House of Cards Contributions Log

Adventures on the Orient Express

posted by Blake at 11:57 PM, October 27, 2004 | Filed under : Fiction | Comments and Followups

A few years before Eric assumed the throne

“You’re planning on going where?” Eric asked, frowned as he turned, unsure as to whether he had heard his son correctly.

“Istanbul.” Jerod said. “Your friend Milo will probably be there.”

“Milo? You’re kidding, right?” Eric said. “He’s far too stiff for you.”

Jerod shook his head. “You never said that before. You always said he was a brilliant detective. First class deductive skills. And more importantly he refuses to dine in anything other than the finest of establishments or see the best of the theatre. I could go for that.”

“I also said he’s a pompous little man from a place called Belgium that has not figured out it’s not the center of the universe.” Eric said.

“Maybe, but right now there’s nothing on the work agenda and I’m looking for a break. So that’s where I’m off to.” Jerod replied.

“Well, there’s still that little Court celebration that’s being bandied about.” Eric mused.

“You can tell Lord Diver that if he thinks he’s going to score any points with me by trying to put on a birthday celebration for me, he is sadly mistaken.” Jerod said. “I’ll consider it a point of honour and call him out to a duel.”

Eric frowned. “You’re sure? There are opportunities to be had when people put these things on.”

“There are always opportunities Dad. There were opportunities during the treaty negotiations last month to spread out amongst the Golden Circle nobles. There were opportunities three months ago to expand my horizons with the navy hunting pirates south of the Shoaling Reefs. And there were opportunities last week mediating the harbor dispute between the navy and the fishermen.” Jerod said, a hint of frustration in his voice. “I can’t chase down every damn opportunity that might present itself. Otherwise you never get to enjoy anything that might come of those opportunities.”

Jerod picked up the cloak that was lying across the back of the chair. “And that’s what I’m going to do. Milo said that anytime I choose I can meet him in Istanbul. He returns from his middle eastern jaunt in November and he always takes the Express. It should be nice and peaceful.”

“You’ll be bored.” Eric said. “You need the right kind of entertainment to keep you occupied. You know that.”

Jerod smiled. “Sometimes being bored is not that bad.”

****

“Teþekkür.” Jerod said, handed the taxi driver the gold crown after watching him place the chest onto the porter’s cart. He smiled a little as he walked into the train station, the driver’s effusive thanks disappearing in the din of the station’s centre. He paused a moment after he entered to get his bearings, noted the platform numbers as the stationmaster called out arrivals and departures in a dozen languages over the amplifier. Even then, it was near impossible to understand what was being said, the ever-present roar of the station crowd overcoming all but the most intimate of conversations. He spied a marble pillar conveniently situated and casually made his way through the crowds. His excellent quality attire was sufficient to mark him as above average but well within the bounds of tasteful decorum by comparison to some of his fellows as they strode by, eager to be noticed by those they deemed to be their lesser.

Despite the warmth of his clothing and the cloak that Jerod wore, the chill approach of winter could be felt in the air and impatient passengers were eager to enter the warmth of the trains as they made their way to whatever faraway destination awaited them. Jerod moved to one side of the pillar to watch as they passed, noted the varying degrees of affluence amongst them. One could always tell the rich and the powerful immediately by the retinue that followed them, the grand displays of wealth that bespoke of luxury and privilege. But it was more fun to see the differing degrees of privileges and how each one differentiated themselves from the others. In Amber, the ways of Court were many and varied it had seemed but there always was a predictable element to them. And one could not just watch. One also had to be seen there. Not here, not today.

The old established aristocracy, those used to privilege and luxury by virtue of birth – they were the easiest to detect. The richness of clothing, the attention and number of servants who were even in their servitude were haughty towards the common folk around them. They were a symbol of the privilege that all aspired to be, though few recognized the dangers implicit in that life of noble ease. Frequently, those who expected something by virtue of right tended not to know how much it cost to get it. Jerod watched as an older woman dressed in silk and ermine glided past, four servants including a maid in tow. Probably a duchess, maybe an old princess he thought, watched as one of the servants detached them self from the retinue to intercept the group of street urchins that approached, kept them busy by slowly handing out coins while the old woman boarded the train. That one travelled frequently, he noted.

