The Voyage of the Minotaur

by Wesley Allison

  “I um… don’t know,” said Zeah. He paused to bite his lip. “If that would be appropriate.”

  “Then you don’t know that it wouldn’t,” she said. “It is a public place. There will no doubt be other people on deck. And I happen to know that you usually have the evenings free.”

  “You do?”

  It wasn’t precisely true that Zeah had the evenings free; so much as it was that he made it a point to avoid the Dechantagnes in the evening. This was to give himself a chance to mull over his activities during the previous day and plan out what needed to be done the following day. While the two male Dechantagnes seldom added considerably to his workload, though Master Augie could often be good for an unusual request, their sister was of the opinion that any time she saw Zeah, she should add twenty or thirty new items to his list of chores. This was not usually a problem for him, as he was at least three hundred percent more efficient than she expected. But it was a fool who made unnecessary work for himself.

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Miss Lusk. “I’ll be here on deck at eight. And if you choose to meet me for a stroll, so be it.”

  Miss Lusk turned and walked away, and Zeah allowed himself to do something that he rarely did—to enjoy the beauty of the feminine form. Modern bustles and corsets did more to hide a woman’s body than to enhance it, yet there was little doubt the young lady was well constructed. Miss Lusk was quite slender, but no more than five foot four, and she was probably wearing heels, though her shoes were completely hidden by her dress. Her hair was up, but Zeah could see a few red tresses peeking out from beneath her bonnet. He saw the sway of her dress as she started to turn around, so he was able to look elsewhere when she turned to see if he was looking at her.

  The butler busied himself ensuring that there were no problems with baths and later, that all of the tasks aboard ship had been properly assigned and were being properly carried out. His mind was not on his job however, and returned again and again to his conversation with Professor Calliere’s assistant. He was thinking of Miss Lusk, when he looked up and across the length of half the ship, he spotted her talking to someone. He couldn’t tell who it was at first, but then she moved and he made out the small black dress and black and white striped legs of Zurfina’s diminutive disciple.

  That night dinner was served on the stern deck of the battleship—an area that had come to serve as a kind of common area for the passengers. Food was served from tables in what Zeah thought of as a lunch wagon style. Each passenger would take his plate and find some convenient place to sit or stand while eating, making a bit of conversation with those around them. Then many would stroll around the rear of the ship, while others would return to their quarters. If one were so inclined, one could easily find card or dice games going on below and above deck. Children played any number of games wherever they could find room, though running on deck was strictly prohibited.

  Zeah had finished eating and just by accident found himself standing in the exact spot where he had met Miss Lusk earlier that day. It was just as much an accident that he waited in the exact location for eight o’clock—almost an hour. There was absolutely nothing to be construed by the fact that he had changed before dinner into his best jacket. And it was sheer luck that today was the day that he had chosen to polish his shoes this week. As fate would have it, just as Zeah’s better judgment was telling him to quickly slip away and forget about such an obviously bad idea, Miss Lusk arrived.

  Professor Calliere’s assistant had traded in her bonnet for a small couture hat of mauve and black with mauve feathers streaming out the back. Red curls cascaded around her face. She wore a mauve evening gown with black trim, which left her shoulders bare and made it difficult for Zeah to breath. It couldn’t have been that easy for Miss Lusk to breathe either, with her waist cinched down to twenty inches, and her bodice so tight that each time she did breathe her breasts threatened to burst it at the seams.

  “How pleasant to see you again, Mr. Korlann,” said Miss Lusk, without the least appearance of shortness of breath.

  “The puh… pleasure is all mine, Miss Lusk,” he said, thinking that any moment he would pass out and fall overboard. When he realized that the stutter he had worked so hard to be rid of had reappeared, he bit his tongue to punish it.

