The Show Must Go OnGoran loitered in Petra's office after she and Niccolo trumped out, smoking and thinking. 'Your Baroness', Petra had said. The phrase prompted a strange mix of pleasure and fear. 'Your Baroness' Goran rolled it around in his mind, allowing himself to savor some of the warm feelings the thoughts of Tear brought him before reverting to the caution. He hadn't thought it had been that obvious. He had tried to downplay his feelings. They were friends. Good friends. That was all he had shown on board the Queen, he thought. That was all he had intended to show. He would have to be more careful. He crushed out the remains of the cigar and pulled on the professional mask. After straightening the office to dispose of any details of the evening's activity here, Goran launched into his employer's final instructions, determined to bottle those softer emotions up until they could be properly examined in private later. He began by prowling the labyrinth of security corridors, making sure no one was in them who shouldn't be. There was no-one who shouldn't be. In more public areas, most of the guests, now that the night's excitement appeared to be over, had returned to more conventional amusements. Antonia was ensuring that the champagne was flowing more freely than ever ... and perhaps the conversation was a little louder, from the relief that they were still present to enjoy it. Goran made himself seen in the public areas, strolling casually as if nothing had transpired and chatting amiably with familiar faces. His engaging smile and sparkling blue eyes exuded confidence and tranquility. No one could guess that all the while, he was wondering how best to dispose of a dead body and initiate a political cover-up. This sort of show, after all, was simply his job. Eventually, he made his way up to the scene of the crime to relieve poor Ramon. Ramon hailed him with relief - and some curiousity to what had been planned to happen next. Goran sent Ramon off to find a large piece of canvas and some twine - enough to wrap the remains up for storage. He could have searched for it himself, but by now a putrid odor had begun to pervade the room and he felt Ramon deserved a break. While he waited, he searched the dead man's clothing once more, but it was more to kill time than anything. He had been fairly thorough the first time. When Ramon returned, they prepared the body. Goran took care to treat the remains as respectfully as possible, positioning the body in a pleasing manner with arms across the chest before wrapping it up securely. He even went so far as to utter an old Russo prayer for the departed. The show of respect should help his case later, he hoped. When they were finished, Goran hefted the body over his shoulder (not a difficult task with half of its insides missing), and carried it down to a storage room beyond the kitchens. In a back corner, he located a body-sized crate that had conveniently not been disposed of the last time new furniture had been delivered to the Queen. He sent Ramon to fetch as much ice as the kitchens could deliver while he lined the crate with another canvas and carefully laid the body inside. Ramon reappeared, carrying a heavy sack of ice that he had collected. "Antonia says, if we run short, she will fly you like a flag from the mainmast," he said cheerfully. "At least, so she said until I told her why you wanted it. Then she just looked green and waved me away." Goran laughed. "Lightweight," he jested, knowing Antonia to be nothing of the sort. He began scooping ice into the crate, showing Ramon how he wanted the body surrounded as evenly as possible. When the sack was empty, Goran explained how he wanted the job finished: Get more ice if Antonia would let him and fill the crate to the level of the dead man's chest, then cover the crate with packing blankets to insulate it. When he was finished, he was to lock the storage room and go take a good hot bath. Leaving Ramon to finish the task, Goran returned to the office where bin Fremen continued to be held. At the moment, only Allegra was in the room. She had inveigled bin Fremen into a complicated game called Bilanpil - a sort of chess played an a board set out on three levels (although devotees claimed that players had to be aware of two unseen dimensions in order to be able to play with skill and finesse). They both looked up as Goran entered. "Ah, my lord, you are still here," Goran addressed bin Fremen graciously, touching the man's shoulder in a gesture of sympathy as he stepped over toward the bar. "Thank you for your patience during our investigation of this most unfortunate incident. I believe I finally have substantial information to report to you. Would you care for a drink before I get started?" Goran looked the man directly in the eyes, and Allegra noticed a smoothness in the security officer's voice that, while somewhat unusual, was not entirely unexpected under the difficult circumstances. "A drink," said bin Fremen. "Yes ... some tea, perhaps? Or the desert wine - do you have some of the wine of Ala Greque?" His tone was odd, almost subdued - although he had been expostiulating noisily enough with Allegra a few minutes ago - both on the game and on his misfortunes (and, for that matter, on his misfortunes in the game). "Yes, I am certain we do," Goran purred, sparing only the briefest glance down below the bar to select the bottle. He returned his gaze to bin Fremen almost immediately as he opened it. "I trust Allegra has been treating you in fine fashion," he said, keeping the man engaged in small talk as he poured three glasses. "It appears you are doing quite well at Bilanpil. I should have you teach me your strategy sometime." Bin Fremen smiled. "A few little flicks of the wrist, the hand deceiving the eye ... " Behind his back, Allegra rolled her eyes at Goran. Clearly, she had needed all her ingenuity to appear to lose convincingly to the man. Bin Fremen reached for his glass. "You have news?" he asked hopefully. "I do, but it is not good," Goran said gravely, placing the drinks on the table in front of each of them and seating himself. "My lord, I regret to inform you that your friend -- my pardons, I don't know his name," Goran prompted sympathetically. "Lord Montcalm," said bin Fremen heavily. "Son and heir to Lord Valmont, best claimant to the throne of Eregnor - best claimant sympathetic to Kashfa that is. And his wife and baby son were due to arrive tonight