A man passed by, an Easterner by the look of him, Jerod saw. The nouveau riche – those who had earned their privilege of wealth and power through hard work and fortitude though not always of a legal or moral bent. The quality of his clothes spoke of his wealth and a desire for the privileges that he had earned, but the stiffness of his face spoke of hard decisions and long hours. He was one who knew the value of an ounce of sweat and demanded his percentage on top of it. Jerod watched as the urchins, fresh from their earlier victory, gave the man a wide berth. With money for their next meal, there was little incentive to risk his wrath.

Jerod rubbed his arm for a moment, a sword wound from a serious pirate hunt some months ago long healed though still remembered. He watched as a young couple walked past. A military man, an officer for certain, he was sure. The precision of the walk, the deliberate gaze and focussed attention spoke volumes. As well, the careful attention to detail of clothing and cleanliness even though the garments worn were only moderately better than average in quality. The wife was equally as precise, a necessity in that unique realm that was occupied by the wives of ambitious officers. He followed her gaze as she looked around while her husband spoke with the conductor, her attention attracted to the bountiful provisions being loaded further down on the kitchen car. There was a wistful expression on her face as she saw bushels of fresh citrus being handed up to the chef who was carefully inspecting them. Jerod wondered if she was heading for a colder clime, one where nature’s provender was a bit less tasty.

At last, her husband’s conversation concluded, she returned her attention to him and together they boarded the train as Jerod noted with satisfaction the arrival on the one he had been waiting for. When the steam from the trains parted, he saw approaching a diminutive man perhaps five and one half feet tall. Despite his small stature, there was an air to the man that immediately attracted attention. His clothing was neat in a way that made it impossible to think that dust could even consider adhering. His head was nearly perfect in its egg-shape. The moustache was stiff and military in appearance, the product of years of patient care. Jerod smiled when he remembered his first meeting with this man whom his father had once called a pompous, prissy, arrogant Belgian. But even his father admired the man who had such talents with “the little grey cells.” He stepped out away from the pillar and waited as Milo approached.

“Monsieur Perrier?” Jerod asked.

Milo Perrier stopped to look Jerod over. “Oui?” Behind the fussy exterior, the extravagantly neat appearance, one could recognize a fearsome intelligence lurking. The kind that saw much and revealed little though today it revealed a smile. “Jerod Ericsson? It has been a long time my good friend.”

Jerod returned the smile. “A long time indeed, monsieur. How have you fared?”

Milo shrugged. “Ah, oui, I am doing very well. And your father, the Duke Ericsson? I do not see him. I trust the affairs of state do not take their toll upon him?”

“Yes and no. I have come upon a vacation and he sends his regrets that he could not be here. He tells me to inform you that he has missed your company from his previous travels.” Jerod said.

“Even if he was travelling with a prissy little Belgian?” Milo offered with a laugh, a joke between friends. “Ah, c’est la vie. So you say you are travelling on vacation. You have decided to spend some time with me then, yes?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps I am here on matters of state?” Jerod offered, testing.

“In that case, one would not be standing beside a pillar of the Istanbul station with but a single porter and a heavy oak chest waiting patiently for the arrival of a middle aged private detective on his way back to London, just to say hello.” Milo smiled conspiratorially.

Jerod laughed. “I suppose not. It is good to see the little grey cells are still working.”

Milo agreed. “Indeed. So, which car will you be staying in.”

“La Premiere. Numero sept.” Jerod replied.

“Ah, the same as mine. Numero deux.” Milo said. “We will be sure to have dinner when the train departs. You must tell me of your travels during and afterwards. I suppose you still drink that horrid little brown whiskey?”

“It’s not quite as horrid as you might think.” Jerod said with a grin. “Almost as palatable as that after-dinner aperitif you are so fond of.”

“Ah, the product of a lifetime of civilizing behaviour is the refined palate.” Milo said with a self-important smile. “I’m sure given time, even you will develop such a taste.”

“We’ll see.” Jerod said.

****

“Who is it?” Jerod asked, sheathed the sword at the sound of the knock on the cabin door before he placed it back into the chest and closed the lid. A quick glance at the pocket watch hanging from the door of the open toiletry basin showed 11:22pm.

“Pierre, monsieur. I have the refreshment you requested.” the porter responded.

