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The Case of the
Missing Misdemeanour
A Crusader Dorm story by Simon Barber Wo Shin © Walter Reimer, Lucy Ulrich character by Reese Dorrycott, other characters by S. Barber Part 1
According to the prospectus of the Songmark Aeronautical Boarding School for Young Ladies, in the first year all its pupils studied the same courses; in the second and especially the third years they were allowed to specialise to an extent. Such was usually a welcome event. Nancy Rote’s dorm were in their fourth week of term and looking at the assignment they had just been given by Miss Windlesham, to be completed in two weeks’ time. It looked as if the Tutors had decided to specialise the course just for them a year or so early – and that was not proving welcome. “And So, what ‘tis the question they’re the askin’ of us?” Maureen O’Hara noted the look of shock on her roommate’s face as Nancy opened the envelope in her role as dorm leader. “This has to be some kind of bad joke.” Nancy thrust her the typed note. “They are demanding that we give a convincing lecture. And on what subject? On the benefits of Crime to Society! Us, a sleuthing dorm!” If the bulldog’s snout wrinkled any further it would have been hard to tell. “’Tis their little joke on us, to be sure. But we have to go through with it, even so. Maybe they’re thinking as they’ve made it too easy on us with the letting of us come in together, an now we’ve the paying of it.” Miss Windlesham had presumably finished handing out the assignments to the rest of the dorms, and put her head round the corner. “Ladies – you’ve spent your whole lives so far in forming your precious opinions. When we want to hear those, we’ll ask for them. Think of this as an exercise in thinking on your paws.” “Yes, Ma’m.” It was a ragged chorus. All four sat down heavily on their beds, and instantly regretted it. Songmark beds were hard. “The benefits of crime.” Nancy’s elegant tail twitched as she heard their Tutor close the downstairs door. “Well, it keeps Sleuths in a job. Oh, and scandal-raking newspapers, I suppose.” She gestured to a copy of the Spontoon Mirror she had been perusing. “If furs were honest, that’d be half their stories gone. Or three-quarters if you count all the libellous tales they print in there.” “Si! Is such papers in Mixteca always they are being closed down. And like weeds, again they come up with a new name.” Isabella rubbed her aching tail. The star-nosed mole’s small ears twitched as she looked at the wolverine on the bunk above her. “Svetlana! You were telling us about the Rasputinist cult in Vostok, what great sinners they try to be. Any ideas to help us?” The stocky wolverine smiled, shaking her head. “Sinners, yes, but not criminals.” She dipped an ear. “Is no crime in true Russia to drink vodka – and all the noble ladies were more than willing.” “He did seduce about every noblewoman in sight, an’ their maids into the bargain, ‘tis what they said.” Maureen’s snout might have wrinkled more than usual. “A great shambling unwashed goat he was, he must have been a true Saint they said to work miracles. ‘Tis truly a miracle that one would so much as look at him.” “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Nancy stepped in smoothly. Suddenly her tail twitched as an idea struck her. “I wonder if this is the same question all the dorms have been given? Next door there’s Rosa the anarchist, it’d be no challenge to her.” “I go check.” Svetlana’s bed was by the door, and she slipped out noiselessly. Three minutes later she returned, notebook and pencil in paw. “They all have different questions! Rosa’s dorm will be telling how one State religion is the best. And they have Alpha with them. That will be a hard test.” “Our Tutors are having fun with this.” She swung herself up effortlessly to her upper bunk, above Isabella. Although the mattresses were no softer than any other dorm’s, the first-years had brand new bunk beds installed for them. Songmark rooms were decidedly cosy, and it took a degree of synchronisation first thing in the morning to get dressed without putting an elbow into someone’s snout or sweeping the bedside table clean with a tail. “But that dorm has Meera too, she’s a Maharajah’s daughter. Don’t they have a State religion?” Isabella’s pink snout-tendrils wriggled. “Not by a long walk o’ the Ganges they don’t, me girl!” Maureen nodded. “There’s Mohammedans, some Christians and a dozen fancy castes o' Hindus. Some Plain Jains too.” There was a minute’s pause while Nancy stared at the list of questions that the first-years had been handed. “The Tutors did say each dorm had to write and present it,” she mused. “They didn’t specify that they had to use only their own ideas. What’s hard for some of us is easy for others. I imagine they would have said if they wanted that. They’re generally very specific about what they want of us.” “Ar, indeed, an’ we’d best be after a career criminal to be the writin’ of our piece,” Maureen’s short tail drooped. “’Tis only the second and third-years that are havin’ any, with Mrs Shin, Miss Parkesson and Miss Procyk. We’ve an Anarchist though, and that’s after bein’ a crime on Vostok, in Italy an’ sich places.” “Still – they might want to swap.” With Nancy, action soon followed thought and she swung herself down off the bed again. “Worth a try.” Sadly, the first attempt at inter-dorm cooperation foundered as thoroughly as had that morning’s raft building exercises. Next door Eva Schiller had already sketched out two pages of ideas drawn on her own experiences, presuming the Tutors accepted the premise that her politics counted as a religion. The other dorms were pulling deep on their own experiences, grimly