Part 15 (1/2)

They walked in silence for a little while then, while Cabal wondered who Cacon's murderous ”viperess” might be, and Miss Barrow wondered if Cabal was serious about the ethical qualities of calcium. With anybody else it would have been a joke, but with Cabal she couldn't be so sure.

”It's a small pool of suspects,” said Cabal, changing the subject from preferred elements. ”In the case of Cacon, at any rate. A woman, and I think, given his comments, one from aboard the s.h.i.+p. Just four possibilities.”

”Lady Ninuka, Miss Ambersleigh, and-I suppose-Frau Roborovski. That's three. Who's the fourth?”

Cabal did not answer, but continued to promenade down the road, looking straight ahead. She finally understood, and it did not please her.

”Me? You suspect me? Oh, you're a piece of work, all right, Cabal.”

”There you go, thinking like a civilian, Miss Barrow,” Cabal chided her. ”Your father would be most upset to hear you talk like that.”

”Not nearly as upset as he would be to see me walking arm in arm with a b.a.s.t.a.r.d like you.”

Cabal nodded thoughtfully. ”That's a fair point. To return to the matter at hand, however, I cannot eliminate you as a subject, not least because you were in the area, and you did seem to be following me.”

”I just saw you lurking around that street! I followed you a hundred yards at most, and I didn't take a short break from following you to do in Cacon, the poor swine.”

”So you say.”

The suddenness with which Miss Barrow came to a halt jerked Cabal almost off his feet. ”Look, Cabal,” she said, glowering at him. ”I didn't do it. The only criminal act I've committed on this trip, to my knowledge, was not handing you over to the authorities and, G.o.d knows, I'm regretting that.”

”It's not as if you're a prime suspect,” said Cabal, checking his shoulder for possible injury. ”But I cannot eliminate you-there simply isn't the evidence available that would allow me to do that. I do, however, admit that I think you're a less likely murderer than, say, Miss Ambersleigh, who is also low on my list.”

”Third place?” said Miss Barrow, somewhat mollified but working hard not to show it.

”Joint second, which puts you at fourth. She only makes second because I think she's as unlikely a candidate as Frau Roborovski. I can't draw a line between them.”

”Ah,” said Miss Barrow, starting to walk again. ”So you've plumped for the voyage's very own femme fatale, Lady Ninuka.”

”And you haven't?”

”I'm not even convinced that Cacon was killed by a fellow pa.s.senger. The way he spoke, it could have been somebody he knew from elsewhere.”

”No,” said Cabal with finality. ”Remember, he talked about 'young love.' That implies it was somebody known to me. Miss Ambersleigh is not young. Frau Roborovski is married. You-” He considered in silence for a moment. ”You, I may have to move up the rankings.” Then, to quickly quench her outrage, he added, ”Based purely on your age, but you are still a country mile behind the Lady Ninuka in my mind. Consider: she is demonstrably manipulative, mendacious, and self-centred to the point of sociopathy.” He noticed a faint smile on Miss Barrow's lips. ”What?”

”Nothing,” she said. ”I'm finding this very educational. Please, continue.”

”Furthermore, she is a member of the Mirkarvian gentry, and they seem to be very political creatures. I'm sure they are read Machiavelli in the nursery, and practise by setting their dolls against one another. Nor are they above acting as their own agents. If you want a Senzan spy dead, sometimes you just have to do it yourself.”

”You might have something there,” she said, now sober. ”I heard that her father is somebody big in the government or the military.”

”It will be both. It's very hard to tell the two apart in Mirkarvia.”

”I overheard the purser gossiping with the chief steward, because she'd given one of the stewards a hard time over some stupid little thing she found to complain about. The purser said the steward should just grin and bear it, because if Lady Ninuka went running to her 'daddy the count' things could get very sticky for him.”

This time it was Miss Barrow's turn to be jerked to a halt. ”This count,” said Cabal slowly. ”Would he have a name?”

”Yes, but I don't remember it. I didn't think it was important.”

”Could it have been Marechal?”

”Yes! That was it. I remember thinking it was quite a French-sounding name for a Mirkarvian, but that's just the name of his fiefdom. Oh, that would be a county, wouldn't it? I'd never really thought about that before. Anyway, the land used to belong to a neighbouring state until some war ages and ages ago, and they kept the name for the t.i.tle, but the family name is actually Ninuka. Thinking about it, I'm a bit surprised that a country that's so influenced by the German language doesn't use Graf instead of Count. 'Graf Marechal.' Hmm.”

She looked closely at Cabal, but he had clearly stopped listening somewhere around ”Yes!”

”Ohhhhh,” she said, the smile coming back again. ”Friend of yours, is he?”

”Not in any recognised sense of the word, no. This puts a markedly different complexion upon matters.”

Miss Barrow's smile slipped. ”How?”

”My main interest in getting to the bottom of the affair has been partially curiosity but mainly a sense of reactive self-preservation.”

”What? Get them before they get you? Well, that's lovely. How about to bring a murderer to justice?”

Cabal glanced at her, frowning slightly at such foolishness. ”What a quaint idea. No, I can honestly say that was never in my thoughts. The possibility of Marechal's involvement, however, puts a new emphasis on matters, which is to say, upon my life, and extending it beyond, say, tomorrow.”

Miss Barrow was taken aback. She had come to expect the unexpected with Cabal, but cowardice seemed out of joint with the architecture of his personality as she understood it. ”You're scared of him!”

Cabal raised an eyebrow at this impertinence. ”I would not characterise it as fear. Simply a desire not to be cut to bleeding chunks by a maniac with a cavalry sabre. More of a rational concern, really.”

”But the deaths-”

”Unfortunate, but we shall just have to congratulate the killer or-far more likely-killers on some murders well done, and bid him, her, or them a fond farewell. Bon voyage, ma chere Hortense, and try not to let your body count get any higher. We're well rid of the whole sordid affair.”

”Not we, Cabal.”

”Eh?”

”I'm rejoining the s.h.i.+p. I've decided to go all the way to Katamenia.”

”What? But why? Why rejoin the s.h.i.+p, that is. Any reason for wanting to go to Katamenia is already beyond my understanding, but why put yourself in harm's way?”

”I can't just let whoever did this go, Cabal. I can't. To answer your question, because it's the right thing to do.”

Cabal's face tightened with ill-concealed anger. ”What your father would do, you mean.”

She smiled, a little wanly. ”It's the same thing. It usually is.”

”Your father's a busybody.”

”My father,” replied Miss Barrow, gently disengaging her arm from Cabal's, ”is a good man. But he's at home, back in Penlow on Thurse, so I shall have to do this.” She started to walk away, back towards the aeroport, but paused after a few steps. ”I doubt we'll meet again.”

”I doubt it, too. You're playing Mirkarvian roulette, Miss Barrow. Much like the Russian version, but with only one empty chamber.”