| “I know what comes across the
bulletins. Most of that indicates we don’t know a lot, and
much of the activity is in Europe or Asia. You, I think, may
know more.”
“Hai, Dutch-san. Ramaji and I are
something of old acquaintance. She conducts extensive
business in Nihon. In fact, she owns shipyard which makes
Hotaru class freighters.”
“‘She’. What little is on those bulletins
says Ramaji is a ‘He’.”
“Just so. Ramaji is unsurpassed at
disguise, and most verifiable sightings are of a male.
However, on several occasions, was able to examine scenes of
recent sighting within minutes. Always, scent is female.
Ramaji is female. Recall, please, you report a sleeping
drunk by church last night. Is common in that neighborhood?”
“Not common, no, but not unheard of,
though most of whoever on the night Watch rousts them. You
said the scent you caught was female. You think it was
Ramaji?”
“Hai, Dutch-san.”
“Then why not follow up on the attempt?
Unless you think it may have been a reconnaissance?”
“Very possible.” He looked over at my
round brown on the hook, pointed to it with his nose. “Your
hat, Dutch-san. You were soldier?”
“Marine, actually, but yes.”
“And hat band, you were officer.” This
time, it wasn’t a question. I nodded. “You understand value
of reconnaissance. Ramaji now possesses more information
about capability of Watch, and specifically of yourself. You
disabled her mech, killed the crew.”
I snorted. “Yeah, well, then they
shouldn’t of tried to bash down the doors of a church. Kind
of hard to ask the crew of a mech to surrender.” He looked
at me, soft eyes, forepaws clasped together like a priest
praying over a parishioner.
“And yet, Dutch-san, you wish they had
surrendered.” Again, it wasn’t a question.
“I’ve seen enough death, Ofuroyama-san.
Enough and more.” He tilted his head slightly, looking into
my eyes.
“Then why become Watchman, Dutch-san?” I
leaned back into the davenport, rubbing the corners of my
eyes. I could feel the need for sleep climbing up my spine
like a monkey.
“Holt City is not usually so violent,
Ofuroyama-san. And I did something... unwise long ago. A
very generous magistrate allowed as how if I were to leave
his jurisdiction by enlisting, she just might not spend much
time looking for me. The Corps opened doors for me, gave me
something, gave me a reason for using my youthful exuberance
in a somewhat positive manner. When it came time to wrap up
my career, I got to thinking, I owed that magistrate
something.” He closed his eyes, nodding slightly, then
opened them and twitched his whiskers slightly.
“That is a good reason. Yes, Ramaji will
move tonight, most probably during the festival. We may gain
additional information before. I know place where such is
found. We must be ready, and rested.” He looked around the
room. “May I use chair for nap, please?” I smiled and
nodded.
“Yeah, sure. I plan on catching some zee’s
here.” And with that I stretched out, propping my boots on
the far armrest and my head on the near one. Experience
taught me long ago never to waste time for sleep. I was out
in seconds.
Skippy’s Chemo
The Place to go for information in Holt
City is Skippy’s Chemo.
It may seem odd, a place that close to a
church being a hotbed of news about all kinds of things, but
it makes sense in a way. Caffeine and gossip, both ways to
catch a buzz. Toss in an after-hours speakeasy and you can
find out what wide-awake drunks talk about a whole lot of
things they might not aught to. Then they can go ask
forgiveness.
We walked through the door just before
sunset to find the place already hopping. A lot of
otter-folk hang out at Skippy’s Chemo, probably because Fat
Fred the bartender served the best pixie stix in town. I
started for the bar and some questions when I collided with
a brunette bundle of energy standing up from a table. I
apologized for the bump.
“No worries, mate,” she said, and I cocked
my head looking at a familiar face. She smiled back.
“Tassie’s the name, but you got the formals this morning
over at His Nibs digs.” The light went on, it was Lord
Phogg’s maid.
“Miss Delahney. What are you doing here?”
“Here, mate, a lady’s got to rage on
somewhere. Even His Nibs gives the hired help time off. I’m
here meeting’ a friend from the Lucky Country.” She pointed
back at the table, and Popper waved his tail at us.
“Evenin’, mates. Any news for a workin’
otter?”
I grinned and shook my head. “That’s what
we’re here for, Popper.” I pointed my chin toward the bar,
tipped my hat to the lady. “Pardon me, Miss Delahney.” She
smiled back at me.
“Oh, you can call me Tassie, mate.” I
smiled and nodded, and we stepped around her.
