Empire State (12 page)

  For an old man, Carson – the
Captain
– was what you might call sprightly. Once a tall, broad and muscular man, the Captain had managed to retain his solidity along with a full head of hair, now snowy white, which matched his finely trimmed, full moustache. Although evidently relaxing in his own home, he wore a two-piece suit in khaki drab, with the trouser legs tucked into almost knee-high brown boots. The jacket was belted at the waist and had silver buttons; Rad counted six down the front, along with one each on the four square pockets that sat two on the hips, two on the breast. Above the right breast pocket was a row of coloured insignia. Rad didn't know exactly what they meant, but he knew military decorations when he saw them. One bar, in bright red and yellow stripe, matched the colours of his tie, knotted expertly over a white shirt. The sagging skin of the Captain's neck hung over the collar, twisting left and right as he turned his head. The old man obviously took pride in his appearance.

  As Kane had said, the Captain didn't live alone, but Rad had only met his companion when he brought the tea and cookies out. Tall and wide, and clad in a dark blue suit, the man was introduced as Byron. Rad stood and shook hands politely, hoping that his smile looked genuine enough to be accepted. Rad watched his reflection gulp in Byron's polished faceplate, and he quickly sat down.

  Byron's helmet was nearly entirely spherical and looked like it was made of copper, with brass hatches inlaid apparently at random places all over its surface. In addition, there were taps and bolted ports, also in brass. The front of the helmet was a big black glass window. Byron's face was completely hidden, and when he later spoke his voice came out from somewhere in his chest, from under the suit.

  Rad gulped again, sipped his tea, and took a bite of the delicious-looking biscuit. It tasted like nothing on Earth. Rad began to cough, his eyes wide as he looked first at Kane and then at Captain Carson, sitting in his chair, with Byron standing by his side.

  "I apologise, detective, I should have warned you!" Carson threw his hands up dramatically, then, if Rad wasn't mistaken, winked at Kane. "Wartime, I'm afraid. There aren't enough ration coupons in the world for the sugar and butter needed for a fine shortbread, so I'm afraid Byron had to make do with... what did you use this time, Byron?"

  The Captain craned around his chair to look up at his servant. Byron inclined his round head a little.

  "Sawdust, sir."

  "Ah!" said the Captain, as if that explained precisely everything. "Sawdust shortbread again. Well, they look very nice. My compliments, Byron."

  Byron nodded. "Sir."

  Rad's mouth had seized up. Captain Carson gestured with his own teacup. "Best washed down with a cup of the old char. You needn't skimp, plenty of that. Nobody drinks it these days so I happily swap ration coupons with the neighbours so they can have their coffee. Ghastly stuff."

  Rad gulped the hot brew with thanks. Even after draining the cup, he felt a gritty residue stick to the sides of his throat. Byron swept forward on the thick carpet and took the cup and saucer.

  "Allow me," he said, and left the room.

  "Thank you, Byron," said Kane. He adjusted himself on the settee and addressed their host.

  "Captain, I'm grateful that you could see us. I'm afraid, as pleasant as this is, this isn't a social call."

  The Captain said something into his cup, but when his face re-emerged he was smiling. "Of course, my dear lad. It must be said, you only ever come here looking for help. However, I will not begrudge you this, for the pleasure of your company is so great." He nodded at Rad. "And of course I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance, detective. I have heard much!"

  Kane grinned and glanced sideways at his friend. Rad smiled tightly and shifted in his seat. Byron returned with Rad's cup refreshed. Rad muttered his thanks and took a gulp of the searing liquid before speaking.

  "Well now," he said, a puff of steam punctuating each syllable. "It's a very great pleasure to meet you, Captain, but you'll have to forgive me if I'm on the back foot, so to speak."

  Rad turned pointedly to Kane, although he continued to speak to the Captain. "Thing is, I don't know much about what's going on, and what's more, I've had what you might call one of those weeks." His eyes met Kane's. Kane blinked slowly and Rad continued. "I've been a private detective for years, and I ain't never had problems like this."

  "For how long?" The Captain's smile was suddenly tight. He paused, holding his cup, waiting for the answer.

