar indignities.

  This left a residuum of serious injuries at Vyssu’s establishment, which occupied my attention for a considerable period. May Pah be praised, with the exception of the Reverend Adem (whom I, myself, had despatched, I recalled again in shocked disbelief!), no further fatalities evinced themselves, this likely owing to the substantial number of pistols, knives, and bludgeons present, these artifacts occupying hands that might otherwise have been employed in the more deadly practices of ripping joints, gouging eyes, or tearing jaws from their carapaces. Thank Heaven’s Desiccation that the gentlelamly insistence upon weapons has filtered downward even to the lower classes!

  A Bucketeer had fetched my bag and I attended to the wounded, who, excepting the extremest cases, were carted off to Hedgerow over the disgruntled objections of Bucketeers from other Precincts who comprised the majority of the law-enforcement delegation present. Tis was the highest ranker on the premises; had he not been, Mav, as the Inquirer, would have given precisely the same command.

  So off they went in chains, a gay and colorful procession, from the pair of watu drivers to the battered Lord Ennramo, who, upon regaining consciousness, vowed imperiously first that Mav would do his future investigations upon some ice-bound island weather station—then, on hearing his own words, began to laugh and, with his hands in irons, clapped my friend upon the carapace and strode aristocratically through the door into a waiting kood waggon appropriated for the purpose, heartily shouting, “Well done, good Inquirer! Do come and share a lamly jolt when this is over!” Frightfully decent of the fellow, I thought, until I noticed Mav, a thoughtful aspect to his fur, making further entries in his notecase.

  Thus, with the final insensible victim—or coperpetrator—hauled away, I was left quite by myself. Nor was this excluding Vyssu, who had, upon her own insistence, also been arrested. Sporting of her, everyone admitted; Mav took obvious delight in making sure the lamacles upon her wrists did not chafe. This policy of hers manifested a certain good business sense, for her clientele and admirers cheered and clapped and rippled comradely appreciation of her mettle as she followed in Ennramo’s handsteps. Of such gestures are legends bom, particularly profitable ones.

  Thus nearly everyone departed in a spirit of good fellowship, as if to a celebration rather than to gaol (sparing Mav and his subordinates a deal of logistical difficulty in the process), and I followed sometime afterward.

  “Oh, I say, Mav?” Our Precinct’s “clientele” had overflowed from the small shabby office over the gaol into the watu bam, where there had been set up a table for the filling out of appropriate paperwork. This ritual was being accomplished by what was at the time a novel means: those transported here from Vyssu’s, practically without regard to rank or class, were formed up in three winding queues before the table; meanwhile, paracauterists trafficked up and down applying bandages and liniment. Upon completion of the forms, each “prisoner” was remanded to another

  crowded corner of the stable, where kood was being served.

  “Hullo there, Mymy, I am happy to— Blast the thrice-accursed desklam who composed these questionnaires!” He sat behind the table, attempting to record data my erstwhile landlurry supplied within a number of spaces far too small to write in. This amused the elderly Unarchist, who, on that account alone, perhaps, was being unusually cooperative.

  “Your full name, if I may ask— Mymy, there are para-cauterists aplenty here. Would you mind greatly doing me a favor?”

  “Minymrno Pemmopan Viidawasiivyt-Koed,” replied the lurry cheerfully, little brushmarks of it tracing through rher fur.

  I said: “Not if it means filling out these forms in your stead. How many have you had arrested, anyway?”

  He rubbed dispiritedly at the misspelled first half of rher last name. “Your unmarried appellation, if you please— No, Mymy, I’ve something altogether different in mind; I’d appreciate your knocking up Tis and telling him— Wet!” The eraser had tom through the cheap and pulpy paper. “Now I shall have to begin another—”

  “Koed-Viidawasiivyt,” offered the landlurry. “Married a third cousin on me father’s side. That’s four I’s, Inspector darlin’, an’ a Y. Tell me, where’d they take me keys?”

  “Pray continue, Mav. What is it I must tell Tis?” I watched another of the queues: Fatpa stood on line in front of Hedgyt, the latter clutching his invention. Behind Hedgyt stood the bureaucrat with whom he argued over who was next. “What is it Hedgyt has there, a bomb?”