determined to do well on their first test entirely on their own merits. “We’ve been here a month, and we’re not going to let this beat us,” Nancy declared. “Of course it’s hard! Like learning to ride a bicycle – by falling off often enough you learn not to. We’ll make it.” “Si!” Isabella put a brave face on it, though with her snout tentacles it was hard to tell. As the daughter of a Police Chief in Mixteca she was no happier than Nancy about extolling the benefits and virtues of crime. “Other dorms have ideas already. Where can we get some?” The news came later that week that the notorious third-year mouse Beryl Parkesson was giving up her next six weekends for a course of public business lectures. By all accounts she had already cleared it with the tutors and rented space in the Althing assembly rooms on Meeting Island. “Business lectures? Her?” Liberty Morgenstern sneered as she looked at the flier she had picked up in the Songmark post room. “We know what sort of family business she’s into. Isn’t her father the one they call “The Biplane Bandit” ?” “Oh, yes,” Shin snickered. “Or you can call him “The man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo” – the bank he worked for never recovered from him “borrowing” their reserve fund.” She cast a critical look at the handout. “Well, now. With these lectures, the first sample’s free. I’ve heard that before.” There was a few second’s silence. Liberty’s ears went up as a thought struck her. “We’re not on restriction this weekend, for a change,” she mused. “And Meeting Island – that’s a place we might get Passes to.” “’Tis no fun to be the having of there, and that’s a fact,” Brigit Mulvaney agreed. “Are ye so minded, Our Tutors might say yes.” Shin chuckled. “Count me out. I’ve a husband waiting for me on South Island, it’s been two weeks since I saw him.” She gave a feral grin. “This weekend I’m going to be very pleased to forget all about Meeting Island and Songmark too.” Brigit’s red tail twitched. “And Tatiana’ she’ll be off on her weekend duties, whatever those may be. To be sure an’ that girl’s no fun any more.” She was silent as she looked over the advertisement in Liberty’s paw, then her ears went down. “That Beryl! Put her alone on a desert island and she’d cheat at solitaire.” “But she is good at it. We’ve yet to catch her at it.” Shin admitted. “I wonder what she’s got up her sleeve this time, her grubby paws aside? She won’t be doing this for love of the locals –and they’re pretty sharp at business already.” “I’ll put in for passes – Libs, are ye with me?” Brigit declared. “’Tis sure to be a scam. An if we’ve the breaking of it, it’s points for us and the pulling of a third-years whiskers!” “Beryl? Giving anything away for free? There’s got to be a catch.” It was the next day when news trickled down to the first-years. Maureen waved the flyer. “Though and ‘tis no surprise that the second she’s charging for, and the price doubles every time after.” “We did that exercise in High School, the old one about the Chinese sage asking the King to pay him only one grain of rice for the first day on a chess board.” Nancy Rote looked at the flyer. “The final bill is huge. I assume furs have to subscribe for the whole course. It doesn’t say so here – but then, it wouldn’t.” “That little crook. We’ve not had the chance to pay her back yet.” Maureen stated flatly, her harsh Ulster tones rawer than ever. “She’s taking money off Spontoonies. There’s a crime in there somewhere. Has to be.” Nancy smiled, the squirrel’s chisel teeth slightly exposed. “Chief Pickering would be happy if we exposed it, I’m sure. It’s been five weeks since we did anything to earn our Sleuthing permission. I’m certain he knows how busy we’ve been – but still, we’ve only got another five months on the license. We’ll be busy all that time.” “And how are we to be catching her, if we can’t see what she’s doing? We’ve not earned points enough to have Passes yet.” Maureen snorted, an angry gleam in her eye. “T’would not be surprising me, if we started term on minus points, with Beryl’s little joke on us.” Their dorm had not been the only one to fall for the mouse’s scurrilous “Spontoonie National Anthem”, but much to her chagrin Nancy had led the singing. “Passes.” Isabella pulled out the slim Songmark rulebook from the one desk drawer she had for her small items. “Those kinds are for things we want to do. For educational trips – we’ve had those before now.” “Yes!” Nancy’s tail perked up. “These so-called lectures are on “How to succeed in business” – and that’s something Songmark put a lot of effort into encouraging.” She thought hard for a few seconds. “Beryl must have convinced the Tutors to let her do this. We can only ask and see if they’ll let us go. As an educational trip.” “Si! We did not think they would let us come in together as a sleuth dorm – but we asked, and they did. First lecture is Saturday, and today is Monday.” Isabella’s pink snout tentacles writhed. “I am wanting a seat at the front, where I can sense what Beryl says. She will not fool me again. I go and ask Miss Windlesham.” With that, she was gone, her stubby figure scurrying like a bowling-ball down the corridor. Half an hour later, she was back with her ears perked up. “Is hard to believe – she say yes!” In the mole’s paw was a brown Manila envelope of the kind that often held Passes. “Only one Pass. But they are making us work for it. Full report wanted, and Nancy, they mean full.” “Good. I’m surprised they let one of us go – after that fake coup conspiracy Red Dorm set up and I stepped right into.” Nancy’s eyebrow rose as she checked the single Pass for Meeting Island. “’Tis a fact that our Tutors have fun with our assignments, sometimes.” Maureen