If this was the way Mirkarvia usually operated, thought Cabal, no wonder it was a shambles. As for the SCF, civil services always seemed to be full of committees, and Harlmann was after funding. Therefore, Cabal would guess that it was something along the lines of the Special or even the Secret Committee for Funding. When Harlmann said he wanted Cabal — or, more accurately, Meissner — to “get at” the committee, it seemed evident that he meant for some palms to be greased.
“Well, I can’t
Harlmann frowned. “Why wait? You can wire when we reach Senza.”
Bribery by telegram was a new one for Cabal, especially from a telegraph office in an unfriendly country. “It’s not quite that simple. I’m involved in agricultural remittances. I can’t just telegraph them out of the blue like that.”
“Them?” Harlmann looked at him very closely, and Cabal realised that he may have made a serious error.
He was saved by Miss Ambersleigh, who appeared at his elbow like an English djinni, which is to say suddenly but without a lot of flash and smoke and bother. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said. “Herr Meissner? Lady Ninuka wonders if we might have the pleasure of your company.”
The force of Cabal’s desire for any escape from Harlmann might in a different man have manifested itself in bear-hugging and kissing Miss Ambersleigh before conducting her in an impromptu polka around the salon. In Cabal, this impulse was ruthlessly subjugated while he inclined his head in a curt nod. “I should be delighted, Fraulein.” He rose and bowed to Harlmann. “If you would excuse me,
Harlmann nodded and, somewhat to Cabal’s surprise, smiled in a warm and fraternal manner. “No problem, old man. My best wishes to her ladyship.” He stood, bowed, and turned to go, but, as he turned, he caught Cabal’s eye and very deliberately winked. Then he was gone, taking his pork scratchings with him.
Inwardly perturbed by Harlmann’s behaviour, Cabal took his drink and walked over to go through the pleasantries with Lady Ninuka. As they sat, he noticed Miss Ambersleigh regarding the stein with icy disapproval. Cabal could almost have thanked her for it, because it gave him an excuse to have it taken away and replaced by tea and cakes. Cabal had little time for the English way of life, usually — or, indeed, anybody else’s way of life — but at some point he had developed a weakness for afternoon tea, and the pleasure he expressed when the tray arrived was entirely genuine.
“I’ll be mother,” said Miss Ambersleigh, taking up the teapot. Lady Ninuka caught Cabal’s eye, and smiled slightly at the comment. Cabal took her meaning; this seemed likely to be the only way the censorious Miss Ambersleigh would ever be a mother, unless she unexpectedly entered a convent.
Cabal took his tea with lemon and no sugar, and confined himself to a yellow French Fancy. They chatted politely enough about the weather, the ship, the view, and Cabal was just beginning to think that he was on safe ground when Lady Ninuka said, “I hear you’re involved in the investigation into poor M. DeGarre’s disappearance. Is that so, Herr Meissner?”
Miss Ambersleigh tutted. “Really, Orfilia! I’m sure we don’t want to hear about such a horrid event.” She turned to Cabal. “I’m sure I shan’t sleep a wink tonight! And, as for poor Orfilia, she has trouble sleeping at the best of times. You must not excite her with such talk!”
“You have trouble sleeping?” Cabal asked Lady Ninuka. “You should ask the ship’s doctor for a sleeping draught.”
“She did,” cut in Miss Ambersleigh as Lady Ninuka was drawing breath to reply, “but it’s not good for you to take them too much, my dear. You cannot depend on chemicals.” She turned earnestly to Cabal. “You’re an educated man, Herr Meissner. You tell her. It simply isn’t wise to depend on chemicals.”