  He offered her his arm. That was what a gentleman was supposed to do. He was sure of it, even though he hadn’t done anything of the sort since before this young woman had begun learning her letters. Oh, he was definitely going to pass out now! If he did pass out and then died, he would probably go to hell. She wrapped her hands around his arm, and they strolled down the deck, until they reached the rear port gun emplacement, and then they turned back around and strolled to where they had started. For several minutes they did so in complete silence, and all Zeah could do was watch with horrible fascination, the looks of those people similarly engaged, as they passed. Mr. and Mrs. Luebking were walking hand in hand. Mr. and Mrs. Hollerith. The Widow Duplessis, swollen with her husband’s posthumous child. They all knew him. They were all talking about him. What was that old Zaeri doing, walking with that young girl?

  “You seem quiet this evening, Mr. Korlann,” said Miss Lusk. “Is there anything wrong?”

  “Nuh… No, not at all. I was just thinking about what a nice evening it turned out to be.”

  They walked back and forth over the deck in relative silence. Every once in a while Zeah would point out some feature of the battleship and attempt to make conversation about it. Once or twice he asked her about her work, but it all seemed very complicated. He was beginning to think that this was an even greater mistake than he thought—perhaps the greatest mistake of his life.

  “You know there is nothing wrong with you and me being seen together,” said Miss Lusk. “I am a single woman and you are a single man.”

  “I’m a widower.”

  “Precisely.”

  Zeah was again silent.

  “You think that I am too young for you?” asked Miss Lusk.

  “The… That thought had crossed my mind,” he admitted.

  “Our age difference is not all that great. Women in their twenties in Mirsanna routinely marry men in their fifties, and it’s not unknown in Brechalon.”

  Zeah found himself unable to breathe again. Marriage! He had just met the woman. He hadn’t even imagined himself as a married man in almost twenty years. How could he possibly support a beautiful young wife with his salary? Those men in Mirsanna, with young wives, were all rich. How could he have a wife with all his duties in the Dechantagne household? How could he possibly keep a wife as young as Miss Lusk happy anyway? Of course a man his age could certainly do far worse than a beautiful woman like Miss Lusk. For that matter he wasn’t such a bad looking fellow himself. He was well put together and in good shape for a man of his years. She was so young, though! And she was beautiful.

  “Lets walk over this way,” said Miss Lusk. “I’m getting tired of going back and forth over the same deck.”

  They turned and walked around one of the great guns, and back up the starboard side of the ship, then through the passage between the superstructures. Though it was now dark, the moon left everything brightly illuminated. It was only six days past the full moon, and though not completely round, the orb was bright and right overhead.

  As soon as they passed through to return to the port side, just in front of the rear port gun emplacement, Miss Lusk cried out in alarm. Zeah unthinkingly put a protective arm around her. Lying on the deck, not twenty feet away, was a body. Zeah moved forward, Miss Lusk at his side, to find that it was the body of a young woman. If her blood-drenched clothing was any indication, she had been stabbed repeatedly.

  Chapter Seven: Augie’s Dirty Laundry

  Iolanthe Dechantage, as she had every evening since leaving home on the H.M.S. Minotaur, held a dinner in her cabin. The cabin, which the Captain of the ship had vacated for her use, was quite tiny. It barely had enough room for a bed, a desk and chair. But it had
a small private dining room attached, capable of seating eight for dinner. A rotating list of guests arrived each evening to be served Iolanthe’s favorite dishes prepared by Mrs. Colbshallow and served by two of her wait staff—for the room was only large enough to allow two waiters. Tonight’s guest list included Captain Gurrman. The captain was always included, after all it had been his cabin and he was nominally in charge of the ship. On those evenings when he was unable to attend, he sent an alternate. Iolanthe usually invited a second officer. This evening that second officer was Lieutenant Staff. The rest of the guest list included Professor Calliere, one of his assistants Mr. Murty, Father Ian, and Iolanthe’s two brothers Augustus and Terrence.