“One moment, Pierre.” Jerod said as he unlocked the cabin door. “Merci.” he replied, accepted the drink from Pierre. He noted another glass on the serving tray - a thick mint aperitif of the kind that Milo preferred. As he turned back from putting the drink on a side table, Jerod saw a second steward pass by carrying a bottle of Lafite Rothschild Pauillac Bordeaux France, 1858**. He looked at Pierre curiously.

“For Monsieur Segreto.” Pierre replies. “In the premiere cabin.”

“Monsieur Segreto?” Jerod asked.

“He is one of the directors of the line.” Pierre said. “He is travelling to Paris for the annual director’s meeting and will change at Venice.”

“He does this every year?” Jerod asked.

“Oui, monsieur. This is the third year that I have been on the train when he has travelled at this time.” Pierre said. “Though he uses his own steward to attend to his needs. I have never actually met him. With your permission monsieur, I must deliver Monsieur Perrier’s refreshment as well. Please, enjoy your drink.” and he departed.

Jerod closed and locked the door once again before he put his scotch on the side table and returned to unpack his effects. He came across a small package of documents, remembered that he had packed them to review before he returned home to Amber and began to riffle through them, automatically beginning the process of determining what is important and what is not. Then he stopped and looked down at the papers, then at his drink. “I’m on vacation.” he said with a smile, pushed the papers back into the satchel before tossing it into the chest. “They can wait.” he said as he rummaged through the satchel to find that book he had purchased at the station. Paradise Lost. It looked like it would be an interesting read.

A few hours passed before Jerod’s focus was disturbed by a knock at the door. “Jerod?” asked the voice of Milo.

“Milo?” Jerod said, put the book down before he opened the door. He saw Milo standing in an expensive silk house coat, his hair net still in place. “What’s up?”

“I must speak with you.” Milo said, as Jerod motioned for him to enter. Milo sat in the only chair, carefully removed the hair net before he put it on the side table. Milo then adjusted his very precisely groomed hair before he began. “I have just been awakened by a panic-stricken German, the conductor of the train. It seems that there is something of a mystery on the Express this night.”

“How so?” Jerod asked curiously.

“It would seem that the conductor has misplaced one of the passengers.” Milo said. “He claims that the passenger in numero trois is missing. He goes on in some detail as to the man’s appearance but I do not remember him being in the dining car this evening. I was prepared to say that he should simply investigate whether the man simply did not get on the train when I received a request from Monsieur Segreto to look into the matter personally.”

“You met Monsieur Segreto?” Jerod asked.

Milo nodded. “Oui though only once before. He is a recluse and travels incognito. I spoke with him through the door of his cabin and will see him in person shortly. The conductor is acquiring the passports of all the individuals aboard the train for my examination and I will be conducting interviews accordingly. I would like you to assist me.”

“Me?” Jerod asked. “For what? A missing person’s incident? Wouldn’t a police officer be wiser? Why not stop the train and summon the Turkish authorities? If he fell off or was otherwise dumped off, he’d be around the train line at some point. We haven’t been gone from Istanbul that long.”

“The good Monsieur Segreto has asked me not to yet involve the Turkish police unless it becomes absolutely necessary though he will not immediately explain why. He is prepared to accept the responsibility for this and I am inclined to agree with his choice, for the moment. Should the explanation fail to satisfy as my investigation proceeds, Monsieur Segreto will find I my agreement to be swiftly waning.” Milo responded. “As for you, come with me and I will show why I think you are adequate to the task.”

With that, Milo rose from the chair and headed out of the cabin, moved down towards the third cabin. Jerod stood up as well to go but stops, picked up Milo’s hair net from the side table to bring it with him. As he headed down the corridor he rubbed his fingers together, absently noted a lack of hair gel on his fingers.

“Ah, the net. Thank you.” Milo said, took the net and slipped it carefully into his pocket. He opened the door to Number Three carefully, a conductor’s passkey in his hand. “I acquired it from conductor after I had him lock the room before coming to see you. There is only the one for the entire coach.” and he handed Jerod the passkey. “Now, go inside and tell me what you see.”

Jerod frowned, feeling a little like when he was in Rebma and practiced his lessons of court recognition with Lamell. But he suppressed the feeling and looked inside the sleeping compartment carefully, examined the layout of the room and committed it to memory before he moved inside to view the room again from a different angle. He did not lift anything up at first but preferred to observe the position of an object in relation to things around it. Drawers or doors were opened carefully and slowly, the contents looked over without disturbing their place. All the while, Milo watched from the doorway patiently.