  "Excuse me?"

  "How long have you been a private detective for?"

  "Years. Like I just said."

  The Captain sipped his tea. "Ah yes," he said, smacking his lips. "But for how many years, exactly?"

  Rad set his cup down on the saucer with a loud
clack
. It was late, again. He didn't have time for this.

  "For as long as I can remember. I'm a PI through and through."

  "Yes," said the Captain, apparently satisfied. He nodded at Kane, as if to indicate understanding. Kane turned his face away from Rad a little.

  Rad deposited his spent cup on the small table in front of the sofa. "Oh, now hold on a minute. What gives, Kane?" He jerked an elbow towards the Captain. "What have you been telling this guy? And what is it with guys in helmets and masks and stuff?" He looked up at the servant's face hidden behind the black curve of his odd helmet. "The last few days I've been tapped by guys in gas masks, been rescued by a rocket-powered crime fighter, criminal, take your pick, who should be dead – who
is
dead – and then I get my first case in months, a simple missing person job, only for the superstar reporter here to turn the body up in less than twenty-four hours. Meanwhile, an ironclad returns, a robot from which, says Kane, killed my missing person. And now I'm sitting in a mansion eating sawdust and talking to an old man and his... friend."

  Kane set his own cup down on the table. His big eyes blinked, but he didn't smile. "Rad, please."

  Rad stood up quickly. "Please what? I'm sick of this pussyfooting around. Someone needs to tell me what in the goddamned hell is going on."

  "Detective."

  Rad turned and looked at Captain Carson. The old man seemed tiny, enveloped in his enormous armchair. Rad was tall as well as broad, and even though the parlour was as spacious as a fancy restaurant, he seemed to tower over his host. Byron stood, gloved hands clasped in the front. Rad saw nothing but his own reflection in Byron's black glass faceplate.

  "Detective," the Captain continued, "I can see that your friend Mr Fortuna has done you something of an injustice, and that you are owed an apology and also an explanation." He drained the last of his cup, placed it on the table along with the two others, and then stood from his chair. Rad took a step back to give him a polite amount of personal space. The Captain straightened his tunic, and brushed his moustache with the thick fingers of his right hand.

  "Please be assured, we are all friends here. I have known Mr Fortuna for some time now, and he has had reason to come to me for advice and assistance over the years. I have, shall we say, contacts, dear boy!"

  The Captain patted Rad on the shoulder. "Come with me. I'll explain," he whispered with a wink, before nodding to Byron. Byron bowed, turned, and walked away out of the room. Carson gestured for Rad to follow. "Please. I think you'll find this very interesting."

  Rad shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, and fingered the rabbity felt of his rolled-up fedora. Kane and Carson were both smiling at him, and Rad realised that this house was as strange as the Pastor's church meeting. He sighed, and shook his head at no one in particular, and followed Byron through the door.

 

Captain Carson's house was huge. After walking down hallway after hallway, Rad realised that what he had thought were other houses or apartment buildings on the hill on which Carson's own house sat were actually extensions of his own residence. To afford all this real estate Carson had to be one of the richest men in the Empire State. This was old money, well-heeled and well-established.

  Byron led the group into a large hall, something like a long dining room; the surprising width of the room and the dizzying height of the ceiling dwarfing the narrow table at the centre of the chamber, laid for a meal with elegant settings. Byron turned immediately on entering and stood with his back to the wall in a corner, while the Captain clapped his hands and strode briskly to a vast glass-fronted cabinet that stood along the centre of the left-hand wall, sandwiched between dozens of portraits and photographs in a mix of monochrome and sepia tones.

  "Welcome to my collection." The Captain beamed at the detective, and cast his hand along the wall, indicating the items on display. "Somewhat vain, true, but then it seems silly to hide it all away, especially when there are precious few opportunities for exploration now, what with 'Wartime'." The Captain pronounced the word oddly, as if it wasn't quite the right descriptor. Rad picked up on the tone, but didn't think much of it. He was too engrossed by the pictures before him. He ignored the portraits – most of which were clearly of the Captain from his glory days as a young man with wide strongman's neck and shiny black hair. In nearly every picture, a slightly younger man with blond hair stood at Carson's shoulder. Rad rolled his tongue around behind his teeth for a spell, then his eyes fell on a landscape photograph. There was water, and towering cliffs captured in brown and cream. Rad whistled.