If Kawauso Ofuroyama is a giant among
otters, Fat Fred is just big. It would be hard to tell which
of the two weighed in more, but there’d be no doubt which
one is which. Ask him some time how he got his name, and
he’ll say, “I’m faaaaaaat. What’s hard about that?” We sat
on stools at the bar and waited for the amiable waddle to
get Fred to us.
“What’s it this evening, gents? We got
pixie stix, da best in town, guaranteed to make cats
vibrate,” he said, taking off his sunglasses and polishing
them with his bar-rag before putting them back on.
“The usual for me, Fred, and another for
my friend here,” I replied. Ofuroyama glanced at me, and Fat
Fred pulled two highball glasses out from under the bar and
filled them with club soda.
“Here’s to ya, Chief Inspector, ya
cheapskate.” Fred and Ofuroyama wuffled noses in each
other’s directions. “Who’s yer friend? He doesn’t smell from
around here.”
“Kawauso Ofuroyama, honoured to meet your
August self.” Fred twitched his whiskers.
“Yer said a mouthful there. What brings ya
here?”
I leaned froward. “Looking for some news,
Fred, looking for some news. Most everyone new in town winds
up here eventually. Who’s new?” I pulled out my bill-clip to
pay, and he waved his paw at me.
“Yer money’s no good here, an’ no it’s not
a bribe. You did some good turns for other otters.”
Ofuroyama nudged me lightly.
“See small otter other end of bar,
Dutch-san? He is independent ship owner. May know something.
You wait here while I ask him.” I glanced at the otter he’d
mentioned, a small one wearing a black tailcoat and a top
hat, the fur on his head long and twisted though well
groomed elsewhere. Independent ship owner, all right, I
recognised Dredd Phredd easily enough. For the right price,
he’d ship anything for you. For a bit more, the cops at
either end wouldn’t find it. I nodded to Ofuroyama.
“Back to my question, Fat Fred. Anyone
new, and I don’t mean just recently in town but we know
them. I’m looking for new sailors in town.”
“Couple of swabbies met some fellow in the
back booth. Smelled a bit like catfish, but their coin is
good. You want I should call the Station?”
“Don’t know yet, Fred. If I tip my hat to
you, yeah, give Weisman a call and tell him to get here.” I
nodded my thanks to him and turned to look towards the back.
From this spot on the bar, I couldn’t see into that booth.
The gent’s room was in the hall behind it, though, so I set
out like I needed the facilities.
Two mugs and a seafoam martini glass sat
empty and lonely on the booth table.
Ofuroyama and Dredd were still in
conversation. I tipped my hat to Fred and stepped into the
hall, heard a heavy door close. This hall led to more than
the water closets; a back door opened onto an alleyway. I
paused at the door, hand on the knob, and listened at the
little window. No sound on the other side.
I opened it and stepped outside, into the
dark. Three men stood in a triangle a dozen feet away, their
lower legs in a small pool of gas lamp light. Two wore work
boots and rough trousers. The third wore dark tweeds and his
half-boots gleamed.
“The Boss isn’t happy you two didn’t show
this morning. Ramaji wanted that second mech at the church,”
said Tweeds.
“You know what happened. If we’d been
there that copper would just of blowed up our mech too,”
said Workboots One.
“It’s not your mech, now, is it? It’s Mr.
Redd’s, and he wants his toy back.”
“We gots it,” said the other Work Boots.
“We gots it, so it’s ours now. Besides, like Dimsale says,
Mr. Redd’s toy would be so much scrap metal now if we’d been
there.”
“You won’t be needing it should you not
return it. Think about the last person that you heard
crossed Ramaji, now. How eager are you to be fish food?”
I stepped out from the wall. “Evening,
gents. Just what’s so enticing about this alleyway, now?”
Tweeds stepped back a half-pace, Dimsdale
and Workboots turned towards me.
“Who wants to know?” asked Workboots.
“Chief Inspector Zoektochtmann.” I took
two more steps toward them, slipping my blackjack out of my
duster pocket. “I think we four should take a walk over to
the Watch Station now.”
A slight movement in the dark and the gas
lamp glinted off a knife blade above Workboots feet. I heard
a hammer click as Tweeds took another half-pace further back
into shadow.
“Not so sure we cares to go for a walk
with you, now, Chief Inspector,” said Dimsdale. “And bein’s
there’s more of us than you, what’s to make us?”
“You so sure I’m alone now?” I asked as
Detective Weisman stepped quietly around the corner of the
alley.
Workboots lunged. I sidestepped and swung
the lead-weighted leather down on his wrist and the knife
skittered across the flagstones. The blackjack caught
Workboots on the back of his head on the return swing, and
he dropped. Weisman was running towards us and I saw a
gunmetal grey glint aiming at my head.