  Mav chuckled. “No, my dear, a clock; it is his fancy that people might enjoy to read the time in numbers, as they’re written, rather than off the face of a dial. Ridiculous, but beautifully conceived—and executed: I’d know the model maker anywhere, simply from the cut of his lathe turnings. Now where was I? Ah, yes: dear lurry, your lawful occupation?”

  “But, Mav, you haven’t said why I must go to Tis’s office.”

  Rhe looked down thoughtfully at the space provided. “Hostelier and Chaperone to Young Surmales of Good Character.” Ripples spread throughout rher fur again.

  “Landlurry.” Mav began to write it down upon a dotted line insufficient for even those nine letters.

  “Hostelier and chaperone!” the elderly person insisted. “Sayin’ less is hurtful slander, most particular in th’ Kiiden!”

  “You may have a point,” conceded Mav. “Mymy, I’ll get to you if you’ll be more patient!” Here his pencil snapped in two; he breathed heavily, then took up his inhaling tube and flask, rediscovering that the latter was still empty. “Damp!"

  “Mav?”

  “Hostelier and chaperone to young surmales of good character!”

  “Young fella, won’t you have a drop or two of mine?” Hedgyt had finished with his Bucketeer. Standing now beside me, he set his experiment upon the littered table, fumbling in his tunic for a well-used bronze Navy flask.

  “How good of you . . .” Mav stretched across, then withdrew his hand. “Now I recall! Mymy, please ask Tis for a sample of that Continental spirit, which he offered me. Hedgyt here, in recompense for inconveniences he has suffered, might appreciate it, too. Also”—he turned the ruptured form upon its back, scribbling a lengthy note— “by rights this ought to be my resignation, and is likely yet to be. However, take it to the old fellow, and read it on the way as it concerns you in part.” He rose and gave the pencil stub to a recruit. “I am waterlogged if I’ll fill out another of these forms!”

  I took the message and left him with the surgeon, pausing to read upon the spiral stairs:

  My dear Tis:

  Kindly, in about two hours’ time, authorize release of all whom I have detained, excepting:

  a) 2nd C’conventional Unarchists (not 3rd);

  b) Ypad P’dits Fatpa, Esq.;

  c) Rewu Uomag Niitood, Imp’I Intelligencer,

  d) C’dr Zedmon Dakods Hedgyt, Imp’l Navy;

  e) that gormless little Nazemynsiin creature, I’ve forgotten his name, the one who shot at me;

  f) His Grace, the Lord Ennramo.

  Tomorrow at third hour, if you will gather these together (save the Unarchists, who may go directly to gaol), with Law, Myssmo, and Ensda, I shall clear up this matter once and for all. Please take special pains to

  obtain the presence of Law; this may be most important.

  Meanwhile, I am

  Yr. Ob’t. Svt.,

  Agot Edmoot Mav

  There were two more present upon the next morning: I, after pleasant hours in my own flat (Mav having asserted that, with half of Mathas in our gaol, most likely our murderer was as well); Vyssu, who had not remained, but had returned to her own house in thought of restoring it to its previous elegance. This was well; news of
the rioting had greatly enhanced the number of curiosity-seekers through the Kiiden, and thus her clientele.

  I often despair of the lamviin race.

  My parents were now somewhat mollified by not having been incarcerated with “half of Mathas”—and, to appearances, impressed that this should be so on account of a few words to the “authorities” from their own little surdaughter. They had spent their evening at home as well, and in future I was to have more confidence and independence of them— and no maid servant.

  Yesterevening’s rainfall had been brief; the sun was streaming into Tis’s office windows, yet there were many more than could be accommodated there with comfort, and we moved out into the hallway with a large, imposing Bucketeer at the stairwell to control admission and egress.

  I, to my great satisfaction, was back in uniform. Mav, not wishing to abandon any precedent that, despite words to the contrary, had been thus established, wore civilian garments fully equal to anything the Reverend Adem had displayed, and far more tastefully selected. Vyssu, who arrived with him, had adorned herself conservatively, reeking of expensive restraint. Tis was his habitual wrinkled self; Niitood, having spent a second night in gaol, looked even worse. He had received another camera by messenger, however, and was happily preparing to make use of it upon a moment’s notice.

