The Case of the Fickle Mermaid (10 page)

“I shall put my best men on it.”

“Excellent. I myself will question those who worked with Frenchie, as well as those who were on deck last night.”

“That will be the greater part of the crew,” Captain Ziegler warned her. “With such a sea up, most hands were on deck.”

“Then most hands will be closely quizzed.” She drained her glass and stood up once more.

“And what of me, Fraulein Gretel?” the captain demanded. “I cannot stand by while my crew is decimated and my business threatened with failure. What task shall I set myself to in order to save both?”

“Your work is of crucial importance,” she told him. “You must set about diverting the passengers from this unsavory event. Hans will feed them; Mother Nature has blessed us with clear skies and calm seas today. You must see to it that their minds are occupied with happier thoughts than those
that arise from dwelling on a possible murder, or kidnap, or being spirited away by mythical creatures from the deep. I recommend music. Dancing. Simple pleasures that soothe body, mind, and soul.”

“Yes!” The captain sprang to his feet, a roguish smile transforming his countenance. “You have it right, fraulein. I will send a messenger gull at once. We are within reach of the port of Busum. I will summon musicians.”

“Splendid! I recommend you move among your men and passengers now. Let them see you are unworried, that everything is in hand, and tell them of the wonderful entertainment that awaits them this evening. If there are any murmurings regarding poor taste, respect for the unfortunate cook, and so on, quell them with stories of Frenchie's good humor. Tell them how it would have pained him to see them so glum on his account. In short, Captain Ziegler, employ your not inconsiderable charm,” she told him, noticing anew the singular manner in which his teeth crossed, giving his grin a mischievous allure. Again this stirred in her some long-forgotten memory, though it still would not reveal itself.

The
Arabella
became a place of intense activity. Crewmembers scoured the ship for any sign of their absent cook. The captain went about lavishing attention and charisma upon his passengers, promising them delights and entertainment, calming their fears, and generally playing down the matter of the missing man, even going so far as to suggest he might have jumped ship for the sake of a sweetheart in a nearby port. He worked his talent for leadership upon his men, too, pausing to pat a back or give a nod of encouragement in a convincing manner wherever he could. Soon the mood on board was quite altered.

Hans outdid himself. The minute he tied the apron strings around his ample form, he was a changed man, no longer
lachrymose and woeful, but focused and determined. Frenchie was now someone he had to live up to and whose memory he must serve well. That Woman was not allowed entry to the galley, so that he was able to put her from his mind altogether while he worked. And work he did, falling with glee upon the well-stocked larder, issuing orders to the galley boy to chop this and slice that while he himself mixed and blended and seared and tossed, for all the world as if he were back in his own beloved kitchen in Gesternstadt.

Gretel set about questioning the crew. She was relieved to be able to cast off the disguise of a vacationing passenger and reveal her true identity and purpose. It felt right to be frankly and openly putting questions to people, taking notes, circling salient points, underlining anomalies, and generally considering possibilities and theories. She was in her element, and confident that the case would now progress swiftly. She would have preferred to go about her investigations without the assistance of the perpetually damp and malodorous mer-hund, but as it was not allowed in the galley and howled noisily if left for any time in the cabin, she was forced to keep it with her. After two hours of diligence, only one person remained to be quizzed. She found the quartermaster at the wheel, his cold eyes fixed on the distant horizon as he kept the ship on her course. The mer-hund, ever Gretel's shadow, padded around the poop deck behind them.

“Herr Hoffman, I trust my questions will not prove a dangerous distraction,” she said, coming to stand beside him.

Hoffman kept tight hold of the worn wooden handles, minutely adjusting the wheel this way and that as required. He did not look at Gretel as he spoke. “I've been all my life at sea, fraulein. Taken on as a cabin boy when I had seen but eight summers, and the greater part of my years since have seen me aboard rather than on land. I've held the position of
quartermaster these five years since. I am not to be distracted by a woman's chatter,” he told her.

“Quite,” said Gretel, refusing to rise to the bait.

