The Hidden Man: A Phineas Starblower Adventure (Phineas Starblower Adventures) (47 page)

Carstares gestured at Jerard with his knife. “Well go on Sir. I can eat and listen, what have you got in mind?”

“Well to be blunt Sir, I believe that we should have the LensBaron followed.”

The Colonel nodded and mumbled “agreed” around a mouthful of food.

Jerard took that as a sign to continue. “I am thinking of sending Mr. Howell Sir or perhaps one of the Landovers. I wanted to get your input before I set anything into motion.”

“Howell.” Carstares said as he popped a large fork full of eggs into his mouth.

Mr. Howell had been Jerard’s first choice as well but instead of an answer he merely raised an eyebrow hoping that the Colonel would elaborate. He had to wait until the eggs were all gone before he got his answer.

“That Howell fellow is the smoothest most resourceful man I have ever met. In fact if I thought for a moment that I could get him away from Starblower, he’d be my man.” Carstares punctuated that last sentence by finishing off the last bite of his toast. He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach before carefully laying his napkin beside his plate. “You know Phillips, should you ever need a reference you can count on me Sir.”

“Why thank you Sir.” Jerard said, slightly taken aback by the turn of the conversation.

“Yes well,” Carstares began gruffly. “We have been thinking along the same lines but I had already ruled out either you or I as candidates to follow the LensBaron. Mr. Howell is perfect, if he is seen around town he has an excuse as the chief provisioner for the Soul of Discretion.”

“My thoughts exactly Sir. I expect he and Paulo are in the storage hold about now; making a list of on-hand supplies. I shall speak to him.” Jerard got to his feet.

Carstares was a moment behind having hesitated to take a last look at the empty plate. “Oh Captain, when do we land?”

Jerard chuckled. “We landed a quarter hour ago Sir, did you not feel the ship touch down?"

"Uh, no…I suppose I was more distracted than I thought. Well then, we both need to get moving.” Carstares nodded and headed toward the stairwell wondering how the “negotiations” were going up top and how he could have possibly missed the airship's bumping on the ground.

Jerard went in the other direction to find the indomitable Mr. Howell. He was not surprised that the steward was willing, nay eager, to do a bit of shadow work. No, the surprise was Howell hurrying off before he even finished laying out the plan. The man had impatiently waved his hand in a 'yes, yes, I know' gesture and mumbled something about hitching a ride? Jerard was left standing open mouthed in the storeroom with an equally confused Paulo. In fact he nearly jumped his skin when the speaking grill announced: “Captain Phillips to the bridge. Captain Phillips you are needed on the bridge.”

Jerard was nearly there when he heard the announcement begin again. Quickening his step he made it inside before Mr. Jones could finish. "I’m right here Mr. Jones.”

Aneurin Jones hurriedly took off his headphones and swung around to look at his captain. “Sorry Sir I didn’t hear you reply through the grill.”

“Not a problem m’man” Jerard assured him as he realized that he had forgotten to use  he speaking grills. He hurried on. “What have you got for me?”

“The Danish ground crew is on its way Sir.” Jones smirked. “I assured them it wasn’t necessary but, well, they insisted, I thought you should know.”

“Ah yes, so the locals have found time for us at last have they?” Phillips drawled and gave Mr. Jones wink.

The Danish officials were indeed somewhat stern with Phillips for landing without permission or direction from themselves. But once he dropped the names of his two passengers the men backed off considerably.

“
The LensBaron of Aalborg ?
Here you say?” One of the custom's officers gasped.

“Yes Sir, that is correct Sir. The LensBaron Bodil Gyldenfeldt of Aalborg is aboard this ship along with his good friend and my employer, Mr. Phineas Starblower of the United Kingdom of Great Britain. This ship is here at the invitation of the LensBaron. I apologize if our arrival has caused you distress. However, I thought it prudent, since we have the means, to set down without delay."

The custom's official began to bluster again and Jerard held up his hand. "Please, would you have me tell the LensBaron Gyldenfeldt that our arrival was delayed because the Danish ground crews were too busy to attend to his honor's ship? In fact they were too busy because they were spending their time tying down a couple of
German
Zepplins?"

Evidently the Danish officials understood the LensBaron's likely mood in the event of Jerard's proposed scenario. Documents changed hands, signatures signed and a few stamps appropriately placed saw the departure of the Danish officials in record time. After seeing the Danes off the ship Jerard dismissed the bridge crew to a late breakfast. He himself stayed on the bridge. Opening the log book on his small podium Jerard set to getting the next bit of paperwork completed.