  Seating cushions formed a loose triangle in the broad corridor: one for Tis at an apex, Mav’s beside it, Vyssu’s next to his, then a very large one for Fatpa. He alone looked better for a night behind bars; it struck me that all this might be reminding him of a vigorous youth. Niitood took a place between the former highwaylam and another Bucketeer who occupied a second corner of the triangle. Upon the other side, there was a cushion to which I was directed; Hedgyt was set next to me, then Leds, and then the nameless civil servant. At this corner bulked another Bucketeer. Across the final side were placed Ensda, Myssmo, the Lord Ennramo, and Law. I had pondered through the night over Mav’s written words concerning the young inventor; for the life of me, nothing about him now seemed of special interest. Well, I would learn soon enough.

  Behind Tis, a very large window looked down upon Kevod Lane and caught the morning light, brightening the otherwise dreary scarlet-painted hall. When everyone was seated, Mav ordered a wick, whose service he had placed inside the triangle rather nearer Ennramo than Tis.

  “I apologize that some of you have spent an uncomfortable night. I trust this morning’s results will compensate you all—all save one—for, as I promised in the newspapers, I am about to reveal the murderer of Srafen Rotdu Rizmou, Professor and Curator of the Imperial Museum, my good friend and teacher.” He produced his pipe and flask, prepared the little tube, and thrust it into a nostril.

  “Before proceeding further, there are questions I should like to ask some of you. Principally, it is important to ascertain your motives in appearing yesterday at Vyssu’s. We shall begin with Niitood, as I was there for obvious reasons, as was Vyssu, it being her house, and Fatpa, who is employed there. Niitood?”

  The reporter hesitated, fidgeting with his camera. “I say, old sandshrimp, I’m a correspondent, after all. I read your advert, waited till the news was well spread through the city, then came to sniff out what had developed.”

  Mav’s pelt indicated satisfaction. “This seems to have been the motive of fully ninety-nine percent of those who attended our little party yesterday. I shall have to think over this newspaper advertising scheme again, very soon. Very well, Law we shall pass over, for he did not appear that afternoon. M’Lord, why is it that you came?”

  The fellow likewise took a while in answering. “As you are aware, sir, I represent some highly placed interests of the Empire. Equally, you surely know that these parties have had an eye upon this affair from its inception. I wished, on their behalf, to observe the consequences of your effort in the newspapers, and—”

  “Pardon me, Your Grace. Vyssu, have you a comment?” The lady had not indicated so, but I knew Mav’s style.

  This must have been prearranged. I watched him watching Ennramo carefully while appearing to listen to Vyssu, who flared,a nostril as if to speak—

  “Very well, then!" Ennramo suddenly declared. “It was also the address you gave, sir, in your notice! It has been well and truly associated with . . . er, with discretion, in the past. I was ordered—but I can say nothing more, as you must understand.”

  Mav took a puff upon his pipe. “Indeed, and we will speak of it no further here in public. Be prepared, however, for I shall possibly have need of private answers later. Myssmo and Ensda failed to appear yesterday, despite the fact that the latter, like Law here, had been released for other matters upon bond. You, sir, from the Nazemyn-siin—what in dampness is your name?”

  The little fellow, swathed in bandages from the drubbing Fatpa had administered, replied, “Mrrmh Hnnrhnn Frnnhnnhnn

  “How is that again?” Mav leaned closer.

  “Mrrmh Hnnrhnn Frnnhnnhnn!"

  “I observe that anonymity can become habit-forming. Very well then, Mr. , sir, you appeared at Vyssu’s yesterday to shoot a shot at me. Would you mind very much telling us why?”

  The bureaucrat sat sullenly for long minutes. Tis got his pipe, followed by Hedgyt and Ennramo; the place began to fill with fumes, which made the kood seem sour. Fatpa shuffled on his cushion; Niitood continued playing with his camera. Mav’s fur began to bristle. “See here, lam, this will avail you nothing! I know that you had orders to terminate my investigation by terminating me, and, for following them, you alone will be most severely punished. Some mitigation may be forthcoming on condition that you volunteer the names of those who gave the orders!”