Lightning flash and thunderclap Boom!
Boom! and Tweeds flew backwards to thump at Weisman’s feet.
Dimsdales feet disappeared briefly, then staggered back into
the light, He sank to his knees, and fell face-first onto
the flagstones of the alleyway.
“What the hell was that?” hollered
Weisman. Ofuroyama stepped into the light, a sawed-off 12
gauge over-under in his paws. He thumbed the lock and broke
it open, pulling two spent shotgun shells out the breach.
“Juni kakkouhou, Weisman-san. Most effective,” he said,
reloading the shotgun and closing it with a snap.
Weisman shook his head. “I’ll say.”
Ofuroyama turned to me. “Dutch-san, Dredd
Phredd says two mechs were unloaded from Hotaru freighters
several days ago. It is most definitely Ramaji. You must get
to Our Lady of PSI to delay while I bring reinforcements.” I
nodded, turned to Weisman.
“Stay with the scene, then you get this
one to the Station, Weisman, and it’s your arrest,” I said,
pointing to Workboots. He nodded. We both turned to
Ofuroyama.
“Hey, where’d you put your shotgun,”
Weisman asked. Ofuroyama’s whiskers twitched.
“Were is easy to reach it if needed,” he
said. “Go, now, Dutch-san. Time is now important.” I trotted
off across the street to the front door of Our Lady of PSI.
Climactic Battle
The crowd nearly filled the church, though
they tended to congregate in the center aisle and pews. I
walked briskly up the side toward the alcove with the Icon,
my eyes sweeping the crowd looking for someone, something to
stand out.
One did, towering above the people around
him and headed toward the alcove as well. I sighed,
recognising the shape of a bald bullet head. As I neared the
Icon I could see a svelte shape next to him, looking petite
even though she wasn’t much shorter than me. Anyone would
look petite next to the guy next to her. I stopped in front
of the Icon and waited. They were clearly heading my way.
The big guy stopped about 10 feet from me, eyeing me warily.
“Well, unless I’m mistaken, we meet the
intrepid Chief Inspector Zoektochtmann,” said the lady next
to him. No one would mistake her for anything other than a
lady, wearing that fine silk dress and matching jacket. She
carried a long cloth bag under one arm. I nodded to her.
“Good evening, Miss Ramaji.” She smiled.
“Ah, so few people figure that out, Chief
Inspector. At least, not when I’m dressed as myself. May I
introduce my associate, Mr. Jackman?”
“Hi, Tiny,” I replied, knowing my using
that name would rub him hard. Why do guys his size always
get the nickname ‘Tiny’? He spoke in an incongruously sweet
tenor, Tiny Jackman always was one of the best singers I’d
ever heard.
“Oh, Dutch here and I were once
‘shipmates’ in the Marines, Boss.” I smiled at him.
“That’s Chief Inspector Zoektochtmann to
you, Tiny. You gave up the right to call me Dutch a long
time back, when we cashiered you out of the Corps.” She
laughed, a sweet, sinister sound, and took a couple steps
closer.
“Step out of the way, please, Chief
Inspector.” I shook my head, standing firm. Tiny Jackman
took a step to my right.
“Can’t do that, Miss Ramaji.”
“Oh, eventually you shall. I really don’t
want to hurt anyone, though, so if you please, step aside.”
I shook my head again. “You know, you really don’t want to
use that big gun you’ve got. Mr. Jackman is wearing armour
of a particularly special design underneath his suit here.
I’m afraid your bullets would ricochet into the crowd.
Without it I’m quite sure Mr. Jackman here outmatches you.”
I looked Tiny Jackman in the eye and
smiled, big, none of it rising to my eyes and showing teeth.
“Perhaps you should ask Tiny here what happened the last
time he tried taking me on hand-to-hand, Miss Ramaji.”
Behind them, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a short
streak of brown darting between the pews, working into the
crowd.
“Still, I doubt you could stand all of my
people off. They are scattered throughout the church this
evening. We really do outnumber you, since I don’t see any
other Watchmen present. I will have the Icon, Chief
Inspector.” I looked back at her, balanced calmly on the
balls of my feet, arms relaxed at my sides.
“Can’t do that, Miss Ramaji. The Icon
belongs here, for all the people and otters. Besides, it’s
too well known. I doubt you’d be able to sell it for
anything near it’s worth or that you invested in acquiring
it.” Two more brown streaks moved between the pews into the
crowd.
“Oh, I won’t be selling it. I need the
powers inherent in that Icon.”
“So do a lot of other people. I can’t
imagine you need it more than they.”
