Under the Burning Clouds

by Steve Turnbull

  There was a decision to be made. She could either ignore the murders to come or investigate and attempt to prevent them.

  She was now engaged in a game with Timmons. She could simply choose not to play, but it was a little late for that. She had committed herself by coming aboard. It was her error for not realising what Timmons’ might be capable of. If she had not come aboard, the Rileys would still be alive.

  And there were the people who would now die—innocent people. It was not possible for her to stand idly by and become an accomplice to their deaths. She was responsible for them even if they were unaware of it.

  Besides, any opportunity to thwart Timmons’ murderer would add to the indignity suffered by the man. What better way to push his face deeper into failure than for the ship to arrive with those destined to die still alive and the murderer found...

  She paused in her train of thought.

  Not ‘found’, she thought. Dead.

  iv

  “Thank you for seeing me, Captain,” said Maliha. He stood politely behind his desk. She had noted how Voidshipmen tended to be clean-shaven, unlike the traditional seafarers. Perhaps it was because those who flew between planets were not subject to weather.

  She had brought Izak and Lilith. She did not fear for their safety, at least not yet; there were other deaths that would have to occur before they became at risk. She sat them on seats by the wall and asked them to be quiet, then took the seat on the other side of the desk to the captain.

  “Well, I do need to have your statement of events, Miss Ganapathy.”

  Maliha opened her reticule and extracted a sheet of paper. Pens did not work very well in extremely low gravity, so she had written in pencil.

  “This is my statement as Alice Ganapathy,” she said.

  He took it from her and glanced at it, then placed it under a glass paperweight which contained the flower of a Martian Iron Lotus in its centre.

  “‘As’ Alice Ganapathy?”

  “Quite so. That is a name I can use, but it is not the name I generally go by,” she said. “Do you know the name Maliha Anderson, Captain?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t say I do.”

  “She’s the goddess,” said Lilith in the pause Maliha had left.

  The captain frowned.

  “I do apologise, Captain,” said Maliha. “I am escorting these children to Venus. They have very poor manners and have not learnt much discipline as yet.”

  “Spare the rod,” he said.

  “Yes, of course,” said Maliha. “However, if we can get back to the point?”

  “I do not know what the point is, Miss—what should I call you?”

  “Ganapathy would probably be best,” she said. “If you do not know my name—although it has been in the papers once or twice—I will have to explain.”

  “I would be grateful if you would.”

  “Captain, I am, for want of a better word, a detective.”

  He burst out laughing. Maliha sighed.

  “Have you received a report from Dr Leeming yet?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure what business that is of yours?” He frowned and his eyes darkened as the humour went from him.

  “Sir, you clearly do not take me seriously and I am about to demonstrate that you should,” she said. “And from your reaction I deduce that you have received the report.”

  “What of it?”

  “Maxwell Spencer had a severe blow to the head, did he not?”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Because Valerie and Maxwell Spencer were murdered by a third party, and the event was staged to appear as if he stabbed her with scissors and then killed himself.”

  “The blow to the head is not conclusive of that.”

  “Of course not, but when you take into consideration the other facts, it is inescapable,” she said.

  “What facts?”

  “Why would he go to the trouble of using scissors, which would be extremely difficult, when he could just shoot her?”

  He looked troubled and pulled a folder from under a rock on his desk.

  “I did wonder,” he said.

  “The last thing you want on your ship is a murderer on the loose.”

  He nodded, looking quite unhappy. Not an unusual expression for the people she dealt with.

  She proceeded to explain that the Spencers were really the Rileys, had recently been in prison, and that she had known them from an earlier case. She did not go into detail on that; it would be inconvenient if he thought she was at the centre of it all. As indeed she was.

  “Can you find the murderer?” he asked.

  “I can try,” she said. “I will need your cooperation, but I stand the best chance if no one knows I am investigating.”

  He nodded. “Do you have any suspicions?”

  “Not yet.”

  She got to her feet by the simple expedient of applying pressure to the arms of the chair with her hands. He rose as well.

  “I would like to be kept up to date on your progress,” he said.

  “I cannot keep coming to your office,” said Maliha. “Perhaps we could allow the doctor in on the secret? It would not be unusual for me to visit him regularly, after my faint. He can carry messages between us?”

  The captain nodded. “Yes, I will speak to him.”

  With that, she gathered up the children and prepared to leave. “One more thing, Captain. I require a complete list of all crew and passengers.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Is that entirely necessary?”

  “Entirely,” she said. “If you can arrange for the doctor to bring it to me as soon as possible, please.”

  “Very well.”

  Maliha took her leave of him and made her way back down to Deck 4 and took the shaft up to the dome. She headed to the bench where the Rileys had died. She did not expect to find anything, but she had to look.

  “Are you going to kill the murderer, Goddess?” asked Lilith as Maliha examined the bench itself, then looked under it.

  “I would prefer not to,” she said, scanning the ground. It had been swept recently and there was nothing to see. Though I will not hesitate if I must.

  “Why not?”