“Well?” Milo asked after several minutes.

Jerod continued to frown. “Who is the missing person?” he asked.

“A Herr Tapfer.” Milo said. “A German of some importance in their merchant marine. He was at the very least a merchant captain/owner.”

Jerod nodded, opened the toiletry cabinet carefully, noted the contents and the Cyrillic lettering with a critical eye. “Anything else about him?”

Milo leaned back, focussed on a memory. “The conductor describes him as a large man, typical of the Teutonic stock. He wore dark clothing, a suit and coat fitted after the best continental styles. Beyond that, I could not get more than panic. I am sure that once a few hours have passed I can get more details.”

Jerod frowned again. “There are too many clues.”

“Ah, and now monsieur you know why I think you are adequate to the task of assisting the great Milo Perrier.” Milo said with a smile, before the smile fades and he continues, the serious detective taking hold. “Now, I have examined the room carefully and wish you tell me what you see.”

“The most obvious one, meant to alarm everyone, is the gun.” Jerod said, motioned to the table drawer. He pulled it open slowly and lifted the day old newsprint to reveal the short barrel revolver beneath. “It’s empty and there are no bullets around but as soon as someone sees this, they’re going to wonder what’s up.”

Milo nodded, remained silent as Jerod continued.

“A baggage chit.” Jerod said, motioned to a small orange chit on the rear corner of the side table. “It’s marked for a passenger for this compartment, but it has the letter C marked on it for chest in the personal baggage column. That’s wrong.”

“Indeed.” Milo said. “If he boarded at Istanbul he would have had to get a chit from a Turkish baggage handler.”

“The word for chest in Turkish is sandýk.” Jerod said. “A Turkish handler would have used an S, like they did on my chit. There is also no chest here so unless it was spirited away it would be in the baggage car. That means too that someone wrote the chit wrong.”

“What else?” Milo asked.

“The toiletries.” Jerod said, pointed to the bathing closet. “The sink shows signs of use, yet all the toiletry bottles are unopened. There are droplets on the seal around the sink plus something that looks vaguely like shaving cream. But no shaving soap or whisk. And no shaved whiskers. Plus the aftershave is too expensive for the individual in question.”

“Again, quite correct.” Milo replied. “If this Monsieur Tapfer was a German merchantman, why was he using the aftershave? German merchant captains mark their beards as a symbol of pride. You don’t simply shave it off.”

“Unless you’ve got a silly moustache.” Jerod said with a grin.

“A truly great moustache is a work of art.” Milo said, a touch of fussiness in his voice. “The Germans know nothing of this and are content merely to let their facial hair grow like a gigantic bush. What else?”

“The usual silliness.” Jerod said, pointed to the bed. The upper part of the sheets had been pulled back and were in disarray, the bottom half of the bottom immaculate and pristine without a wrinkle. “The bed has not been slept in or even sat upon yet someone goes to the trouble of pulling back the sheet in a ham-fisted effort to make it appear that perhaps someone was in bed.”

“The clues are blatant and obvious.” Milo said. “They want us to discount the possibility of the occupant of the cabin being a German merchant captain.”

“So why make it so obvious you are trying to discount it?” Jerod asked.

“Indeed and that is the mystery.” Milo said. “And why I want you to perform some of my investigations for me. I will be busy dealing with the interviews and will be able to provide you with whatever I find on that venue. So, will you assist me in this matter?”

Jerod nodded. “Of course. You do not need to ask further.”

Milo stood up. “Excellent, then let us begin with a thorough examination of the train, just to be sure there are no German hiding on this train. I will be in the forward dining car. I would ask that you carefully examine each car immediately after that one and see what can be discovered.”

“What about the two cars forward of dining?” Jerod asked.

“”The conductor has assured me that he has already looked there but just to be certain I will be taking a look myself.” Milo said. “Now, let us both be off to our respective tasks. A mystery awaits Monsieur Ericsson. One does not keep a mystery waiting.”

