The Blog of Roon

Margaret’s family’s associated business firm Stafford & Sheffield has a ship, the Mako, heading directly to Osaka in two days’ time. Three small cabins are available for extremely reasonable rates, as the Byrd family has an interest in the cargo. S & S would be happy to make arrangements with Captain Maguire on your behalf.

“My dear, I am still inclined to be cautious,” Margaret tells Shirley, when he asks if any transport will leave sooner. “We know that the captain of the Mako is trustworthy. We would know nothing about another ship, and Hong Kong is notorious for being a place from which people vanish. Addison is out of the game, but I have no faith whatsoever that no one else is on the board. And I truly think the time we lose waiting for the Mako we will make up by foregoing stops en route.”

“Well, never let it be said that I am past all convincing. The Mako it is. Where shall we stay in the meantime?”

“Thank you, my dear. As for where we stay, I don’t have a particular preference. Do you?”

“Clean and quiet, by choice—but otherwise, not particularly. Sir Japheth has offered to put us up; I see no immediate reason to decline.”

“Nor do I. Sir Japheth’s guestrooms it is, then.”

Commerce, mostly, and lots of it, characterizes Hong Kong. The waterfront is chaos incarnate, and nobody pays any attention to Shirley, Margaret, and Esperanza. It takes a few minutes to find non-cargo transportation, and Esperanza seems to have a bit of difficulty with the language, although she does manage to get the point across.

“I think that they are not all speaking the same—what is the word? Variety? Type?—of Chinese,” she says to Margaret.

“The word is dialect” says Margaret. “And I’ve heard there are a great many of them. China is a huge country.”

“When all else fails, try writing it out, if you can,” Shirley suggests. “I was given to understand by a former client that while spoken dialects of Chinese differ sharply, the writing system is largely the same everywhere.”

“Thank you; I wasn’t aware of that” Margaret turns to Esperanza. “I know you’ve been practicing, but the pictographs are so utterly different from what you are accustomed to—do you think you can manage that?”

–

There is a note for Shirley in Hong Kong, requesting a meeting in Osaka, signed “Colin Ridley, S. Y.” Shirley grumbles something about “bloody cloak-and-dagger foolishness” when he thinks no one can hear him. Esperanza giggles; apparently Shirley’s grumble was not as quiet as he thought. Margaret looks over at him, too. She is twinkling; obviously, she heard him.

Shirley asks at Government House if any additional information has been passed around government circles vis-a-vis the Addison affair. Warnings, alerts, news of additional odd occurrences? He confirms that the contrived labour protest in Malta was indeed instigated by Finnegan at Addison’s behest. No surprise, of course, but it is a certainty now. Also, the Yard has taken renewed interest in Neville-Smythe’s disappearance.

There is a seven-year gap in Mr. Addison’s records. The records from the the last twelve years (1870–1882) are perfectly in order and available. Likewise, records prior to 1862, into early 1863. However, someone is quite intent on concealing records from that seven years. Even the unofficial channels aren’t producing anything.

“Hm. How… curious,” Shirley muses. “Well, he might be concealing a trip abroad or a trip to gaol… but I rather think Stafford and Sheffield is going at this the wrong way ’round, Margaret. No shame to them; they are tradesmen, not police or private investigators. Seven years of concealed records is a bit much. I had rather believe that one document only has been suppressed—a death certificate, dated somewhere around 1862 or ’3. Should that document be destroyed, re-incarnating our Mr. Addison should pose no difficulty at all.”

“In which case the individual in custody quite probably has a record under a different name,” Margaret muses. “I wonder if Addison has any living relatives. It would interesting to learn if they received word of his death around that time… or if they have seen him since ‘Addison’ resurfaced. A certificate can be removed or destroyed or misfiled… but memory is not so easily modified.”

“Nor is a daguerrotype. I wonder if one of the ‘old’ Mr. Addison can be procured? Even allowing for passage of time, I should think Lady Hester and others of Addison’s employers capable of determining whether the Herbert Addison they know is the man pictured.”

“It would also be interesting to learn if the current description of Addison connects him to some nefarious act in the past, under another name.” She gives Shirley an impish smile and a bow. “Well done! It is a simple, elegant solution to an otherwise vexing mystery. I wonder if the Yard has thought of it?”

“I regret that I cannot suggest it to them at this time,” Shirley answers stiffly. “Though I am to visit with an operative in Osaka, it appears that I am not of sufficient consequence for my contact to trouble with leaving me an address at which he can be reached by telegraph. I confess to a distinct sensation of annoyance at this development.”

At that Margaret raises an eyebrow. “I don’t blame you. However, the Yard itself will not have moved, and I daresay any telegram sent there will be read, regardless of to whom it is addressed. If they haven’t the wit to give you a direct means to contact someone, then let them bear the onus of forwarding the information where it will be useful.”

“Ha! Just, indeed.”

“Besides, I daresay any daguerrotype or photograph they would be interested in would be located in England. The idea might actually do the most good in London, although I doubt they’ll give you credit for it.”