  Maliha stood up and looked around. There was a stand of tall plants in pots five paces behind the seat. She went over to it. There was very little ambient light, as the Sun’s rays did not penetrate miles of atmosphere. The shadows were sharp and deep.

  She searched carefully as she spoke. “Because it would be much more satisfying to stop him without killing him, and then deliver him to his master to demonstrate just how powerless he really is,” she said with a smile. “That, Lilith, would be the true essence of vengeance.”

  The first pot was empty. Maliha went to the next one. Nothing.

  “And then you’ll kill the master?” asked Izak.

  “He killed your Valentine,” said Lilith.

  Maliha lost her smile. “Yes, children, I think killing the master at that point, when he knows he has failed, would be the perfect moment.”

  “But you have to find the murderer first?” said Izak.

  Maliha nodded. “Yes, but in truth I do not think I will be able to until after the next death.”

  “Why?”

  Maliha sat on the bench and glanced at the stars rotating beyond the dome.

  “The deaths of these two were carefully planned. There is no evidence to find.”

  Clement Riley/Maxwell Spencer had had a severe blow to the head. No direct evidence, but there were hints and suggestions.

  “Children, would you mind sitting here and pretending to be the poor people who were killed?”

  She placed them next to each other. “I’m going to pretend to be the murderer. When I say ‘go’ you pretend to be grown-ups talking while I creep up on you.”

  She went to the plants and stood out of view. “Go.”

  “Sit up straight and use your fork,” said Lilith sternly. Maliha smiled and then came out
of hiding and moved across the gap.

  “I saw you,” said Izak as she approached.

  “Which means they probably knew the person or weren’t concerned about him,” she said. “Now I just want to try something.”

  She took off her shoe. It wasn’t very heavy, but it would serve. Standing back slightly, she swung her arm as hard as possible, as if she were coshing Izak over the head.

  She flew upwards. Lilith and Izak both laughed.

  When she finally fell back to the deck she came up to the seat and had Izak move out of the way. She repeated the blow, but this time she held on to the back of the bench. The blow would have landed successfully.

  “Well, that answers that question,” she said. “The person who did it was either a regular passenger with experience of the environment, or one of the crew. Anyone else would have made a complete mess of it.”

  v

  The ladies’ room was buzzing with the news of the murders. Maliha had decided to brave that den of prejudice and spite to see if there was anything she could discover.

  The room bore some similarity to the reading room on board the Macedonia. There were racks of newspapers and magazines, shelves of books, and various groups of settees and comfortable chairs. A major difference was that every piece of furniture was firmly bolted to the deck and had belts to assist a lady to remain demurely in place.

  There was no possibility of crossing the room with any decorum, but at least it was the same for everyone. Void-travel held no prejudice; it made everyone suffer.

  Even so, there was a slight diminution in the volume when she entered. She had returned to standard Edwardian dress in order to reduce her conspicuousness. Unfortunately her darker skin tone, with her father’s European bone structure, was all the women needed to categorise her as someone to gossip about but not to speak to.

  “Maliha! Hey, Maliha!”

  She jerked her head up at the American accent, and a white arm was thrust above the sea of heads and bonnets. A wave of disapproval and tutting circulated around the room. It was almost impossible to increase her pace without risking collision with some piece of furniture or, worse, one of the ladies, so Maliha resigned herself to following the path between them with care, and suffering the glares of those who felt they had been violated.

  “Excuse me if I don’t get up,” said Constance Mayberry, indicating the belt she had buckled about her midriff. There was a book on the table beside her, held in place by a spring-clip. She looked expectantly at Maliha with her hand held out; it took a few moments for her to realise the woman expected a kiss.

  Maliha took her hand and allowed herself to been drawn down, and they touched cheeks. Maliha took the opportunity to whisper in her ear, “Call me Alice only.”

  There was a conspiratorial smile on Constance’s face as Maliha drew back and settled herself into the chair beside her.

  “I am so happy to see a friendly face, Alice,” said Constance with more volume than was required. “Someone I can talk to.”

  Maliha, however, was less than happy. She wondered what pretext had brought Constance on board. It was not that she thought Constance’s life was at immediate risk—if the murderer followed the rules Maliha was expecting, then it would be someone close to Constance who would die so she could be accused and convicted. But that was not a certainty.

  “We need to catch up,” said Constance. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

  So Maliha was forced to run the gauntlet of stares once again.

  “What a place,” said Constance with a grin—and before she had shut the door, so her words certainly penetrated some distance back into the room.

  “Are you with your husband?” asked Maliha without a pause.

  “My husband is on Venus,” said Constance in a tone of disgust. “And he has demanded my presence.” Constance tucked her arm into Maliha’s. “Enough about him. Let’s go up to the dome and you can show me where those two were murdered.”

  Maliha had no choice but to match her pace as she set off in the direction of the shaft to Deck 4.

  “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “You, Ma—Alice, are a terrible liar,” said Constance. “And since you are here using a false name—”

  “It is my name.”