****

“And I can assure you Lord Jerod Ericsson, that my mistress would not be found in any way consorting with any type of commoner, especially a German. The insinuation alone with practically scandalous.” said Ms. Penelope McDeth, personal maid to the Princess Viktoria of Baden. “Surely you as a man of cultured upbringing would understand even this, coming from your kingdom of…”

“Our people would never be so uncouth as to even hint at any sort of association on the part of the Princess, Ms. McDeth.” Jerod replied, politely ignored her question. “But as your mistress was so generous to show by example during my brief audience with her, the necessities of duty require sometimes that questions be asked to which answers must be obtained. The Princess understands also the value of discretion and I assured her that mine was at her disposable. Otherwise she would have certainly been in her right to decline to answer any of my questions. And now if you will excuse me, I must continue with my investigation. Please extend once again my gratitude to the Princess for her generosity and my hopes for many long years for her and her family.”

With that, Jerod closed the door, cutting of Ms. McDeth’s response in mid-gasp before he exhaled. He shook his head momentarily before he headed down the corridor. “She’s not called McDeth for nothing.” he whispered with a smile, pulled out his note pad to look over his written comments.

Even with the copious amount of scribbling, Jerod frowned. Too many clues in the original cabin, yet nothing more anywhere on the train, he thought as he went over each of the places he had been to even as he slowly meandered back to the final car; the baggage car. It was like it dead-ended right at the door leading out of the cabin #3.

Despite Milo’s insistent on separate interviews, the passengers seemed to make themselves available to Jerod for his own questioning as they exited from the forward dining car. Indeed a couple of them seemed positively intent on telling Jerod everything they knew. He wondered early on what Milo might have told them but decided to wait until he could speak to him further. There were still things to be found out that Milo was not covering.

A discussion with the conductor had revealed his conviction that the German captain had come aboard, cloaked and wearing a thick fur hat against the cold but with a full dark beard. A bear of a man who the conductor had seen briefly enter the passenger card and indeed the conductor had watched him go into numero deux. There was however no mention of any baggage with the man. But one of the stewards had at least remembered a large trunk being loaded onboard the baggage car that looked like a sailor’s chest. None of the other passengers had such a chest according to Milo.

Then a brief talk with the chef and his sous-chef. That had been a pain as well given that Milo had taken over the forward dining car for his investigation. He would not even let Jerod into the car but required that he ask through the door to have the men sent back to speak to them. Jerod had been immediately suspicious of Milo’s behaviour but his expressed goal of maintaining an uncontaminated interrogation environment seemed plausible. For the moment.

Neither of the cooks had seen the phantom German nor had they served any extra meals. Only eleven primary meals were produced for passengers, each one meticulously prepared and recorded as part of the passenger profile, per the requirements of the Orient Express line. The meals for the staff were separate and also catalogued. So nothing there, though Jerod could not visually inspect the kitchen records to be sure. He paused at the door to the baggage car, listened to the soft clang of the car wheels on the other side of the door then looked up at the roof, having noted the ladder attachment leading to the car roof. Then he looked forward as if seeing through the cars to the front of the train. He could always climb out on top of the train, Jerod thought to himself and head forward. But not just yet.

Then there were all the passengers, Jerod thought, sifted through the pages. General MacKenzie, a colonial officer and his young wife Bridgette. A Scandinavian princess and her bulletproof British maid. Mr. Vincenzo from a place called New Jersey who was more than willing to talk about his import/export business. There seemed a bit more seaminess there than was normal even with Jerod’s Court experience but Antonio’s stories had certainly been intriguing. The archaeologist Theodore Barclay who seemed to know a great deal about the middle eastern political situation but who thought a saff tomb was named after someone called Saff. Or the journalist Mercedes Mendes. She could drink like a hard-core investigative reporter for sure but she seemed more interested in finding out whether Jerod was interested an in-depth interview - in her cabin. He smiled for a moment. Well, she was very attractive, but still. A bit too pushy it seemed.

Like a bad detective novel, Jerod thought. But in spite of that he realized that it was enjoyable in its own way. Each of these people were unique in a way that Jerod would not find in Court. Whether compared to the male competitiveness of Amber’s Court, or the political precision and toadying found in Rebma, each of his fellow passengers was distinct and separate from that. One might almost count them as a breath of fresh air.