“Oh, but I do, Chief Inspector, I need it
to bring my sister back. And I’m growing weary of our
discussion. Move aside, Chief Inspector, before I order my
men to start firing in the crowd.”
“Don’t think you’ll do that. Wouldn’t gain
you much. Besides, my Watchmen will soon be here, and your
men in the crowd will be arrested.” She smiled, this time
the humour reaching her eyes.
“And just how will you be able to tell who
my men are, and who aren’t, Chief Inspector?”
A large egg sailed over my shoulder,
gleaming white in the lamplight just bright enough to tell
there was a spin on the egg. Just as Tiny noticed it, Popper
dropped from the ceiling harnessed in a climbing line in
front of Ramaji, pointed his camera, and called out
gleefully, “Say Tim Tam Slam!” The flashbulb lit like a bomb
going off, blinding anyone looking straight at it as the egg
smacked into Tiny’s face, shattering and filling the air
with the stench of sulfur.
Tiny roared and lurched forward. I
dropped, spinning under his reaching arms and my foot lashed
out. Tiny’s right knee cracked under the toe of my boot. He
turned toward me wiping egg off his face. Stepped again and
his knee buckled, toppling sideways and Ramaji scrambled out
of his way. I leapt to my feet with my back to St. Otter’s
Icon.
Eggs. White ones, brown ones, green ones,
flying out of nowhere and everywhere arced through the
church. Every one hit someone in the face, and when they
broke the stench of sulfur thickened the air. Gasping
they’d wipe their faces. An otter would run out of the crowd
wielding a short, curved wooden sword and the sword would
blur and the egg-faced cry out and fall, clutching at their
ankles.
Tassie appeared in the crowd with .44
Webley revolver in her left hand and rapier in her right.
Whirling and spinning, wielding the Webley more like a club,
she cut through the belts or suspenders of anyone wiping
egg off their face. She trailed a string of men holding
their pants up waddled towards the doors.
Ofuroyama ran in leading five otters to
leap onto the small altar and defend St. Otter’s Icon. I
turned, and Ramaji dropped the bag to the floor while
raising the biggest, oddest plumber’s nightmare I’d ever
seen. She hefted it under her arm like a rifle and my little
voice screamed gun. She aimed at the Icon, and I snatched my
Round Brown off my head, gripped the brim, aimed and sailed
it at her.
It smacked her face as she squeezed the
trigger. She flinched, the muzzle shifted from the Icon to
the window next to it and glass exploded inward in a stream
straight at Ramaji. She dropped the gun, turning and curling
into a ball as glass shards the size of saucers tinkled
around her. At least a dozen pieces hit her in the back and
bounced off. Whatever that special armour she’d said Tiny
Jackman wore, obviously she did as well. The last of the
glass shower tinkled to a stop. She stood and snarled at me.
“I don’t look so outnumbered,” I called
over the clamor. The snarl transformed into an evil smile.
“Perhaps this will help.” Her right hand
rose and a small, dark oblong wobbled toward me. Grenade!
Tiny Jackman lunged at me on his good leg.
I twisted, caught his wrist and spun him off balance again,
dropping him chest-first on the grenade and heard him grunt,
“Oh shit.” Then I fell on his back myself. His breath
whooshed out, he felt the lump underneath him and his eyes
bulged in fear. I heard Watch whistles at the door to the
church.
The blast lifted us both and slammed my
back into one of the big columns. Tiny’s mass and body
armour deflected most of the force into the wall. He rolled
off me onto his back, his mouth moving like a goldfish out
of water. Pockmarks scattered across the wall in a
fragment-carved Picasso-like bas relief. I gasped for breath
and struggled to sit up, Tiny groaned as Ramaji helped him
stand. She smiled at me as they turned and walked/hobbled to
the back of the church.
Watchmen streamed into the church,
grabbing anyone walking with egg on their face and cuffing
them. Others they cuffed where they lay on the floor holding
their ankles. Captain Zompus’ voice echoed through a
megaphone, urging calm and claiming everything was under
control. Popper dashed around, flashbulbs flaring as he
pointed his camera here, there.
Sargent Smudge stood over me. I pointed at
him and mimed two people running out the back. He nodded and
turned, calling another Watchman and they ran for the back
doors. Ofuroyama appeared before me. “The Icon,” I gasped.
“Kawauso-kami’s Icon is safe,” he said. I
turned toward St. Otter’s Icon. St. Otter peered tranquilly
out of his icon over the church, egg held before him in his
left paw. Five otters stood on the altar, wooden swords held
before them. I waved at them. “Who?”