  The meal this evening was roasted chicken with roasted potatoes, boiled broccoli, savory pudding, and thick brown gravy. It was a rather ordinary meal, but the necessities of travel required certain sacrifices. This would, in fact, be the last of the fresh produce until the ship made its stop at the island nation of Enclep. Iolanthe had seen to it that the colony to be established would have plenty of food. Modern packaging made it possible to supply food for a thousand people for an entire year. Granted, it was processed, canned food, but the colony wouldn’t go hungry. They had also brought huge quantities of seed in order to establish farms and plantations. But fresh vegetables were limited and had to be consumed anyway before they went bad.

  “The meal was delicious,” said Father Ian.

  Father Ian was a big man in his late fifties. He was six foot two and nearly three hundred pounds. He carried most of his weight in his stomach and chest. One might certainly call him fat, but he was also large in some indefinable way. Men who were taller, and even men who were heavier, were dwarfed when they stood next to Father Ian. He had white hair and a friendly, clean-shaven face, with somewhat rosy cheeks, that stood out above his black clerical robes and his white collar. When one shook hands with him, one couldn’t help but notice his long, but slender fingers and well-manicured nails. They seemed to point to him as an individual unlikely to take off on the great adventure of conquering a new continent and establishing a new colony. On the subject of his devotion, there was no word. Only a few had heard him pray, and none, to Iolanthe’s knowledge, had seen him perform the miracles that marked the truly favored in the Church of Kafira.

  “Simply wonderful, Miss Dechantagne” agreed Lieutenant Staff.

  A young man about the same age as Iolanthe, Lieutenant Staff was tall and blond, with the freckled face of a man far younger. His white naval dress uniform was starched and perfect, with a row of brass buttons running up the front, a stiff leather collar around the neck, and stiff leather epaulets on each shoulder. Iolanthe was quick to notice that he smiled appreciatively whenever his gaze landed upon her.

  “If you keep this up, Miss Dechantagne,” said Captain Gurrman. “My officers will be ruined for normal navy food.”

  The Captain might have been Lieutenant Staff’s father. Nearing sixty, he still had a boyish face and boyish charm. His white naval dress uniform was a little tight in the middle, but made up for it by being heavily decorated with gold brocade. A thick white beard minimized his heavy jowls, and thick white eyebrows almost hid his green eyes.

  “From what I can see Captain, navy food would ruin anyone,” said Professor Calliere.

  Everyone paused to see what the Captain would say, but he just chuckled heartily. Iolanthe pursed her lips. Even a sheltered academician should know better than to belittle the navy aboard a battleship. She had spent a great deal of time with the professor just before and now during the journey aboard the Minotaur, and she had to admit that she found his keen intelligence engaging. He wasn’t bad looking either. But the long period of inactivity seemed to have brought out in him a certain looseness of etiquette that simply could not be tolerated.

  “It’s been two days, Captain.” Augie suddenly interjected. “What’s the news on the murder investigation?”

  Iolanthe looked at her brother and narrowed her aquamarine eyes as she thought about the events of the previous morning. She had stepped into Augie’s apartment on an errand to discuss the supplies to be purchased upon arrival at Enclep, and found him lying naked on his bed. The room had reeked of alcohol. Iolanthe had grabbed the closest thing she could find, which were a pair of Augie’s trousers and beat him about the head and shoulders with them until he fought back.

  “Kafira’s cross, Iolanthe!” He had shouted. “What? What do you want?”

  “Go get cleaned up and dressed, Augie. I need to talk to you.”

  Augie had jumped up and grabbed a pile of clothes, and as Iolanthe still whipped him with his own pair of pants, he had dashed out the hatch and down the hall to the water closet, which on the ship was called ‘the head’. While she had waited for his return, Iolanthe had looked around the tiny room in disgust at the mess. There had been clothes strewn everywhere and open and empty bottles of whiskey on every horizontal surface. Then she had noticed something in the corner. It was a pair of women’s bloomers, and peeking out from under them was something strange.