With that thought, Jerod put the note pad away and pulled out the passkey to open the baggage car door. But even unlocked, the door would not budge despite the ease with which the other doors on the carriages opened. As Jerod pondered the situation, he noticed a small piece of metal wedged into the frame. It was just enough to keep the door sealed unless one removed the blockage. He looked at the piece and pondered, wondered why anyone would want to wedge the door of the car closed when all you needed to do was lock it. For a moment he debated on returning to his cabin for his weapon but realized that anyone seeing it would ask too many awkward questions.

Instead, he removed the metal bit before he opened the door to step inside. The car was sparsely lit and groaned periodically as the baggage and parcels shifted and swayed, held in place with thick straps. Jerod’s search was slow and methodical as he examined all of the items carefully. It was near the center of the car that he discovered a large, wood sailor’s trunk. The wood had the old shine of many years at sea and the metal bindings were finely polished brass – just what one would come to expect for a sailor.

What Jerod did not expect as he reached out to touch it was the old lock that held the clasp closed. It had a crusted, old look to it as if it had been underwater for many years. But no rust residue coated Jerod’s fingers when he pulled them back. The lock also looked positively primitive, Jerod thought as he looked it over. Something straight out of the 12th century. He did not bother pulling out the set of picks that he had in his jacket pocket. He knew against this lock’s inherent simplicity they would be of little value. Instead, he reached out and grasped the lock firmly and braced himself to snap the lock away, tossed it to one side as he opened the chest.

Inside the chest were a number of boxes, wrapped in brightly decorative paper though Jerod’s attention came to rest on the dark coat and fur lined hat that sat atop them. The elusive German’s outfit. Also atop the boxes were two books. Each was recently purchased given the lack of creases though each had a page marked. Jerod frowned. More clues it seemed. Someone was leaving a very obvious trail here, Jerod thought.

He picked up the first one – an English/German dictionary and flipped open the page, noted the entries. One of them was underlined as the name of his mystery passenger. Tapfer, a Germanic expression meaning bravery. Jerod frowned, speed flipped the pages of the dictionary without seeing any other references so marked. The second book was equally new and similarly marked with two pages entries underlined. As he saw the second entry, Jerod paused, elements clicked into place. “You son of a bitch.” he whispered.

Thus Jerod felt rather than saw the movement behind him. He dropped the book and swung back towards the air flow he felt. A moment later the lights went out and the train passed into a tunnel section, plunging the car into darkness. All that could be heard was the sounds of blows swiftly traded as each opponent groped to try to get a piece of Jerod. Equally swift was the oncoming silence as Jerod made use of his speed and strength, the advantage being to him in such close quarters combat. The lights returned briefly with the car’s departure from the tunnel before it entered a second one and Jerod was able to look down and see the unconscious forms of four masked attackers. When the light again returned following the second exiting from a tunnel, Jerod now saw that no one was there. A brief look around the car revealed that the chest was missing as well.

“Oh no, you don’t. You don’t get away that easy.” Jerod said, headed to the door only to find it sealed. As he peered through the window, he could make out the shadow of a smallish individual moving away into the next car. A solid kick to the lock assembly produced some splintering but Jerod knew it would take time to get through it and he was not in the mood to wait. As he looked around, he noted the ceiling ventilators and smiled. After moving a set of chests to act as a platform, he punched the ventilator opening and cautiously popped his head out to look, careful not to stick his head out abruptly just as the train entered a tunnel.

The view from the train top extended for several miles as it showed the train’s meandering progress through the forested mountains with no tunnels were visible to the horizon. Jerod knew he would have plenty of time and scrambled up to make his way up the length of the train. Despite the winter cold, there was an exhilaration to being here and Jerod took a deep breathing. He moved nimbly from car to car, careful of the treacherous footing from ice or snow. “Now that I know what you’re up to, let’s see what you toss at me now.” he said to himself, finished a leap onto the dining car. As he began to move forward, he slowed to watch as the air above the second kitchen car began to swirl and condense. By the time he had reached the end of the car, he saw the roof of the kitchen car was covered in a thin layer of ice.

He smiled and stopped to focus his will for a moment before he leaped. He landed both feet straight down on the roof, knowing for certain that the ice would shatter and fragment from this impact. The resulting release at this point would shiver the ice covering into fragments, and did just as he had predicted. Kicking a piece of ice out of his way, he continue toward the first kitchen car. “Too easy.” he whispered, stopped when he reached the first car and looked down through a ceiling glass shutter. A quick kick to the shutter frame loosened the assembly and a moment later the surprised sous-chef stared at Jerod as he jumped down into the car. He moved back a step as Jerod approached but did not stop him as Jerod dipped a finger into the bowl that the chef was holding before tasting it.