He shrugs. “Why should I care for credit? I hardly intend to pursue advancement in Scotland Yard.”

And then she thinks briefly; there might be more to this than pique at being dismissed as of little remaining consequence. “Or would you rather the suggestion came from another quarter, or that they thought of it themselves?”

“As long as they act on it, I don’t care if they think the idea came from Oliver Harris’s bilious canary.”

“From what?”

He chuckles. “Oliver Harris of the Times’s London office has a canary that must be seen to be believed. I have a feeling, however, that Mr. Baxter has tarred me with the idiot’s brush, and nothing I say will be heeded. Well, I can only try.” He extracts a telegraph form from his valise and commences addressing it.

The results of his labours read thus:

POSSIBLE ADDISON DIED 1863 STOP REPLACED BY IMPOSTOR STOP SUGGEST SEARCH FOR ADDISON PORTRAIT BEFORE DISAPPEARANCE STOP ASK HIS EMPLOYERS IF SAME MAN STOP PARAGRAPH ALSO SUGGEST SEARCH WILCOX PAPERS FOR FURTHER CONNEXIONS WITH ADDISON OR FINNEGAN GANG STOP GOOD LUCK STOP SEND ANY ANSWER RIDLEY STOP REGARDS SHIRLEY ADDAM

and will be cabled to Scotland Yard in London before Shirley leaves Hong Kong.

Margaret, reading over his shoulder, nods. “That is all you can do for now, I believe. Shall we be off to Osaka? While I do not particularly care about being first in this race, I confess I shall be somewhat annoyed if we are last.”

“Unlikely. Nobody has yet found poor Neville-Smythe. Yes, we might as well go; I have done what I had to do.”

Shirley has been on edge throughout the journey overland to and from Rangoon, saying little but watching his surroundings with the concentrated attention of a prey animal. His taut anxiety does not diminish until all three are safely aboard the Ceylon Moon, en route to Hong Kong. At which point Margaret breathes a deep sigh of relief. She isn’t sure which is worse; waiting for Addison or watching Shirley wear himself to a thread. She has, however, kept her word and said no more about it, only touching his hand or shoulder lightly to point out an interesting sight as they pass—and not so coincidentally remind him that yes, there is someone who dares touch him now.

The customs lines in Hong Kong are interminable; before joining the line, Shirley purchases back copies of the Times from a stand near the stationmaster’s. As is his habit, he starts from the earliest copy and works forward. The three of them have hardly moved from the rear of the line when Shirley lets out a sharp “Thank G-d! They have him!” He holds the sheet for Margaret and Esperanza to see the headline “Addison Aboard Liner Princess Helen.” Margaret closes her eyes for a second in sheer quaking relief.

“Isn’t this curious,” he remarks, taking in the brief article with a sweep of his eyes. “The liner went down the 10th, must have left the mainland even before that—and we had not even reached Madras then. The Yard has been chasing its own tail; Addison did not wait for me.”

Margaret cranes a little to read over his shoulder. “And she was bound for Chile, not for any place on the Ellipse route. Headed for a place quite outside the direct authority of the Empire… the obvious inference is that of cutting one’s losses and running. I wonder what has happened.”

“Well, the Yard might have convinced him to run for South America,” Shirley says, rubbing his chin, “but I should like to know if the Princess Helen had any stops planned between her point of debarcation and Chile. He might have been heading for Hong Kong or Osaka. Do you think Stafford and Sheffield would be able to find out?”

“I should certainly think so. I’ll send a messenger to Mr. Sheffield as soon as we get through this line, so that he can start making inquiries forthwith. It could be the Yard that chased Addison off your track… or he could have received word from those who sent him that either his interference was no longer necessary, or that they were cutting him off on his own. Or they could have ordered him to try to run. His is the only name the Yard has; if they capture him they may obtain others. Those others may have tried to shield themselves by attempting to make Addison vanish beyond the ken of the Yard. Had the ship not foundered, that might well have succeeded, I should think. But either way, while I am devoutly glad he can no longer pursue us… you, in particular… I am not sanguine that all pursuit is likewise removed.”

“Neither am I,” Shirley murmurs. “I should like to know who is issuing orders. Unless the Dutch are more cooperative than seems likely, it may be a while before friends of our Mr. Baxter and our Mr. Addison can enjoy a tete-a-tete. One last possibility, by-the-bye: Addison may have done his job, whatever it was.”

“True, and I had not thought of it… it was such a preciptate change from the course we had been led to expect of him. I don’t know, Shirley… in a way, this makes me a little more nervous. Now I do not know who we are watching for… and we never have known why.” Without noticing it herself, she has stepped a trifle closer to him.

“Ah, but we know we are playing the endgame, do we not? And we know I am not the crippled king.” In his voice, now quite emptied of fear, vibrates the purr of the hunting leopard. “The lesser pieces are swept from the board; only a bare few are left to play. The opening, my dear, is the game of brute force, and it is over. This is the endgame, the game of skill, the game of mind—and I have played a few such games myself, I have. We shall see. Indeed we shall see.”

