The Case of the Fickle Mermaid (23 page)

“His ships, d'you mean? They are fine enough, but I'd rather have my
Arabella
.”

“Your loyalty to your vessel does you credit. No, I was referring to his position. When first ever we spoke of him, you revealed your jealousy of his standing in society—‘supping with royalty' was the phrase you used, if memory serves. He is a man
respected in these parts, a businessman who is well thought of by everyone, be they crew, paying passengers, dignitaries, royal cruise-goers, or family members. Even the islanders themselves speak well of him, and they, as I have discovered, are resistant to just about everyone until given a reason to like them.”

Captain Ziegler looked uncharacteristically subdued. His expression suggested Gretel had hit the nail square on the head and driven it home painfully. He opened his mouth to speak, but she saved him the trouble.

“Before you attempt to explain yourself, I feel it only fair that I confess to knowing of your past.”

His eyes narrowed. “How much of it?”

“All of it.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, indeed, ah.”

He sighed wearily and ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose it had to come out. Though damn it all, how far around the world does a man have to sail to outrun his history?”

“The more colorful a past, the faster and farther it travels.”

“There's truth in that.”

“Tell me, for I am curious, what was it made you turn from the life of a privateer to that of the master of a cruise ship? From what I have learned, you were a successful buccaneer. Famous. Wealthy. What made you yearn for such a quiet life?”

“In my youth I was unmatchable, fraulein. There was none could sail a ship, plot a course, mount an attack, swash or buckle better than I. And yes, I took bounty aplenty. I took lives, too, I'm not proud of that, but it was part of my role. My crew respected me. There were those romantically inclined who enjoyed hearing tales of my exploits.” He allowed himself a little smile at this. “But I will not see thirty again. The passing of the years—and such years!—takes its toll. On body and on soul. I was weary, fraulein. Weary of the fight. Of the ruffians
whose company I kept. Of the terror on the faces of anyone I met beyond my crew. Weary of being the only man on board could read. Or write. Or talk of anything other than murder and gold and plunder.”

“In short, my dear captain, you grew up.”

“Let us say a man's needs alter as he alters. I wished for a different life. I knew I could never have it where I was known. I had obtained my pardon, right enough, but if I was to enter society, to move among good folk in the calm waters of peace rather than the turmoil of a life of piracy, I must needs change myself, and change how others saw me. To do that I had to find a new home.”

“The name was a good place to start, too. I can't imagine too many gilt-edged invitations being penned to the Snaggle-Toothed Pirate.”

“You have it right. So I quit the Caribbean seas and came north, here to this place of pale beauty.”

“You liked it?”

He shrugged. “I liked what it could give me. A fresh start. The chance to live calmly. Peaceably. Though 'tis bitter cold three-quarters of the year and has shown me more shades of gray than I ever knew existed.”

Gretel nodded. “You are not alone in that experience. But the people, if a little distant at first, they are kind and good, are they not? Your jealousy of Sommer is not born of dislike, in fact, but of admiration and envy. You would be him, were such a thing possible.”

“Ha! If ever I stood a slender chance of becoming such, it has vanished along with the crewmembers who have disappeared, both mine and his.”

“Your reputation may yet be saved.”

“You believe so? I fear not,” he said, plucking the stopper from the nearest decanter and pouring two generous measures into crystal tumblers.

“Let the matter of your good name rest with me. In the meantime, we have more urgent concerns.”

“We have?”

“If we are to save further men from either fleeing or being done in, yes. Our endeavors must be directed in two places. First, the mermaid.”

“She is real?”

“As you or I.”

“You've found her, then!”

“Found, met, conversed with, and persuaded of a possible course of action that will, I believe, suit your needs as well as they suit hers.”

“Excellent! At last, fraulein, I begin to see a return on my investment. Here's to you!” He saluted her with his glass.

“Yes, my payment is a matter to which I must return shortly. Now, what say you to a short trip to the waters of your youth?”

“Return to the Caribbee? Why would I do such a thing?”