  "Mighty fine paintings, Captain."

  The Captain tutted. "Look again. Those are photographs from my last expedition, my lad."

  Rad peered closer, his eyes an inch away from the frame. The picture had a grain and fine detail that was instantly recognisable, but Rad just frowned and stroked his goatee.

  "Huh," he said after a moment. "Whatever you say, Captain."

  Carson laughed, and Rad looked around to see Kane smiling broadly as well. He didn't like being made a fool of, especially late at night and especially after eating a cookie made of sawdust.

  "What do you mean, expedition?"

  The Captain drew in close, pointing first to a large landscape of white hills, and then to other, smaller pictures dotted over the wall. In a few of them, figures in furs and hoods stood out blackly against the white wilderness. The Captain, the blond man, others. In two of them, an airship, similar to the police blimps but larger and more rotund, the gas bag encased in a complex frame of metal plates like armour, hovered over either the sea or the strange low hills and uniform plains. Underneath the armoured bag the ship appeared to have a large cabin and hold stretching its entire length; immediately under the front of the bag there was a small row of windows, and under that a projecting conical nose with a blunt end. The strange craft was anchored down by a multitude of cables.

  Rad rubbed his eyes. They weren't photographs, they were pictures, paintings, whatever the hell Carson wanted to call them. It was late; Rad was tired. Perhaps he was even asleep and dreaming.

  The Captain tapped the gold frame of the big landscape. "I was an explorer, in the old days, before Wartime. The north was my field of expertise, polar exploration my forte. Ah, the space, the enormity of it all. It truly boggles the mind."

  Rad felt dizzy, and turned away, looking instead into the glass-fronted cabinet. Inside was a mannequin dressed in the furs seen in the pictures, and arranged on several shelves were books, tools, artefacts. The personal effects of a trip to nowhere. Rad looked at the Captain.

  "Nice imagination you've got up there, and nice game you're playing down here." Rad jerked a thumb at the collection. "But if you'll excuse me, I've got a murder to solve. It was a pleasure." Rad stuck his hand out to shake Carson's, ready to get the hell out. The Captain stood still, hands tucked into the large square pockets of his tunic.

  "Mr Fortuna," said the Captain at length. Rad stood on the spot, and then retracted his hand. He had to leave. The mind games of an old man were a waste of time, and whatever obscure point Kane was trying to prove, he'd had enough. Sam Saturn's murderer was in the city. The ironclad was none of his business.

  Kane had hung back behind Rad for most of the tour. He now stepped forward. "Carson?"

  "How much have you told him?"

  "Actually," said Kane, looking back at his friend. "Nothing at all."

  "I see. Byron?"

  The helmeted servant stepped forward. "Sir."

  "Open the hangar. We will join you presently."

  "Sir." Byron turned and left. His steps were loud on the wooden floor of the hall. Glancing down, Rad noticed he was wearing large boots made of copper and brass like his helmet.

  The Captain turned to the detective. "I do offer an apology. I had thought perhaps Mr Fortuna had briefed you beforehand, but I can see that is not the case. Therefore please do not worry yourself about the details of my collection. I would be happy to show you more at a more convenient moment, but given the lateness of the hour, I feel we should move directly to business. Mr Fortuna?"

  Kane nodded, and he and the Captain pulled two dining chairs out from the table and sat down next to each other. Carson looked back over his shoulder. "You are welcome to join us if you so wish." The Captain immediately turned back around, and began discussing something with Kane.

  Rad stood where he was, in the great hall, next to the impossible pictures, as his friend and the mad old man whispered nonsense. His scalp itched and he rubbed it. He had a sliver of wood chip from his shortbread stuck between two molars, and tongued it. It wouldn't shift, and it annoyed him.

  He took a step forward, pulled a chair out, and sat down. Kane and Carson stopped talking, and Kane turned to Rad. The smile below his big blue eyes was warm and genuine, characteristic of the Kane that Rad knew well.