  “—using a different name to the usual,” said Constance without hesitation, “I know you know all about it.”

  Maliha said nothing.

  “And you’re here all by yourself—”

  “I’m not by myself.”

  “Every detective needs a sidekick to ask the stupid questions.”

  They reached the shaft. Constance plunged into empty space and caught hold of one of the rails, bringing herself to a stop. Maliha swung out over nothing and grabbed another handhold with her free arm.

  “Up we go,” said Constance and pulled.

  By the time they reached the dome, Maliha had resigned herself. It was a small vessel and it was far easier to let Constance think she was helping than to stop her. Besides, it would be easier to keep her safe if she was close.

  “So this is the place of the grisly murder–suicide.” She almost seemed to be drooling. Americans were so unlike the British it was hard to imagine they came from the same stock, even though Constance was from one of the oldest states and was probably as close to being British as anyone from that huge continent. “Can I sit where she was sitting?”

  Maliha grimaced and then pointed at the place. Constance took hold of the back of the bench and pulled herself into position, then flung out her arms and legs and played dead.

  She held the pose for a few moments as she rose into the air and dropped down again.

  Maliha glanced around. There were a few other passengers on the far side of the dome but no one close enough to overhear.

  “How are you nowadays, Constance?”

  “I’m fine, Alice,” she said. “Couldn’t be better.”

  “You’re not—” Maliha hesitated over the best wording for her question, “missing the Guru?”

  Constance stopped pretending to be dead. She brought in her limbs to appropriate positions and sat up. “Oh, you mean that.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to be...”

  “Locked up with hysteria?” Constance said. “You should have thought of that before you had your boyfriend kill him—or is he your fiancé now?” She eyed the ring on Maliha’s finger.

  Maliha felt the tears before they blurred her vision. She wiped them away and, in that moment of not being able to see, she felt the impact of Constance, her arms wrapping around her, holding her very tight.

  Maliha sobbed. Her grief had welled up out of nowhere, shattering the wall she had erected. She wanted to cry and scream, but that would not be British. And there were people listening. So instead her pain leaked out little by little as each sob shook her. But there was no catharsis.

  “It’s all right, honey,” said Constance and patted her back. “You cry it out.”

  vi

  Maliha sat with Constance on one of the benches facing out into the Void. The tears had dried up and, with Constance’s help, she had repaired the damage to her minimal make-up. She looked out on the stars. She could reach out and touch the glass if she wanted to. But she did not.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” said Constance. “Did you part on bad terms?”

  Maliha shook her head. “No, nothing like that. We had different paths to follow.” She felt the tears welling up again. Her voice croaked. “I think he’s dead.”

  Constance put her arm around Maliha’s shoulder and gave her a firm squeeze. “Bill, dead? No.”

  “I had a message saying he was dead.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s the same person who had that man and woman killed.”

  “Oh,” said Constance. “Someone who plays for keeps, then. You sure must have got under his skin.”

  “Terence Timmons.”

  “Terry Timmons, the magnate?”

&
nbsp; Maliha looked up. “You know him?”

  “Not exactly know him, I guess,” she said. “He’s failed to turn up at any number of galas I’ve put on, or those of any of the other wives.”

  “Your husband knows him? Does business with him?”

  “Everyone does business with Terry Timmons,” she said. “He’s got his fingers deep into every pie crust. He’s richer than Croesus and, if the stories are true, he’s the cleverest businessman this side of Hudson Bay.” She thought for a moment. “Never thought he was crooked, though I guess that doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Have you ever met him?”

  “Once. He’s got the manners of a prince.” She absently rubbed her fingers across the back of her right hand where the man would have kissed her. “And a smile like a snake. When he looks you in the eye it’s as if he’s going to eat you whole and spit out the bones.”

  Maliha’s tears were dry now. “Well, I’m going to kill him,” she said.

  If she thought her words would disturb the other woman, she was mistaken. Constance put her hand over Maliha’s and squeezed. “If I can help, just say the word.”

  Maliha stared out at the stars. “Did your husband say why he wanted you on Venus?”

  “Not really. He implied there were events to be organised, and that’s my job, of course. So I have to be dragged across the Void to do it for him.”

  More machinations by Timmons? Maliha did not know whether she should tell Constance. Would it scare her? Would she even believe the story? It would be unfair not to mention it; she could be on her guard.

  “Do you think it unusual your husband should demand your presence?” she said at last.

  “We had spent a lot of time arguing about it before he left,” said Constance. “I had no desire to go and for him the trip was just business. I was expecting his return. Instead I got a message. I mean, Venus is the devil’s backside, if you know what I mean. Well, I’ve seen Buffalo Bill’s show and that’s the closest I want to get to any incarnation of the Wild West.”

  “Timmons is trying to hurt me, Constance.”

  Constance squeezed her hand again. “Trying? I think he’s succeeded whether it’s truth or lies.”

  “No, I mean he’s playing games,” Maliha said. “The two people who died here, I knew them. I mean, I’d met them. They were involved in the case with the General and his nurse.”