The Great Game (43 page)

             
"What's happening?" The woman spoke hoarsely, her mouth stiff from the gag. "Who are you?"

             
"There's a gathering in the ballroom. I'm Madeleine Verlaine. Who are you? What are you doing here? How long have you been tied up like this?"

             
"My name is Jenny Vernet," the woman tried to say. It came out "hennee hernee." Her lips were raw from the coarse fabric of the gag, and her tongue refused to form itself properly to make sounds. "I've been tied up like this since early this afternoon."

             
"Jenny Vernet," Madeleine said. "I understand. Sherlock Holmes is outside, determined to rescue you. And it looks like you might need rescuing."

             
"Sherlock is here? Oh, thank god! They are going to kill me!" Jenny said.
"Sometime late tonight.
They were discussing the best way to kill me as though I wasn't there listening."

             
"Well!" Madeleine said. She thought quickly. "I guess we'd better get you out of here now. Do you think you can walk if I untie you?"

             
"I have no idea," Jenny said. "I don't think there's any feeling in my legs."

             
"Oh, dear," Madeleine said. She bent over and went to work on the ropes around Jenny's arms. "Usually I have a small blade with me, sewed into my belt," she said, her nimble fingers pulling on the knot. "But this isn't my dress." The knots were stiff but the ropes were just thick enough so that she could get a fairly good grip. She twisted and pulled, but the knot resisted. She dug in with her fingers and pulled harder. "Blast!"

             
Jenny twitched. "What is it?"

             
"I just broke a nail," Madeleine whispered. "Oh. I'm sorry."

             
"Me too.
Wait a second, I think I have it."

             
One end of the rope had budged slightly, enlarging the hole. She took the other end and pulled, and the first layer of the knot slid open. Now that it was started, the knot gave way quickly, and in a few seconds Jenny's hands were free. They both now started to work on the ropes around her legs. They were not as well or as tightly tied, and fell loose with a few seconds work.

             
"Oh, bless you," Jenny said, her hands going to the knot in the gag, which was now around her neck.
"Now what?"

             
"Now I have to get back to the stage and amaze an audience," Madeleine told her. You'd better come with me and hide in the cloak room while we figure out what to do. The professor will think of something."

             
"The professor?"

             
"Professor Moriarty. You can trust him. He's here under the guise of Doctor Alexander Sandarel, mystic and clairvoyant. I am his assistant, the noted medium Madame Verlaine. Mind you, I only became a noted medium a few hours ago, but I've been practicing for a couple of weeks now." Madeleine stood up and extended her hand to Jenny. "You'd better try to stand. If you can't walk, I'll carry you the best I can. We'd better get going."

             
"Professor Moriarty." Jenny took Madeleine's hand and pulled herself up. "Von Linsz has spoken of him. Indeed, for some time he could speak of little else. He has imprisoned two of Moriarty's acquaintances for fear that they are spies of some sort."

             
"We know," Madeleine said. "That's why we're here. Can you walk?"

             
Jenny took a step. "Ow!" she said. "It feels like I'm walking on a bed of nails, like those fakirs or whoever in the east." She took another step. "But I can do it. Lead the way!"

             
"Here," Madeleine said, "take the candle." She pried the candle loose from its mooring on the sack and handed it to Jenny. They left the room together and Madeleine closed the door and fiddled with the handle. "Hold the candle over here," she said.

             
"What are you doing?" Jenny asked.

             
"Locking the door behind me," Madeleine told her. "It may confuse them for a few seconds, and we may need the seconds."

             
They went down the hallway and came out in the cloak room. "Sandarel" was still orating in the ballroom, and he didn't sound strained and the audience didn't sound restless. Bless the professor and his limitless powers of oratory. Madeleine locked the corridor hall behind her. "I have to go on stage," she said. "Through that door is the green room, but who can tell who'll wander into it in the next little while. In the other door is the dressing room for the musicians. They won't be coming down for a couple of hours yet. Perhaps you'd better wait in there until the professor can decide how best to get you away from here. There is a rack of men's evening wear that you can hide behind if anyone comes in, but I don't think anyone will until the musicians return. Will you be all right?"

             
"I'll have to be," Jenny said. She went over to the door. "You have a lot of faith in Professor Moriarty."

             
"I do," Madeleine agreed.

             
"Good. Then I shall also."

             
Jenny disappeared into the dressing room. Madeleine brushed off the front of her dress, which showed signs of kneeling in the
dust,
took several deep breaths and composed her face into a look of complete tranquility. Then she appeared at the side of the stage and walked slowly and serenely out to join Dr. Sandarel.