  The bureaucrat tensed. In response, the Bucketeers and Mav stirred as if ready for battle. Even Niitood raised his camera and Ennramo reached for a sword that wasn’t there. Tis and Hedgyt, two old campaigners, likewise showed combative eagerness. Were lamviin energy electrical in nature, we should all have been quite thoroughly juiced.

  Yet the bureaucrat remained silent. “Very well, then,” Mav said in a rather dangerous low tone, “you may inform our masters—when opportunity next presents itself in twenty or thirty years—that they have failed to subvert justice to political expedience. The philosopher whose mind they feared shall be avenged, whatever the public reactionl Leds, what brought you yesterevening to Vyssu’s?”

  The old guard looked uncomfortable. “Sir, ’twas your own mother telephoned me asking how you were getting on. She’d misunderstood somehow, thinking you were still investigatin’ at the Museum, so I asked whether she wouldn’t care for someone t’come with her if she was goin’ into th’ Kiiden.”

  Mav sat back upon his cushion. “Quite correct. That is how I have it from my mother. Accuse me as you will, I shall not consider her a suspect, and, since she initiated good Leds’s presence, I believe that he was there in innocence. Doctor Hedgyt, please explain how you came to the Kiiden that afternoon.”

  The old Commander straightened up again upon his cushion, shook himself, and, eying those seated across from him with something akin to distaste, answered, “Well, I saw your advert in the paper, younglam, and since I’d no other address for you and had neglected demonstrating my dig-tial chronometer for your benefit, I— Merciful Pah, I never expected to drop anchor in the middle of a free-for-all! Reminded me of younger days, a fight in every port, me in ratin’ uniform so’s to enjoy it without sullying the officer corps! Srafen certainly—”

  “Thank you, Commander, I’m quite sure rhe did, and I find your clock most intriguing. Mymy, you were there upon my insistence, and that completes the tally—except for you, sir.” He addressed this last to Tis, who blinked twice and rocked back upon his seat.

  “Me—I? Mav, whatever in Pah’s name can you be thinking? Naturally I was there—a murder case under way on my responsibility, and also a disturbance that set station semaphores wagging over half the city?” He huffed and grumbled further until he came to a complete stop.

  �
�I see,” answered Mav. “Sir, the disturbance wasn’t properly within your jurisdiction. Why is it you—”

  “Because of that soggydamp newspaper ad of yours, that’s why! The case is in my jurisdiction—now get on with it!”

  “Yes,” echoed Lord Ennramo. “Who committed this vile act?” There were several other parallel expressions, which Mav allowed to pass. Then he stepped out into the center.

  “Gentlelamn, lady and lurry.” He held up a hand. “I sympathize with your curiosity and impatience. I can tell you that in many respects I spent a night as uncomfortably as you did. But I know now precisely how the murder was accomplished and, on that account, as I have always believed possible, the identity of the killer.”

  There was a stir.

  “The question in my mind has always been that Srafen was killed with a bomb, but where was it placed? Secreted in Srafen’s lectern, which, too, was utterly destroyed by the blast? It was Mymy told me where the powder charge must be. . . ”

  I blinked all three eyes. “I?”

  “Indeed, my dear, in the finest, most revoltingly anatomical detail: the distribution of wounds among the spectators as well as the nature of the wounds themselves. Fragments of Srafen’s body showered out into the audience; a lectern bomb would have thrown them in the opposite direction.

  “Yet blood and carapacial fragments covered the rear walls as well; ergo Srafen had been carrying the bomb, a thought that disturbed me sorely, as I hadn’t believed rhe was the suicidal sort. A bomb so powerful must have been relatively weighty and could not have been placed among rher clothing without rher knowledge.” He recharged his pipe and began pacing as he spoke.

  “There was no lack of indication how the bomb had gotten where it did. This springbow bolt”—he reached into his cloak for the exploded weapon, holding it aloft—“lay upon the stage where Srafen was last seen in this world. It is of the explosive sort, apparently shot through an ancient, rotting door. Mymy and I found supporting evidence in the next room, although there remained certain puzzling contradictions. Would you mind explaining, Mymy?”