“Chocolate cheesecake?” Jerod asked, watched as the sous chef nodded. “My favorite. The crust will need more cinnamon. Trust me.”

Then he slipped past the chef and into the dining car. A curtain frame covered table was to his left as he entered and Jerod sniffed, detected the whiff of vanilla that he had suspected would be there.

Near the middle of the car, Milo was putting away his pen and pad as Mademoiselle Rochet, a French gemologist who worked for DeBeers, departed through the far door. She smiled when she saw Jerod entered and waved to him and he returned the gesture. His conversation with her had been quite interesting, as he realized that all the conversations he had with the passengers had been interesting.

“Ah, Jerod.” Milo said, watched as Jerod approached. “So, how goes the investigation? It has been quite the busy afternoon, has it not?”

“Indeed it has. As you would certainly know.” Jerod replied.

“Oh? Milo said, an expression of curiousity on his face.

Jerod settled down on the opposite side of the table to Milo. “Tell me. Did you plant those books in the chest, or did the mysterious Herr Tapfer?”

“What makes you think that I planted the books?” Milo inquired.

Jerod smiled. “I didn’t. At least not yet. But since you didn’t ask me “what books”, that tells me you know about their existence already. And since they were in a sailor’s chest with a very old lock on them, that kind of gives the game away.”

Milo smiled. “Ah, so the little grey cells continue to work, non? What else gave it away?”

“The hair net.” Jerod said, watched as Milo smiled broadly. “There was no gel on it, yet you were wearing it as if ready for bed. You wouldn’t put it on unless you were getting into bed and the process of gelling your hair takes awhile. You had it on for appearance sake.”

Milo nodded, clapped his hands. “You have done well Jerod. Much quicker than he thought. He figured it would take you at least another day to put it all together.”

“And you?” Jerod asked.

“I did not think so. You are too much like him in always trying to solve the mystery, but he suspected it would take time because of the people. The opportunity to speak to so many different individuals would make you reluctant to follow through.”

Jerod nodded, understanding the frame of logic that would produce that conclusion. “They certainly were interesting. How did he manage to acquire so many of them.”

“Ah, you may blame that upon me.” Milo said. “Each of them has been an acquaintance of mine over the last several years. I recruited them myself after hearing about the plan.”

“And an ingenious one at that.” Jerod says. “Who came up with the name Tapfer, anyway?”

Milo said. “I did. It is simple, non?”

“Yes it was. So simple I couldn’t recognize it for what it was. Bravery.” Jerod offered.

“The simplest disguise is often the most difficult to penetrate. A large Teuton, named for bravery and a mariner as well. Who comes to mind?” Milo said with confidence.

“My uncle Gerard.” Jerod said. “Which just happens to stand for bravery in German. Where is he?”

Milo shook his head. “In the forward kitchen compartment. He decided to get something to eat and knew the cook would not bring enough. He does seem to have a rather prodigious appetite and he did not wish to spoil the cake while awaiting your arrival.”

“A family trait.” Jerod said. “And now for Monsieur Segreto. Or should we say, Mr. Mystery. Someone’s definitely got an ego to use that name. Let’s go see him, shall we?”

“But of course.” Milo said, put the pen and pad into his jacket breast pocket and followed Jerod out to the passenger car. Jerod stopped in front of the first cabin, looked at Milo before he knocked on the door. A moment later it opened, Eric at the entrance with a smile on his face.

“So, did you enjoy yourself?” Eric asked.

Jerod nodded. “Yes, I did. It was most definitely not boring.”

Eric smiled. “I’m glad. Happy birthday son.”

****

Real World Note:

For those who are interested, a bottle of Lafite Rothschild Pauillac Bordeaux France, 1858, can be acquired from the Top Wines merchant of Switzerland for a mere $6,823.23 (USD), current prices.

Follow up: the trackback URL for this entry is: http://www.whiterose.org/MT/mt-tb.cgi/4543

1 Comments

monica
Oct 28, 2004 8:48 AM

Do you write for a living? Excellent and engaging work as usual!

thanks for a wonderful story!

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