  Iolanthe had bent down and picked up the bloomers, holding them at arm’s length, then retrieved the item of clothing beneath them, and examined it carefully. It was a man’s shirt, and on its front were two handprints, in what appeared to be blood. It was as if a man, his hands drenched, had wiped them on his front. Cognizant of the fact that a murder had been committed the night before, and mindful that Augie had been present at the site of a previous murder in the great city, she had quickly decided that this was a piece of evidence that could not be allowed to be found here. She had rolled up the shirt inside of the bloomers and then exited Augie’s cabin and walked through the hallway to the hatch on deck. Once there, she had quickly determined that she was alone on deck, and then had tossed both items of clothing over the side, watching them until they landed lightly upon the water and then trailed away into the distance. She didn’t believe that Augie could be guilty of murder, so any time spent investigating him would have been a waste, but murderer or not, it was in bad taste to bring it up at dinner.

  “I’ve left the investigation in the capable hands of Lieutenant Staff,” said the Captain, and turned to look at his subordinate.

  “And the investigation is proceeding with the help of Father Ian and Wizards Labrith and Kesi,” said Staff. “Beyond that, I’d rather say nothing.”

  “Yes, quite,” said Terrence.

  Iolanthe nodded in agreement. It was obvious to anyone who paid attention that this murder was related to murders, at least three, which had occurred in the great city. It was also obvious that if this fact became known among the passengers, there would be widespread panic and that could not be allowed. Better to keep the entire thing quiet, or if necessary, let on that it was an isolated incident—perhaps a crime of passion.

  “Do we know the woman’s name?” asked Mr. Murty, in his unpleasant nasal voice.

  “She was a Miss Astley,” said Staff.

  “If I can be of any help, please let me know,” said Mr. Murty.

  Lieutenant Staff’s look said more clearly than words that if he needed any help from Mr. Murty, it would be a cold day in hell. Professor Calliere’s assistant was a short, slight man with a pasty complexion and black hair plastered down with a great deal of oil. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and an expression that seemed to indicate that he had just sucked on a green persimmon. His charcoal suit was at least three years out of style, and wasn’t particularly clean. Iolanthe found just being in the same room as the man unpleasant and she mentally vowed to exclude him from future invitations.

  “What is it that you do?” Captain Gurrman asked Mr. Murty.

  “Oh, I just tighten nuts and bolts,” said Murty, looking down at his lap.

  “Mr. Murty has been vital in the development of my inventions,” said Professor Calliere. “When I found him in Redgepool, he was already the most gifted clockmaker in East Wills. I could not have gone without his expertise in crafting the gear
s, springs, and works for our machinery.”

  Mr. Murty smiled.

  “Captain Gurrman,” said Terrence. “How long do you suppose before we dock in Enclep?”

  “If we are able to maintain our current speed,” replied the Captain, “and I don’t see why we won’t be able to, we should arrive the morning of the twenty-fourth.”

  Coffee was served when the last of the meal was eaten. Then the two waiters delivered small glasses of fortified wine. Iolanthe’s opinion ran counter to the popular sentiment at the time that a sweet fortified wine should be served as an aperitif at the beginning of meals. To her mind, the sweet, more heavily alcohol-laden wine made the perfect accompaniment for a bit of cheese after the rest of the meal was already in the process of digestion. She also saw that cigars were passed out to the seven men, but they were not allowed to smoke them in the dining room. They would have to wait until they were out on the open deck.

  The following day, Lieutenant Staff invited Iolanthe to the forward observation deck. She had a standing invitation from the Captain to visit that and any other location onboard at anytime, but she didn’t take any pains to point this out to the Lieutenant. The forward observation deck was attached to the central point of the forward mast, which had the ship lost its steam power, could have been rigged, along with the rear mast, with sail. It was two stories higher than the main bridge, higher even than the two great smoke stacks, and had to be accessed by a series of steep staircases and a short ladder. Iolanthe climbed up after hyperventilating a bit, her bustled dress ballooning out behind her, like a great bell being rung. Had someone below her looked up, all that they would have seen would have been her shin-length white bloomers, and other voluminous undergarments. Still she was happy to see that a pair of petty officers had been stationed below her to discourage any such behavior on the part of the sailors.