“You would. What do you want?”
“I was just wondering, really. What on earth is going on?”
“What is going on is none of your concern, Fraulein. We shall be reaching our destination a little earlier than scheduled, you will all disembark, and that will be the end of your involvement in this affair.”
“Yes, but — ”
“That,” he barked, unused to women doing anything other than answering when spoken to, “will be the end of it.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” said a voice from behind Marechal.
Marechal spun on his heel to face the speaker and was both astonished and delighted to see Johannes Cabal leaning nonchalantly against the wall by the door.
CHAPTER 15
in which Cabal sets the scene
“Cabal!” cried Count Marechal warmly. “I cannot begin to tell you how very happy I am to see you!”
“Really?” said Cabal, his sangfroid slightly shaken.
“Really!” Marechal drew his revolver and levelled it at Cabal’s head. “Now I can finally kill you.”
Cabal rolled his eyes. “For somebody who fancies himself a great thinker, you don’t tend to let it get in the way of doing something stupid, do you?”
“There’s nothing stupid about shooting you, Cabal.”
“In front of witnesses? Oh, but of course that’s not really a problem, is it? There’s not a person here who will ever tell.”
“Hold your fire, sir,” said Colonel Konstantin. “This is not the place for an execution.”
“Oh, you’re going to shoot him, Daddy?” Lady Ninuka stepped forward, face flushed with excitement and every inch her daddy’s girl. She smiled. “Good. He was
Under different circumstances, Miss Barrow might have remonstrated with Lady Ninuka, but she had only just seen her ladyship for what she was. The vanity and solipsism, the lack of concern for others, the hunger for new amusements to titillate a palate that jaded too quickly. Miss Barrow could have kicked herself for not spotting a textbook case of psychopathy until now.
Count Marechal grunted with irritation. “Will you please be quiet, child? One thing at a time.”
Cabal was growing irritated, too. He had been planning his grand entrance for the past few hours, and people kept chattering instead of letting him get on with it. He coughed loudly, and a gratifying silence fell. “You have the gun, Marechal, so you make the rules. I would, however, suggest that I know several things that you don’t and that these facts represent areas of ignorance in your knowledge that may — no — that
Marechal sighed heavily. “Don’t you ever shut up, Cabal?”
“In my laboratory, I may remain entirely mute for months on end. This is not a time for silence, however. I have a story to tell that will illuminate much for some, less for others, but everybody will learn at least one thing vital for their futures. Such as whether they have one.”
“Why did you come back, Cabal?” said Miss Barrow. There was an electricity in the air that she did not like, an approaching storm of violence that contained at least one thunderbolt specifically meant for him. What was worse was the building sense that Marechal did not intend to stop with one body at his feet. Cabal had been right all along about the deaths aboard having political roots, and politics can be a more ruthless killer than any number of wild-eyed maniacs.
“Now, there’s a funny thing,” replied Cabal. “That is exactly the thing I would like to talk to you all about first. With your permission, Count?” And, without waiting for a reply, he walked into the centre of the salon, where he stood like an entertainer about to start his act. “Please, sit down. You may as well hear this in comfort.”
Nobody moved for a moment, then Konstantin stepped over to Miss Ambersleigh and drew out a chair for her. “Ma’am?” With a weak little noise of affirmation, Miss Ambersleigh sat. It was the catalyst, and the other passengers found chairs, too. Marechal watched the proceedings with contempt, but realised that the perfect moment for shooting Cabal had come and gone, and that he could no longer do it with panache, at least for the moment. He would have to wait for Cabal to finish his piece, and then kill him. This could represent his last wish, Marechal decided. It would have been more convenient if he had just asked for a cigarette and a blindfold like a normal person, but no matter. It would serve only to sharpen Marechal’s anticipation. He’d arranged the execution of so many peasants while putting down the short-lived revolt that he had got quite bored with it. This, he hoped, would serve to clear his palate and restore the pleasure of revenge.
He strolled to the bar, helped himself to a glass and a bottle of Mirkarvian spirits that bore a similar chemical composition and taste to de-icing fluid, and settled himself on a barstool. His revolver remained in his hand. “Very well, Cabal. You have your few minutes’ grace. Amuse us all with your intellect.”
Cabal bowed. It was possible that it wasn’t meant to be mocking, but that was certainly the effect.
“To begin with,” he began with, “it is important to understand how we come to be in this situation. I shall start with my own journey.”
Interludes
And so he did. It is unnecessary to recap much of what he said, but to emphasise that, for reasons best known to himself, he was entirely frank in all details. There are, however, two parts of his story that have not appeared in the narrative thus far. These sections we shall refer to as
“I cheated,” said Cabal evenly.
“Aha!” said Marechal. “Finally! I should have you write that out and sign it, Cabal. Everybody from the generals to the sneeriest little
“Well, technically, I did.”
Marechal’s paper-thin patience was beginning to tear. He slammed his glass on the bar and tightened his grip on his revolver. “You cheated! You just admitted it!”
“I am well aware of that,” replied Cabal, perfectly unperturbed. “I bested you by cheating, but you were definitely bested. I was off and running while you remained behind, tied up. You could not have been much more bested. Although, in hindsight, perhaps I should have killed you while I had the chance.” He was pensive for a moment. “Yes, I should definitely have killed you. So much unpleasantness could have been avoided.”
“It was very easy to outwit the count,” Cabal said to his little audience, which by this time included Captain Schten, who had returned from the bridge and was standing by the door. “He is a creature of pride, and as such is prone to appeals to his vanity — in this case, that of being a great swordsman. Which, in fairness, he is. And, my, doesn’t he like to demonstrate the fact? In this instance, he gave up his revolver, unloading it beforehand, dropping both revolver and bullets to the ground.”
“Go on then, Cabal,” growled Marechal. “Tell them what your great party trick is.”
“I can load a revolver very quickly. I forced the fight to one side of the room, then dashed to where the revolver and the bullets were, and had a round chambered before the count could reach me.”
“Damn your eyes,” said the count. He emptied his glass and refilled it immediately, demonstrating one of his own party tricks in the process.
“Oh,” sighed his audience, disappointed.
“See?” said Cabal. “This is why illusionists and conjurors never reveal their secrets. The sheer banality of it more than offsets any pleasure the feat may have created in the first place. You’re sorry you asked now, aren’t