Cabal, whose work involved a large quantity of chemicals, resisted the desire to highlight Miss Ambersleigh’s appalling ignorance of scientific matters by telling her that she was entirely constructed from chemicals, and that she ate chemicals, drank chemicals, breathed chemicals, and this was all completely natural. Instead, he said, “Insomnia can be a terrible burden on your well-being, my lady, both physiologically and psychically. Medication is all very well in the short term, but you should try to discover the root of it and deal with it.” That said, he thought she looked remarkably well. It was probably the glamour that women create with paints and powders, but she didn’t look like somebody who went without regular rest. In vulgar terms, she was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He briefly entertained the idea that she might be depending on some much less innocent chemical than a mild sedative, but it didn’t sit well with her behaviour or appearance; she didn’t seem to be exhibiting any of the telltales associated with common stimulants.
“Thank you, Herr Meissner. I truly appreciate your concern. May you talk of your investigation, though? It seems very interesting.”
Speaking quickly, to head off the interruption that Miss Ambersleigh had ready in the slips, Cabal said, “I really cannot speak of the investigation, Lady Ninuka. You understand, of course. It could prove damaging to any findings if they were to be publicised prematurely.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t tell a soul,” she replied, the very picture of innocent propriety, although the way she laid her hand upon her decolletage as she spoke could just as easily have been due to coquettishness as to expressiveness. “I am the very epitome of discretion.”
“Herr Meissner has made it quite clear that he cannot discuss such things, my dear,” persisted Miss Ambersleigh. In her mind, subjects suitable for civilised discussion frolicked happily in a great green pasture of loveliness surrounded by a ha-ha filled with spikes and acid, beyond which lay the Frightful. Violent death and suicide were very much a part of this congregation of the unspeakable, and for every word spoken on such subjects an angel shed a tear, or a fairy died, or a bunny was blinded. Miss Ambersleigh, who was fond of angels, fairies, and bunnies (despite having met only the latter), was therefore very keen to confine her conversation to the lovely pasture.
Lady Ninuka was not. “Well, there must be some aspect you can explain to me,” she said to Cabal. “Your methods, your strategy for getting to the bottom of all this?”
He was flattered that she thought there was any strategy involved in the investigation at all, given that the only solid piece of evidence was an injury sustained during a murder attempt. If real police officers relied on such methods, precious few would ever draw their pensions.
“My lady, you make too much of my humble abilities. I am no detective; I am merely an instrument of the state attempting, in my poor way, to help the captain find the truth.”
“Can’t you see that he doesn’t want to talk about it, Orfilia? Come, now! Let us speak of happier things.”
Cabal was beginning to find that Miss Ambersleigh’s shrill interjections grated on his nerves. If he had been himself, he would have said as much, but Gerhard Meissner — or at least his rendition of Gerhard Meissner — was a more patient man. His true mind flickered on his face for a second, but he brought it under control with a steely flex of his will.
It seemed that Ninuka shared his opinion, though, as the very next moment she said, “Oh, for pity’s sake, Miss Ambersleigh! Can’t you see that every time the poor man tries to say something you tell him that we don’t wish to hear it? Of course he’s keeping quiet. He’s being polite!”
Miss Ambersleigh was momentarily speechless. Only for a moment, though. “Well!” she said. “Well, I never!” Which was probably true.
She rose to her feet and, speaking in short bursts coloured with repressed emotion, said, “I see my company is not appreciated here. I’m very sorry. I shall take myself away. Herr Meissner.” Cabal, who had also risen to his feet, nodded, and muttered in a fair impersonation of an embarrassed man. Miss Ambersleigh turned to Ninuka. “My lady.” And then, like a schooner swept along on winds of decorum, she walked quickly to the other side of the salon and sat alone.
Cabal sat down again. “That’s even more embarrassing,” he said to Lady Ninuka. “I thought she was going to leave, but she’s just sitting there watching us.”
Lady Ninuka didn’t even deign to look, settling back in her chair. “She has no choice. She’s not just my companion; she’s my chaperone. My father hired her to keep an eye on me.” She looked at Cabal over her teacup as she took a sip. “She’s very conscientious.”
Abruptly, and with the sensation of being the last one in the theatre to get the joke, Cabal realised that Lady Ninuka was not so much interested in the progress of the investigation as in the investigator.