“The mermaid is desirous of a warmer home. I have taken it upon myself to give her an assurance, on your behalf, that she will be conveyed to such a place. For a price, of course.”

“She has money?”

“Thanks to whoever it is who pays her to ruin you, she has.”

“Ha! I like the roundness of that. There is justice! To use the scoundrel's own coin to stop him. I like that very well! But who is the man?”

“Alas, I do not have his name, not yet. I have my theories, naturally . . .”

“Theories be damned! I must know who is set upon ruining me!”

“And you will, I promise you that. But first things first, and that is to get the mermaid's cooperation.”

“If I agree to ferry her south, she'll spill the beans?”

“It will be part of agreed terms, I guarantee. Be under no illusion, you will have difficulty keeping a crew once they know what cargo it is you carry.”

“You leave my crew to me. Those who have run back to their mothers at a few notes of singing are well gone. I will face the rest with the proposal. So long as I have sufficient for the voyage, at least, I can be certain more will be willing to join me once it is known I have rid them of the mermaid they so fear. Then I may ply my trade and add to my ship's company and passengers alike with confidence.” He thought for a moment and then said, “Tell the fishy maid I will do as she wants, but 'twill be at no small inconvenience and disruption: I will have that gold from her before we sail, and plenty of it.”

“You may tell her yourself. In fact, you must, for she will not strike the deal until she has word of it from your own lips. I promised her you would go to her, knowing as I do that you are not troubled by the creatures.”

“Tobias Ziegler fears nothing the sea can offer him. That's true enough.”

“Excellent. Next we must turn our minds to the matter of the smuggled brandy your quartermaster has been busying himself with.”

“What?” roared the captain. “Am I never to break free of skulduggery and nefarious enterprises? How is a man to establish himself as fine and trustworthy if all about him are revealed to be not only murderous cutthroats but devious opportunists to boot?”

“Calm yourself, dear captain. Fortune has favored our cause inasmuch as the isle that the smuggler chose to stow their contraband is the same island on which the mermaid has her current home. Whether he is also her secret benefactor I cannot yet be certain, but I intend on finding out. You and I will return there, seal the deal with the young creature, and so assure you
of trouble-free future cruises. We can, at the same time, seek out any further stashes of brandy, claim them, and quite possibly have sight of the mob who either deliver or collect them. Our rescuers took some away with them, but I suspect there will be more. While it is probable Hoffman and his gang will find an alternative location for future transactions, I doubt they will be able to change their plans in a matter of hours, particularly if the brandy is being brought any distance and in secret.”

Captain Ziegler sprang to his feet and brandished his sword. “God strike me down as a liar if I don't run that man through before the week is out!”

Gretel wagged a finger at him. “That past of yours is catching you up again, captain,” she warned. “You must rein in your natural instinct for violence. Would Thorsten Sommer disport himself thus? I think not.”

Returning his sword to its scabbard with a growl, the captain said, “Very well, I will hold my temper. But these are dangerous men we dice with, fraulein. I will not go unarmed or unprepared.”

“Nor would I wish you to,” she assured him, getting somewhat stiffly to her feet. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will retire to my cabin for what is left of the night.”

“We leave at first light?”

“If you agree to send Everard to me with breakfast, hot water, and coconut oil an hour before, I shall be ready,” she told him, ignoring the quizzical expression this request elicited. “On the subject of which,” she added, an uplifting thought occurring to her, “I believe that as two of our passengers have quit the ship, there must be a berth going begging; is that the case?”

“It is.”

“Then, if you have no objection, I shall install my brother in it. We find ourselves somewhat cramped in the present arrangement.” When the captain hesitated, appearing to be
contemplating some other use for the cabin, Gretel continued, “I must gain fortifying sleep for the arduous adventures that await us, captain. A modicum of comfort is all I ask.”

“Very well, as you wish,” he said.

“Your kindness is greatly appreciated. And remember now, we must play our cards close to our chest. Do not let Herr Hoffman know that we suspect him. And do not, under any circumstances, let him leave this ship.”