             
Sandarel paused in mid-sentence. "I see our lovely medium is ready to begin," he said, taking her hand and escorting her forward. "Thank you all for your patience in listening to my poor explication. Now, if the spirits are willing, Madame Verlaine will demonstrate the wonders that we have been discussing." A heavy wooden chair with a high back had been placed in the center of the stage. He sat her in it and she crossed her hands on her lap and closed her eyes. "I will now place Madame Verlaine into a light trance to make her more receptive to the spirits."

             
Sandarel leaned over Madeleine and made restful washing motions with his hands. "You've been a while," he whispered. "I was almost at the point of discussing ancient Chaldean astrology. You found something?"

             
"Someone," Madeleine replied under her breath. "Jenny Ver-net was tied up in a back room. She says they were going to kill her tonight. We have to get her out of here. She's in the dressing room next to the green room."

             
"Ah!" Sandarel said. He stood up and faced the audience. "Madame Verlaine is awaiting the arrival of her spirit guide," he announced. "In a few seconds she will be ready for your questions. You do not have to ask them aloud, if you do not wish to. The spirits will assist Madame Verlaine in her answers." He turned back to Madeleine. "Are you ready, Madame?"

             
"I am ready," Madeleine answered in a low, measured voice.

             
"Have you located your spirit guide?"

             
"She is here."

             
"Will she speak through you?
"

             
"
She will."

             
Sandarel began to ask another question, but paused when Madame Verlaine's body twitched and her head twisted rapidly from side to side, and her eyes opened and glared out at the world.

             
"Hello," Sandarel said. "To whom am I speaking?"

             
Madeleine leaned back and her head
turned,
her motions jerky and surreal like a puppet controlled by a tipsy puppeteer. "In life I was called Mim Ptwa Nim," she said in a high, gravelly voice quite unlike her normal tones.

             
Several people in the audience gasped, the rest seemed to be holding their breath.

             
"I was a priestess of the Temple of Amon, under the supreme high priest Ankha Shat, during the reign of the illustrious and most high god-king Sebeknofru, ruler of the upper and lower kingdom."

             
"That's right, by god! A pharaoh of that name ruled in the twelfth dynasty," someone whispered. Whether there was an Egyptologist in the audience, or Prince Ariste was doing his bit to add to the effect, Moriarty couldn't tell.

             
"Have you a message for anyone here?" Sandarel asked.

             
"Yes, yes, yes," Mim Ptwa Nim shook her head up and down rapidly. "There are several spirits waiting to get through."

             
"Please speak."

             
Madeleine closed her eyes and reviewed what she had read in the cloakroom. "A spirit here wishes to communicate with a man named Beske," said the voice of Mim Ptwa Nim, "Herr Beske, are you here?"

             
A slim young man stood up toward the back of the room. "You can leave me out of this," he announced loudly. "I don't believe in the spirits."

             
"We know," Mim Ptwa Nim said. "Your father's name is Maximilian."

             
"How did you—"

             
"He died about two years ago."

             
"Yes."

             
"He has a message for you. He asks you to forgive him.
"

             
"
What?"

             
"He asks you to forgive him. That is the message."

             
The young man sat down, looking startled.

             
"There is a message for someone named Olga Tartosky."

             
"I am she," cried a lady in the audience.

             
"You have a friend—a close friend—named Bert or Bart—"

             
"Yes.
Bertram.
Oh, has something happened to him? Tell me he is not dead."

             
Mim Ptwa Nim shook her head rapidly from side to side. "No, no. You have not seen him for a long while. He has been away."

             
"Yes, oh yes."

             
"He will soon return. Things will work out for you, although you will have some problems at first—"

             
While Mim Ptwa Nim continued speaking, Sandarel slowly and unobtrusively backed off stage. Once out of sight, he turned and went to the dressing room concealing Jenny Vernet. "Miss Vernet," he said softly, "
are
you here?"

             
Jenny stepped out from behind an overcoat on the rack. "Professor Moriarty?"

             
He nodded. "It is I. Our time is limited. I believe that I have a way to get you out of here. Take off your clothes."

             
"It's a pleasure to meet you, too," Jenny said, her hand reaching for the top button on her blouse. "All of them?"

             
"No. The outer layer should suffice, although I am no expert in female garments. The important things are your skirts and whatever it is that's emphasizing your bosom."