A dull thumping sound from the gondola’s door broke his concentration. If those damn’d pen pushers want some more of my time I’ll.... He broke off the thought and resignedly trudged to the bridge's ante-room. Dragging the access door open he demanded, “Well what is it this time?”

Two liveried footmen stood at door, they were obviously quite surprised at Jerard's tone. They both bowed politely and asked Jerard a question in Danish. Realizing who the men must be Jerard hastily apologized before recognizing that neither man spoke English. "LensBaron Glydenfeldt?" He tried.

Both men nodded and Jerard motioned them into the ante-room and made the sign to wait. He was about to turn towards the stairs when he remembered he did not have to personally go up to the passenger dining room and get the LensBaron. In fact it probably would not look good for him to do so. Instead he moved to the speaking grill and depressed what he hopped was the "all hands" switch. "Mr. Phelps, Mr. Tanner, Mr. Jones. To the bridge please. Phelps, Tanner, and Jones. To the bridge. "

In less than ten seconds the grill replied, "Tanner and Phelps on their way." And on the heels of that: "Jones acknowledged." Jerard could not help but grin; he liked this grill thing more and more. He was also enjoying the way the two footmen stared suspiciously at the speaking device.

Jones arrived first and Jerard explained who he thought the men were, and asked if he would assist Phelps and Tanner since the footmen did not appear to speak English. When all was settled and the identity of the footmen confirmed Jerard returned to his log book.

It seemed only minutes before the next interruption sounded although it must have been a great deal longer. This time it was the voices of Tash and Gyldenfeldt alerting him to their approach. He got to his feet, straightened his jacket and moved to meet his employer and their guest in the ante-room.

Jerard said a pleasant goodbye to the LensBaron and remarked on how much he was looking forward to the opera this evening. It was not until he stood watching Gyldenfeldt with Tash on his arm walking down the ramp that Phillips realized that he really
was
looking forward to the opera. It had been years, since he had attended a civilized event. Casting a last appreciative eye over the retreating back of his employer he found himself hoping that he would be able to monopolize a great deal of his employer's time. And he wasn't thinking of the fake Starblower.

Jerard sat down again to attempt to finish the paperwork. One minute he was staring at the page of half written notes, the next found him gazing out of the window and imagining what it would be like sharing the opera with Tash.

"Sir? Captain?"

Jerard whirled around to see Mr. Phelps standing in the bridge doorway. "Yes?" He replied as politely as he could.

"Sir, Paulo is ready to serve the mid-day meal. Do you wish to take it here?"

"Uh…yes. Thank you." Jerard replied a little confused. "What time is it?"

"It is a quarter to twelve Sir."

Good god! How long had he been daydreaming? Jerard glanced down to the log book and it looked the same as it had when he sat down almost three hours ago! "Thank you Mr. Phelps." He said dismissing the steward. Jerard rubbed his eyes, I must have been more tired than I realized, he thought. The last time I fell asleep at a desk I was in flight school.

Lunch came and went and Jerard finally managed to complete the ship's log for the last twenty four hours. Perhaps I should have a real kip he thought as he opened his desk and neatly put the log away. His thought was interrupted by a banging on the gondola's outer door once again. Feeling irritated he went to the ante-room and wretched open the door with a rather rude shout of "what?"

“Sorry sir, should I call again later?” came back the impious voice of the chief steward.

“Good heavens Howell I do apologize…great scott man! Whatever happened to you?” Phillips said as he eyed the blooming bruises around Howell's eye.

“Difference in opinion Sir.” Howell said with a grin. "Does it look that bad?”

“I suppose it depends on your definition of bad. Well get inside man, we're all anxious to hear your report Sir.”

“As ordered Captain.” Howell replied with mock humility as he squeezed into the Gondola’s antechamber.

"I will summon the others Mr. Howell, please meet us in the passenger lounge."

"Yes Sir!" The chief steward replied and winked at Jerard with his good eye.

“Jon! What’s happened to you?” Tash said as she rushed to the steward’s side. She took his chin in her hand and turned his face up to the light; then gently touched the bridge of the man’s nose. “Well at least it isn't broken. But oh my! What a shiner!”

Mr. Howell chuckled and gently removed the lady’s hand. “I am quite all right Miss Tash, it probably looks a lot worse than it feels.”