On her way across the deck, Gretel glimpsed the sprite. She fleetingly wondered if she should engage it in conversation. Its riddle had revealed its meaning for the most part, but the key element of the identity of the person who was employing the mermaid remained hidden. Did the sprite know who it was? Was it Hoffman? The idea made sense, and yet did not quite ring true for reasons Gretel could not entirely fathom. At that moment, she was too weary to find out. The thought of her small but comfortable bed filled her mind. She would press the sprite on the matter the next day. So distracted was she by the many and various thoughts that were whirling through her mind that Gretel walked smack into the solid frame of none other than the quartermaster.

“Oh! Herr Hoffman. Forgive me, I did not see you there . . .”

Where another might have offered gallant insistence that the fault was his, Hoffman uttered no such platitudes. Instead, he merely glared at her, as if her very existence offended him. Which, all things considered, it most likely did.

Gretel deemed it wisest to keep from sensitive subjects that might lead into tender topics and sore spots, such as islands, and brandy, and smugglers, and so on, and yet the man stood stout and steady before her, considering his own tactics, no doubt. Gretel cast about for some harmless matter on which to converse to calm the moment, and so spoke on the first that came to mind.

“Tell me, Herr Hoffman, have you ever, in your many years aboard ship, encountered a sea sprite?”

He grimaced and then quickly arranged his features in an expression of scorn. But before he could do this entirely, he glanced up into the rigging, as if expecting to see something there. It was a telling gesture. Still, he said only, “There's no such thing as a sea sprite!” and leaned sideways to spit forcefully over the side to his left. The idea had the effect Gretel had hoped for, deflecting his thoughts from ones she would rather he did not think. For all his respectability, the man was at the very least a smuggler, and at worst a murderer. He stepped aside and Gretel, bidding him good night, hurried past.

Fearing that, if she did not rest her aching head on a soft pillow very soon, she would be good for nothing at all, she dropped quickly down the steep stairs toward the longed-for point of collapse. She would even be able to eject Hans and his hound to the new cabin, and so be free of their snores and malodorous habits while she slept.

As so often happened, however, what seemed to be perfectly reasonable wishes and attainable goals became distant fanciful fantasies because some other freshly born event came to stand between her and her heart's desire. In this case, that event involved Birgit in hysterics, which was obstacle enough for anyone anywhere, but made all the worse by being located in the narrow passage belowdecks.

“My fan!” That Woman cried, her cheeks tearstained, her nose even redder than usual. “My darling ivory-handled fan! Gone! Stolen!” she shrieked. Her two companions did their best to soothe her, but this mostly consisted of their wailing and weeping and dabbing ineffectually at her with lace handkerchiefs.

Dr. Becker, disturbed by the commotion, opened his cabin door.

“Can I be of any assistance?” he asked.

“Oh, doctor!” Birgit fell upon his arm, clearly deciding a physician of ornithology was as close as she was going to get to any sort of medical support. “Help me, please! There is a thief in our midst. A cruel cad who has taken something so very dear to me.” Here she began crying and sniffing anew. Gretel was reminded—as if she needed to be!—of the vacuous construction of That Woman's mind, which allowed the silly creature to be so ridiculously concerned about a petty thief when they were in fact sharing a ship with a murderer.

“Come, come now,” said Dr. Becker, patting her hand. “Do not distress yourself so. Perhaps the fan is merely misplaced somewhere in your cabin.”

“No.” Birgit shook her head. “We have searched and searched. It is gone. Quite gone.”

Her cronies nodded their agreement. Gretel had to accept that three people searching such a tiny cabin were unlikely to have missed it, were it there.

Dr. Becker was still hopeful of a simple explanation. “Then might it be that you set the fan down somewhere when you were about the ship, taking the air on deck, perchance, or while engaged in a game of quoits?”

“Oh, no, doctor, I would never let it out of my sight in such circumstances. You see, it was a gift from my dear late husband, Algernon. I recall the day he gave it me. Oh . . .” Here her voice cracked to a squeak. More crying followed.