“My dear, you are obviously at least three mental leaps ahead of me. Would you please back up and fill me in?”

The predatory gleam dies out of his eyes. “Oh, I know no more than you, really. It is that I now genuinely believe not only that I am no longer center stage—but that I never was. It pleases me; I am accustomed to working unnoticed. Perhaps I shall manage to accomplish something, perhaps not—but I can at least think about it now without worrying that one wrong step will put all our necks in a noose.”

“That is indeed a great relief. We are still in the light as Ellipsoids, but even so there are a number of us, and our opponents are probably no more numerous nor informed than we are.”

“Less numerous, probably. Twelve Britons on the Princess Helen? It cannot be much of a stretch to guess that at least some were Addison’s creatures.”

“Still, I believe I shall remain cautious about approaching our designated check-points.”

“Well, of course!” Shirley sounds surprised that this should need to be said. Another step forward; they are nearly in earshot of the officials now. Shirley lowers his voice. “And an added advantage is that no one has the faintest idea where we are. Whereas we know where Addison is, and I daresay soon we shall have some notion where his superior might be hiding himself. Who knows what telegrams may await us at Government House? I have had worse leads.” He follows the line two steps forward. “I had thought to wire Baxter my resignation. Perhaps I shall wait.”

“I would far prefer that. If you resign, we shall lose whatever information they may share with you.” Unspoken is the thought that they will also withdraw whatever protection they may offer, however slight that may have been.

“Ha! They’ve told me nothing, as you perfectly well know. No, what I need from them is that trifling extra crumb of legitimacy, and that they have already given.”

“Indeed. That was also in my mind. Do you know, my dear, we seem to think much alike. We shall have to see what further information we obtain here, and then try to plan. It would be pleasant to be able to act, rather than react. A defensive position seldom wins at chess, eh?”

The gleam returns, this time a trifle roguish. “Pre-cisely, Belle dear.” He drops the subject; the line is moving faster as they near its head. “Will you and Maria be all right visiting Sheffield on your own? I have odds and ends of errands to do myself.”

“Certainly, but I would prefer to check in at Government House first. If nothing else, any information resulting from the inquiries begun in Madras would be waiting for me there, as well as any word for you from your professional associates.” She gives him an impish smile, adding “You can fill me in—or not—later, if you wish.” Obviously, she is curious, but equally obviously both teasing him and recognizing that certain things might not be her business.

“Yes, of course. Hardly be polite to do otherwise. More convenient, too. And you should have whatever news there is before you see Sheffield.” He is quite in earnest; anything he knows, she will.

“Very well; we shall do that then. And thank you, my dear.”

Shirley gets Margaret and Esperanza to go off on their own (or stay put in Government House) while he runs errands. No difficulty there, as Margaret has promised Esperanza another shopping expedition. Not to mention that Margaret needs to visit the Hong Kong branch of Stafford & Sheffield.

First he wires Lady Hester for money, to await him in Osaka. He then makes his way to the shopping district and strolls the streets stopping at jewelry shops. He has a very clear idea what he wants: a handsomely-carved ring with a moderately-sized, well-coloured sapphire. Diamond accents and an Oriental(ist) style a plus. Nothing garish, of course; a clean design is far preferable. His means are modest—but he’ll spend what he has to; he has some private savings at Home, and what else will he use them for? Margaret ought to have something from him that the girls back Home cannot help but envy.

Shirley finds a ring with a silver band with curves that suggest a wave without actually resembling one. The sapphire is a beautiful deep-sea blue, set at an angle, with diamond accents placed to suggest foam on a wave. It’s at the upper end of his price range, but with a little haggling (mostly accomplished with hand gestures and a bit of translation from the jewler’s small grandson, when he can be distracted from his kitten) Shirley can acquire it for a price that won’t leave him gasping for breath.

The jeweler ties it up in a turquoise brocade silk pouch and hands it to Shirley. The grandson translates his comment, which is “Lady very lucky, heya?” Shirley gives the patented goofy grin of the hopeful lover. A rare sight indeed, and one worth seeing—all of which is lost in the grandson.

Rangoon is peachy-keen-fine—more or less. Father Dean appears to be approximately two years older than God, with none of the benefits of being a deity. When you arrive in his study, he puts down his pen, goes to look for the ledger, realizes that he can’t find his pen, looks for it and picks it up, forgets that he was looking for the ledger, forgets who you are, and upon being reminded, goes through the entire cycle again before you manage to sign in. Also, the token is an odd three-dimensional elliptical item (blimp-shaped), rather than the medallions you have been receiving, as if someone misunderstood the design specifications. Still, he’s very pleased to
make your acquaintance and offers his assistance with… what was it you needed?

Shirley is very patient with him, even kind. He has seen such before; they rarely have long to live.

On the way to hiring your horses, you pass through the market, where a very enthusiastic girl of perhaps ten years is desperate to sell you a basket of frogs. She assures you that they are “Quite fresh and most delicious.” Taste may be open to question, but the frogs are definitely fresh–still kicking, in fact.