“Ask what you will. I have nothing to hide.”

“I sincerely hope that is the case,” she replied, “but if it were not, I doubt any amount of interrogation on my part could unearth a secret you wished to keep.”

This unexpected tack caused him at least to glance at her. He looked for a moment as if he might make a comment, but instead kept his mouth shut in a firm, hard line. Gretel pressed on.

“I noticed last night, when I was taking a little air . . .”

“You were ill advised to be out of your cabin and on deck in such weather, fraulein. There were waves of sufficient strength and size to sweep even you over the side.”

Gretel chose to ignore the small but ungallant “even” in his remark. It would not do to lose her composure with such a man. “. . . I noticed that, while you had command of the ship, the captain was nowhere to be seen. Even when the storm was at its height. It is clear he trusts you utterly with his ship and his crew.”

“Would be little point in having a quartermaster if that were not the case. A man does not keep a dog and bark himself.”

Gretel could not help pausing to look at the mer-hund. She decided it was her turn to be provoking. “Surely, Herr Hoffman, you do not consider yourself your master's pet?”

There was an instant of silence, save for the brittle, scratchy sound of offense being taken, yet still Hoffman would not let his stony façade crumble. “It is as you said: the captain trusts me to do my job. And I do it. That is the beginning and end of our relationship.”

“Indeed. And while you were doing your job so splendidly, you found it necessary at one point to give the wheel to a
person of lower rank, so that you might attend to one of the lifeboats.”

“What of it?”

“Forgive me, Herr Hoffman, I am a woman come late to the sailing party, but it seems to me more important that the man in charge should be steering the ship, rather than fiddling with rope and such like.”

“The lifeboats must be secured. For the safety of crew and passengers.”

“Quite so, but I understand that the maintenance of ship's equipment—rigging, sails, and the like—falls under the tender auspices of the boatswain. Is that not the case?”

“Ordinarily, it is. But Bo'sun Brandt was not at hand. There was much to be done, and scarce enough crew to do it. I saw that the lifeboat required lashing and chose to see to it myself, rather than have Brandt fetched,” he explained, with impressive plausibility.

“I see,” said Gretel. “Thank you so much for clearing the matter up for me.”

“Have I then?”

“Oh, indeed you have,” she told him. “I will trouble you no further.” So saying, she took herself off, narrowly avoiding an undignified descent of the stairs as the mer-hund bounded past her. Hoffman had unwittingly given himself away. Gretel knew that, had she confronted him directly regarding his conversation with Brandt near the lifeboat during the storm, he would have invented some harmless explanation. By allowing him to choose to lie about Brandt's having been there with him, he had revealed this as something he wished to hide, and therefore as something significant. Quite what it signified she did not yet know, but she resolved to find out as quickly as she was able.

The calm sea allowed the summoned musicians from Busum to meet the
Arabella
at the given rendezvous point without difficulty. The promise of evening entertainment had done precisely what Gretel had assured Captain Ziegler it would do; the passengers could think of nothing else. They had enjoyed Frenchie's cuisine; they had, briefly, lamented his loss, but their fickle hearts had happily moved on to more joyful pursuits. Men and women alike disappeared to their cabins to ready themselves for a few hours of fun and frivolity. Hans, of course, refused to leave his post, and so continued his work in the galley, promising a late feast for all the dance-goers. Gretel found herself caught up in the moment, not least because it would mean an opportunity, at long last, to wear her divine wig. Everard was fearfully busy with preparations for the evening, but still managed to slip away for ten minutes to assist Gretel.

“Fraulein, you look magnificent!” he declared, stepping back as best the confines of her quarters would allow, which necessitated him all but standing on Hans's hound. He had brushed and tamed her salt water–tangled hair until it was sufficiently malleable once again to force beneath a fine net. This allowed him to fit the wig in place and secure it with pins. It was undeniably a superb creation. As Gretel regarded her reflection in the looking glass, she congratulated herself on money well spent. A wig was not something to scrimp on. It was a statement of grandeur, a declaration of the wearer's love of style, and fashion, and all things elegant and refined. Everard had skillfully dressed the wig, teasing the piles of curls and twists of snowy white into perfect shape and condition. The tiny silver beads and bells that threaded through the creation sparkled attractively in the low light of the ship's lamp. He leaned forward and dabbed on a little more powder for the finishing touch.