“But what happened?”

“Yes Mr. Howell, what happened? Were you able to follow the LensBaron? Carstares said as he leaned forward expectantly.

“Did you get caught?” Phillips asked.

“Yes and no. I did follow the LensBaron and no I did not get caught.”

“But what happened?” Tash said again her voice tight with concern.

“Pardon me.” Gopal interrupted. He handed the steward a glass of scotch and a cool damp towel. “Might I suggest we all have a seat and let Mr. Howell tell his story?”

Jon Howell took the scotch, drained the glass and handed it back to Gopal with a hopeful look that it might be refilled. The cold towel he pressed to his swollen eye before grinning at his audience.

When no one moved Gopal uttered a stern, “Well?” The others scrambled to take seats looking expectantly at the already seated Mr. Howell. Gopal moved to the passenger lounge’s drink cabinet and poured out another measure of scotch. Once the glass was back in the steward’s hand he took a drink and began.

“Well it went like this see....

Jon swore out loud, he had been trying not to do that but that last pothole nearly threw him off the back of this cursed coach. He looked over at the footman beside him who was also holding on to the back of the coach for dear life. The man was grinning like a fool and seemed to be repeating his curse.

“Ja, ya, it IS
shit
, yes?” The footman said laughing.

“You speak English?” Jon asked.

“A little.” The man said and managed a shrug as the coach bounced again. “Many who live here speak it, Copenhagen a big place to trade, ja?”

“Where is the Opera House?”

“Opera Haus?” The footman repeated looking confused. After a moment his face brightened. “Oh! The teater! Just there, big place with statues see?” The footman pointed just up the street where Jon could indeed see a very large building with greek statues posing on the roof.

“Is that where we are going?” Jon asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“Not now. We take you to market, then we to LensBaron house and after we come back to
Det Kongelige Teater
.”

Jon smiled and nodded. Now how do I frame my next question he wondered.

The footman sighed loudly. “I wish we stop at Teater now and not come to here two time in one day.”

“Two time?”

“Ja, round and round yes? We drop bags at haus, LensBaron big man, change clothes and go back to teatre.”

Jon nodded. “Yes my master is also changing for the show tonight.”

The footman laughed. “No, LensBaron have to impress teater persons for now. He change again for tonight.”

Jon blinked several times as what the footman told him sunk in. It looked like he was not going to have to try to follow the carriage to the LensBaron’s residence after all. Apparently there was something going on at the opera house this afternoon. He grinned at the footman and clapped him on the back. “Round and round!” He said, not having to fake the happy tone.

After two careening turns the coach finally stopped at the entrance to a rather large market place. Jon gratefully hopped off the back of the coach and waved to the footman as the coach drove off.

Now, he thought, to find myself a translator and handy accomplice. He made his way through the market stalls until he found the spice merchant. Fortunately the man had the saffron that Paulo needed. And fortunately he had the look of the standard shady character. Jon had discovered long ago that spice traders could nearly always be counted on to deal on both sides of the law.

Jon pointed to the saffron and pantomimed “how much?”

The man answered him in Danish and Jon shook his head. “You speak English?” he asked.

The man shook his head. So Jon pulled a fist full of marks from his pocket and held them out. The man leaned over and looked at the money and shook his head again. With a sigh Jon then pulled out a wad of rigsdalers. The man’s eyes grew wide as he delicately plucked a single rigsdaler from the pile. Got him! Jon thought as he stuffed the wad of money back in his pocket. He briefly lamented the fact that it was so easy to convince foreigners that anyone that spoke English was a dumb tourist. But that was the way things worked so Jon gratefully accepted the small packet of spice from the nodding man and pretend to be delighted that he had just paid three times what the blasted stuff was worth.

Jon turned and strolled back the way he had come. He did not need to turn and see the spice dealer step to the front of his stall and motion another man over. He did pretend to drop the spice packet though so he could see just how many men responded to the merchant’s summons. Sure enough it was just as he had pictured and there were two shabbily dressed men having what appeared to be an urgent conversation with the merchant. Jon hurriedly snatched up the packet and resumed his stroll . He had already picked out the perfect place to get robbed; a suitably dark alley that was open on both ends and appeared to have only one doorway.

The steward began looking around as if he were lost. He back tracked a little bit and even pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and pretended to read as if consulting a list. After a few minutes and when he was completely certain that he was being followed he turned down the alley.