Ofuroyama’s whiskered twitched and his
tail thumped the floor. “My cousin, Kawauso Kyoshi, and his
students. He is master of Shin Shoto style of fencing.”
Two medics walked up carrying a stretcher.
They set it down beside me, and carefully lifted me onto it
then lifted the stretcher. I waved to Ofuroyama, He leaned
toward me. “My hat,” I whispered.
“I will find your hat, Dutch-san.” He
waved and the medics carried me out the door to a waiting
ambulance, loaded me in with two civilians, closed the door.
I heard the driver call to the horses, and the ambulance
rolled away from Our Lady of Perpetual Scientific Inquiry.
St. Vitusdanz Hospital
I sat dangling my legs over the edge and
wondered why hospital beds are always so high off the floor.
The door to the room opened with a knock and Ofuroyama
stepped in accompanied by Tassie carrying my round brown
hat. I smiled at them both. “About time you showed up,” I
said to Ofuroyama.
His whiskers twitched. “Excuse please. Was
occupied trying to corner Ramaji. Regrettably, this proved
difficult.”
“She got away, then,” I said.
“Like a bird,” said Tassie, holding out my
hat. I took it from her and looked it over. It looked
cleaner. “‘Streuth, you look ace for someone who jumped on a
grenade, mate!” I grinned.
“No, I jumped on Tiny Jackman. I dropped
him onto the grenade. Ramaji told me he wore some special
armour under his suit. Figured if she was lying, he’d still
absorb most of it anyway. Turns out she wasn’t lying.
Stopped all the fragments, though the blast tossed us into
that pillar.”
“Dutch-san, permit me to introduce Zoe
Delahney, Special Agent on His Majesties Australian Secret
Service.” He bowed his head toward Tassie, who curtsied
slightly.
“At your service, mate. Seems we were all
after the same bird. One of her known accomplices is Wiley
Redd, rather a dinkum engineer even if misguided. Had some
kind of whirly-wing flying machine outside Our Lady of PSI
waiting on Ramaji.”
“Must be who that collar in the alley was
talking about. How’s St. Otter’s Icon?” I asked.
“Just as you last saw it,” replied
Ofuroyama. “Much is owed you for your efforts, Dutch-san.”
He bowed low to me, and I hopped off the hospital bed to
return it.
“It was little, and my duty as well,” I
replied. “Something I want to know. Who was it tossing those
eggs that marked Ramaji’s henchmen?” Tassie looked
perplexed, and Ofuroyama’s whiskers twitched a storm.
“No one saw who threw rotten eggs,
Dutch-san.”
“So, well then what are your plans now? As
you can see, I’m dressed. I’d rather not wait for them to
show up with a wheelchair if we can head out now.” Ofuroyama
gestured toward the door. I settled my Round Brown on my
head, picked up my duster off the chair and we left the
room.
“I must now return to Nihon,” said
Ofuroyama. “In fact, we go from Hospital to aerodrome for
dirigible. First, though, this is for you.” He held out a
dark wooden box that filled both his paws. I took it in my
right hand, bowed while holding it above my head.
“Doomo arigato gozaimasu,” I said. He
returned the bow.
“Much is owed, Zoektochtmann-san. This is
little. There is more in your desk drawer at station.” We
bowed to each other again.
“All this bowing is making me dizzy,
cobbers. We’ve got a dirigible to catch.” We left the room
and headed down the hall to the lift.
“You leaving too, Tassie? And call me
Dutch, please.”
“Me? No, His Nibs needs someone to keep
him from walking off the bloody pier at low tide. I’m just
providing the ride to the aerodrome. Besides, my oath Mr.
Ofuro here says you’ve got one right dinkum gun. Care for a
bit of a target wager?” We started negotiating the wager as
the lift dropped toward the first floor and the exit. I
planned to hold out for some fencing lessons when I lost.
The End
Things quieted down after that in Holt
City. Oh, burglars broke into business’, pickpockets picked
pockets, even a couple big bank jobs happened; I kept
gainfully employed. Not many murders, though a few. Every
now and then, though, someone turned up knifed or
bludgeoned, and after figuring out who did it, weighted down
by Death I’d go sit in Our Lady of Perpetual Scientific
Enquiry and look at the Icon. Sometimes maybe even talk to
St. Otter though I never heard a response. Never heard one.
I’d always finish up the conversations, though, with “Well,
I guess it’s time I go dispose of some more rotten eggs.”
And when I say that, I swear by all you
hold holy that St. Otter’s whiskers twitch and his tail
thumps the ground beneath him. And there’s a little toss of
that egg in his paw. |