from Kashfa." "Ah. You and the family have my sympathies, my lord. Our investigation indicates that Lord Montcalm was the unfortunate victim of an act of terrorism against the peaceful people of Amber," Goran explained delicately. "It appears he did not realize what he was doing. You noted yourself that his actions were not typical of his normal behaviour." Goran paused, allowing that memory to sink in. "Lord bin Fremen, we believe your friend was being manipulated by one Duke Helgram, who arrived recently in Amber professing a desire to instigate its downfall." Goran shook his head sadly and took a sip of his wine, as if overcoming some deep emotion. "A Helgram token was found on his person and was apparently used as the means to control him. Against power such as that, the poor man didn't stand a chance. It was the self-destruction of that token that caused the explosion we all felt on the ship earlier," Goran explained, adopting the quiet, comforting manner of a doctor breaking the bad news to a next-of-kin. Bin Fremen shook his head. "The victim of a terrorist attack," he said. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, he brightened. "Then we can blame the Begmans!" Goran's eyebrows arched fractionally before he continued. "I do not believe you understand, my lord," he explained gently. "The threat is much larger than the long-standing dispute between Begma and Kashfa. If Duke Helgram succeeds at his mission, the entire Golden Circle will be in danger of destruction. If Amber is destroyed, Begma, Eregnor AND Kashfa will not be far behind." "But the Begmans must have been involved!" said bin Fremen. "And they must be stopped! This could mean war!" He seemed quite keen on the idea. And Goran felt a gentle nudging at his mind, which was somewhat familiar. A mindlink, Goran recognized. Similar to a trump contact, yet more tenuous. Voice but no visual. There was only one person he knew who sometimes communicated this way. For the moment, he refrained from answering, wishing to deal with bin Fremen first. "We found no evidence of Begman involvement, my lord," Goran explained diplomatically, his expression showing no sign of distraction. "But we'd be willing to consider this as we continue our investigation. Perhaps you can tell me what you know about the situation so that we might add it to our collection of evidence." Bin Fremen was only too happy to. He began to enumerate the Wrongs of Kashfa, suffered at the hands of the cruel and overwheening Begma throughout the ages (and he did go back ages into history to add more weight to his case). As Goran reacted, his voice became a drone in the background. Goran opened the link tentatively, carefully controlling his facial reactions. ~Yes?~ he thought. Solitaire's voice came through, jumbled slightly, as if speaking in a tunnel. ~Goran! Oh thank goodness. I'm okay. But something is interfering with this link. I'd better drop it, just in case. Meet me at my home when you can. I'm just at the edge of the Arden now. I should be back soon. Things with the Prince. Went bad. And we need to talk about the Duke. I love you. Bye!~ And with that, the Mindlink cut out. Goran covered his mouth and coughed to cover his astonishment, keeping his eyes on bin Fremen while his mind struggled to process the whirlwind of information he had just received. Arden?! Prince?! Where the hell...? And that last bit? Too much. He forced his focus back to the droning lord, who had by now moved into more recent history, only three or four centuries back. Goran nodded at what seemed appropriate moments and made sufficiently condescending comments, throwing in clarifying questions for spice here and there just to show he was still with things. At a point where the lord finally paused for breath, however, Goran stopped him with a question. "My lord, I can certainly see why you would have a background for your beliefs, but in this particular instance, can you recall anything specific? For example, did anyone approach Lord Montcalm before he boarded the ship or sometime earlier in the day? Did the Lord mention speaking with anyone unusual? Did you notice a particular point when he began behaving erratically? It will be that sort of information that will help us the most," Goran encouraged. Bin Fremen frowned. "He paid off all his debts," he said at last. "We thought it was because his wife was coming but ... I'm not sure where he had the money. Unless the Ambassador loaned it to him." His face darkened. "Unless he was selling us out to the Begmans! In league with dark forces within Chaos!" No matter who was in the bed of suspicion, it appeared, bin Fremen would find a Begman under it. It was all Goran could do not to roll his eyes as bin Fremen lambasted the Begmans once more. Patiently, he tried a different tack. "And if you can help us defeat these Chaosians' plans, Lord bin Fremen, the Begmans will have one less ally." He leaned in and rested his elbows on the table between them, his eyes sparkling conspiratorially. "You know, my lord, it might even make it to the ears of Kashfan royalty who helped to uncover this despicable tie between Begma and Duke Helgram. You could be a hero. Even moreso if Kashfan forces can eliminate this threat before the Duke or his allies can harm anyone else." Bin Fremen nodded. "That is my duty," he said firmly. "What must I do?" "Spread the word of the threat," Goran said immediately. "Go directly to the leaders in Kashfa. Explain what has happened and what has been discovered. Tell them that Duke Helgram was responsible for the assassination of Lord Montcalm and that he must be eliminated before he can cause more trouble that the Begmans will then surely exploit." He reached out to touch the man's arm in a gesture of sympathy. "Also, please convey our deepest sympathies to the Kashfan royal family for their tragic loss. We have done everything we can to preserve the remains for proper burial. When we dock, we can have a carriage waiting to transport you and Lord Montcalm wherever you wish to go, if that is your wish." "To the Embassy," said bin Fremen. "His wife ... his widow will have been conveyed there. She must be informed at once, of course." He looked with slightly rheumy eyes at Goran. "Could you do that?" "Of course," Goran said with a respectful bow of his head. "I have orders to go ashore ahead of us anyway. I'll carry the message and arrange for a carriage. Is there anything else, my lord?" |