He had only taken perhaps ten, maybe fifteen steps when he heard a harsh voice speaking Danish. Jon whirled around feigning surprise. “Oh hello there!” He said pleasantly. “Perhaps you can help me I seem to be quite lost. I’m looking for...”

The taller of the two men facing Jon spoke again, rudely interrupting Jon and repeating the Danish phrase.

Jon shook his head and smiled. “So sorry old man I am afraid I don’t speak Danish. Either of you speak English?” He looked a each man hopefully and began moving toward the pair; a friendly smile plastered to his face

The second man was shorter, heavier and obviously older than the tall blond who originally spoke. It only took seconds for Jon to size up his opponents. Both seemed fairly inexperienced at this game and while the younger man was certainly fit, the older man was equally out of shape. “English?” Jon repeated again hopefully.

The older man growled out “No!” as the other pulled a knife. Both moved menacingly toward Jon.

“Oh! I say! Is this a hold up?” Jon said stopping in his tracks and raising his hands into the air.

The taller man smiled a rather evil smile and answered in Danish. The only word Jon understood was “Ja.” Which was fine, he was pretty sure at this point that neither of them spoke English so they would be of no use to him. He mentally sighed, ok, let’s get this over with.

The short man held out his hand and made the universal sign of “give me” at the same time he said, “rigsdalers.” Well there was no mistaking what he wanted, so Jon pretended to fumble in his pockets as the two edged closer. But they were not close enough so Jon grabbed the loose coins in his pocket and proceeded to drop them.

“Oh dear! Oh dear!” Jon wailed and crouched down to pick up the coins. The younger man lunged in and tried to grab Jon by the collar. Anticipating the move Jon used his powerful legs and shot straight up from the crouch using the top of his head to slam the man under the jaw. Jon’s left hand shot out and grabbed the wrist of the knife hand twisting hard to the outside. The knife flew out of blondie’s hand and skidded across the cobblestones at about the same time the villain went down in a heap. Jon whirled to face the second man only to catch sight of him rounding the corner out of the alley at a dead run.

“Harrumph” Jon grunted and began dusting off his pants. He froze at the sound of a soft step behind him. Balancing on the balls of his feet he turned quickly and assumed a fighting stance to face this new threat.

He was only a little surprised to see a boy standing there. They both stared intently at one another. Jon sized the lad up, the boy was better dressed than the two who tried to rob him and for all his intensity his body was fairly relaxed. He judged the boy to be somewhere between twelve and fourteen years old; light brown hair, blue eyes, average height and weight. The boy had a boldness and confidence that reminded him of himself at that age. Jon relaxed and straightened up. “I don’t suppose
you
speak English?” he asked.

“I do.” The boy said. “You need help with that?” He gestured to the coins on the ground.

Jon shrugged and the boy began picking up the coins. The steward watched critically as the lad picked up the coins and handed
all
of them to Jon.

“You want a short job?” Jon asked.

“Sure. But we should get out of here, Fritzie will not be happy when he wakes up.”

Jon grinned. “I don’t imagine so.” The pair quickly exited the alley leaving behind the now softly moaning Fritzie.

“So, ah, you knew that bloke back there? That Fritzie?” Jon began tentatively.

“Yeah, well, kind of.”

Jon raised an eyebrow but did not comment. Instead he asked, “What should I call you?”

The boy shrugged and posed his own question, “What should I call
you
?”

“Hm...there’s an echo here.” Jon chuckled. “How ‘bout you call me Jon.” Jon was careful to pronounce his name as a Dane would with the first letter sounding more like a “Y” than the English “J”.

“Alright, I see the way here, you can call me Hans.”

Jon laughed, he found he rather liked this lad. He just hoped he could trust him.

“What you want me to do
Jon
?”

“I want you to be my eyes and ears.”

The kid shrugged. “Easy enough. When? Where?”

“Right now or within the next hour.”

“Why don’t you do it yourself? You some kind of spy?” Hans narrowed his eyes and looked sideways at Jon.

This time Jon really laughed; a great big belly laugh. “No lad, nothing so romantic. And not to worry you won’t hear anything like a murder confession or a state secret.”

The boy seemed a little disappointed and frowned. “So what is it you want to know?”

“I want to know who a particular gentleman talks to and what he says to them.”

“But if it is nothing important why do you want to know?”