“Exquisite!” He smiled.

Gretel smiled back. There was nothing like a bit of dressing up and showing off to give one a boost. It had been a long, hard day, which came on the heels of an uncomfortable, sleepless night. The drama of Frenchie's disappearance, and the hours of work that followed, had left her drained. Now she felt restored. Rejuvenated. She knew she looked particularly fine, and now she would drift about the dining hall—transformed for the evening into a mini ballroom—enjoying the admiring glances of the other passengers. She might even dance. True, this would not be as spectacular as a ball at the Summer Schloss, or a grand occasion on board the mighty
Fair Fortune
, and she would not have the opportunity to be waltzed or polka'd by Uber General Ferdinand von Ferdinand, but still . . . she was wearing her wig, and she intended to enjoy every minute of it. She thanked Everard, insisting he accept a generous tip before he hurried back to take up his position as steward once more. It was early, however, and she did not want to lessen the impact of her entrance by being among the first to arrive. A short turn about deck would be just the thing, she decided. Hans had sent down a juicy bone for the mer-hund, which Gretel now gave him so that she could leave without his kicking up a rumpus at being shut in without company. The last thing she needed was a pungent, hairy chaperone to color her enjoyment of the occasion.

Up top, the air was fresh but warm, the sky a slowly deepening blue, the sea flat as a silk bedsheet. Gretel leaned on the rail, enjoying the way the lightest of westerly breezes refreshed and soothed her at one and the same time. She knew she cut a striking figure. From the corner of her eye she was aware of the honeymooning couple turning to look at her. Birgit and her cohort craned their necks for a better view. Even Dr. Becker lowered his ever-present field glasses in order to take in her glamorous appearance.

Which, for the briefest of moments, was all so very harmlessly pleasant and lovely. Why was it, Gretel asked herself later, that such joy could only ever be fleeting? Why was it that such gentle pleasures that might, admittedly, be defenseless against accusations of pride, but which were otherwise simple delights that caused no one any distress, had to be paid for in such currencies as shame and humiliation? Would it have been too much to hope for that the soft zephyr that barely rippled the sails could stay as such, and not suddenly develop a stiff gust? It seemed that it would. For such a gust did indeed develop, whipped up from who knew where, to hit Gretel with its full force. She teetered against the rail, but was never in any danger of tipping over it. What was unable to withstand the brisk blowing, however, was her beloved wig. Or rather, the pins that secured it. The wind whisked the towering confection from her head, suspended it for the shortest of moments in the air above, and then swept it out to sea, where it landed with a poignant splash before descending to the depths.

From atop the rigging there came a shout.

“Wig overboard!”

Without a word, Gretel turned on her heel, hitched up her skirts, held her hair-netted head high, and returned to her cabin and the uncritical gaze of the mer-hund.

EIGHT

T
wo days after Frenchie's as-yet-unexplained disappearance saw warmer weather still, and an excursion was arranged to one of the tiny nearby islands so that the cruise-goers might indulge in some sea-bathing. The Schmidts cornered Gretel at breakfast and spent two courses extolling the benefits of saltwater swimming, listing among them glowing skin, increased vigor, healing of old wounds and scars, and a boosted appetite. Gretel assured them that her appetite needed no boosting, and that in her experience sea air could prove the ruination of a good complexion. However, she was pleased to share that she would in fact be taking advantage of the excursion, as she had never visited such a place before, might not be
given the chance to do so again, and firmly believed in experiencing what life had to offer when such occasions presented themselves. The loving couple was not really interested in her reply, for they were still immersed in their love for each other, and indeed their love of that love. Long before Gretel had come to the end of her response, Herr and Frau Schmidt had turned their attention from her and back to themselves.