“Smart lad. I did not say it was not important, I implied that it would not be important to you or the police or any government. My employer has business dealings with this gentleman and this is my way of seeing if he is to be trusted. I also want to know why he is going to the opera house seven hours before the opera begins, especially when he said he already had tickets.”

“Opera? Yuck! I am not going to any opera. I don’t care what you pay me.” The lad turned as if to walk away.

Jon grabbed him by the shirt collar. “Hold on now. You don’t have to go to the opera just the opera house. And how about I pay you two rigsdalers?”

The boy jerked away from Jon and indignantly straightened his shirt. He narrowed his eyes again and said, “Make it five.”

“Three.”

“How long do I have to watch?”

“Not sure, an hour maybe?”

“Three then. Are we going to the
Det Kongelige Teater
now?”

“Yes, that’s where we are heading.”

The lad rolled his eyes. “Some spy you are, we’re going the wrong way.”

Jon realized Hans was correct, he had been so intent on their conversation that he turned left out of the market entrance instead of right. He chuckled to cover his gaff. “I was just seeing if you were paying attention. After you.” Jon turned and motioned in the correct direction.

Hans rolled his eyes again, the kid was not fooled for a moment but did turn and move toward the Teater. “Who is this gent I am watching and what is he supposed to be doing?”

It was Jon’s turn to shrug. "I have no idea of what he is doing, I want you to watch and tell me who he talks to and what he says.”

“The Teatre is a big place, is this guy an actor? Do I have to figure out how to get back stage? I can do that you know.”

Jon chuckled. “I guess you could say he was an actor, just not one in tonight’s opera. No, I am hoping it will not be so complicated as that. If we’re lucky he will go no further than the lobby but we will just have to play it as we see it.” Jon was thoughtful for a moment, he deliberately did not answer the lad’s question as to who the “gent” was and was wondering how much he should tell the boy. He weighed how much the lad was likely to know about political figures. The boy was obviously educated and intelligent not to mention his English was nearly flawless. If not for the light accent Jon would have taken him for any English schoolboy. No, he decided, let the kid read into the situation whatever he wanted, it would not be a good idea for Jon to actually give him any information.

A few yards and another right turn brought the unlikely pair within sight of the
Det Kongelige Teater
. Jon eyed the building looking for a good place to wait for the arrival of Gyldenfeldt. It’s square, flat-faced structure did not offer much in the way of concealment; nor did the open plaza in front of the building. At least there was quite a bit of foot traffic so it should not be too hard to blend in when the time came. Jon slowed his step as they approached the front doors of the theater.

“Is he here?” Hans asked softly.

“I don’t think so; I don’t see his carriage.” Jon replied placing his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “Let’s go in and have a look around.”

The boy shrugged Jon’s hand off. Jon looked down and shook his head placing his hand on Hans’ shoulder. “I think you should pretend to be my son.” He said softly but firmly.

For the briefest moment Hans glared at Jon then smoothed his expression and grumbled something unintelligible. Taking that as acquiescence Jon proceeded to the door gently guiding the boy.

The foyer of the theater was large and elegant affair and at this time of day flooded with sunlight. Straight ahead was obviously the “box office” which was really a half-wall of pale wood panels carved with grecian figures that supported a white marble countertop. Several uniformed figures moved about on its other side, one was speaking to a fashionably dressed lady on Jon’s side of the wall while the others appeared to be doing paperwork. There were quite a few people in the lobby to Jon’s relief. Some were sitting on the pale blue couches placed around the room, and some were looking at the framed playbills that lined the walls.

“Let’s go upstairs.” Hans said softly.

Jon looked at the pair of staircases that began on either side of the box office. They curved up and around over the box office worker’s heads to a second story balcony. “They probably won’t let us.” He answered quietly.

“One way to find out.” Hans said as he ducked out from under Jon’s hand and raced up to the counter speaking excitedly in Danish and pointing to the upper floor.

One of the clerks looked up at the boy and smiled. He then looked beyond the lad to see Jon’s mild look of panic as he hurried to catch up with Hans. The clerk’s smile widened as he raised his hand and spoke kindly then gestured with his head toward the stairs. Jon was grateful that he did not have to understand Danish to understand ‘it is alright, go ahead’. He smiled at the clerk and then rolled his eyes as Hans dashed off up the stairs. Jon scowled and raced up the stairs after the lad. When he got to the top he made a “hut!” sound. The boy turned and walked back to Jon who wagged his finger at Hans as if he were scolding.