shrugged. “Meera. She’s telling of what her sister in the third-year’s written her. Like Ioseph Starling’s interrogators “having fun” with a prisoner, ‘tis my belief.” “Well.” Nancy hauled herself up to her top bunk and contemplated. “We can make this work for us. We can expose whatever Beryl’s scam is, and use the evidence in our essay on crime. “How crime benefits society” – you can write that story from both sides. Of course it doesn’t, but Beryl’s convinced it does. Until we get through with her, anyway.” “Nancy. That is not what the question said.” Isabella pointed out. “Then it’s probably a trick question,” Nancy said smoothly. “This is Songmark – we can expect a lot of those around here.” Just at that minute, across the compound in the Songmark library other furs were contemplating that same thought. Five third-years were studying diligently – at least they had their books open as if to fool the casual glance of any passing Tutor. Actually it was more to prevent junior years bothering them; none of them believed the Tutors would be fooled for a second. “So. How are you going to make the Spontoonies better at business than they already are? And get them to pay for it?” Amelia Bourne-Phipps studied Beryl with a puzzled look, her tail swishing from side to side. “You’re actually spending your own money to rent rooms off the Althing for this?” “Oh, yes.” Beryl Parkesson sat relaxed at a map table, her immaculately tailored third-year tunic bearing no sign that the class had spent the morning hacking through wet three-yard jungle on Main Island. “The course I’m giving has been a great success all over. I can’t claim any credit – except to spot that nobody’s ever run one in the Spontoon group before.” “I see.” Amelia said dryly, looking over the book Beryl was studying. Its title was familiar although she had never read it; almost certainly she could buy another copy on Casino Island any day of the week. “And you think the Tutors will give you credit for just lecturing some one else’s ideas? Hardly original, is it?” “So what’s original anyway?” Beryl’s chisel teeth gleamed in a friendly smile. “Is discovering gold original? If you found a seam on Main Island would you complain Alaska and Australia already did it, and ignore it just for that?” Helen Ducros looked at Beryl with suspicion; most furs who knew the mouse did. “Okeh. It looks legit on paper. But everything you do, you gotta have an angle on it somewhere.” “An angle? Me?” Beryl pressed her paw-tips to her breast in a prize-winning display of injured maidenly innocence. “I’m only trying to show our dear Tutors that I’m not as bad as I’m usually painted.” “There ain’t THAT much paint in the Spontoon islands!” Helen snorted. “Still, no skin off my nose. If’n the Tutors want to give ya enough rope to hang yourself, I’ll come and cheer.” “Oh, I’d be most surprised if I ever hung,” Beryl murmured. “Ha! I know how Beryl’s going to finish up,” Maria Inconnutia grinned across the table. “All these smuggled goods she deals with, all this black-market thing. She too will fall off the back of a lorry.” The mouse returned a serene smile. “You’re all welcome to come along to the first lecture – as my special friends, I’ll let you in free.” “The first lecture’s free to everyone,” Amelia pointed out. Beryl fanned herself with a folded air chart. “Oh well. As you wish. But Miss Devinski, she’s getting very keen on us developing good business skills. I’m sure she’d be happy to hear you’re taking extra lessons that way.” The four members of Amelia’s dorm cast hunted looks at each other. “Well, we can go along for the first one,” she mused while the other three nodded with varying levels of slight enthusiasm. Hidden behind the shelves, Liberty Morgenstern was trying not to breathe too loudly as she eavesdropped. Weeks earlier she had “liberated” one of Shin’s joss sticks and made a careful survey of all the public rooms in the quiet of an early Sunday morning. In her head she had a map of which way the smoke had drifted; with the prevailing wind she knew she currently was invisible and her scent concealed from the third-years. Her paw clenched a book picked at random from the shelves; she had as much right to be here as anyone, and if that pesky star-nose in the first year asked, she could say she was gathering information. That was the idea of a library after all. “No time like the present, then,” she heard Amelia force a cheerful note. “We’ll go and ask Miss Devinski right away. Then we can start making plans.” Amelia’s quiet feline footsteps headed towards the door, her dorm following. In a few minutes Beryl closed the map case and prepared to leave. Just as she stood by the door, she turned directly towards where Liberty was standing concealed, and winked broadly. “Reflect,” she said cryptically, and with a twitch of her fine-furred tail she was gone. “Reflect?” Queried Brigit Mulvaney five minutes later in Red Dorm’s room “’Tis a strange thing to say.” Her long muzzle split in a sudden grin as she looked at the fuming half coyote. “Unless ‘twas a call for ye to give up your Godless Red ways. Reflect and repent for the end ‘tis nigh!” She quite spoiled the effect by having her tongue loll out of the side of her long muzzle in the classic Irish Setter style. A year ago such an exchange would have the pair at blows in ten seconds, or “practicing our self-defence moves” as they always tried to explain it to their hard-nosed and sceptical Tutors. Liberty still cast her a sour look. “I went over to where she’d been sitting and had a thorough look around,” she said. “Next time you’re in the library look at the light fittings. There’s this polished chrome ring around them, like a mirror. You can see down all the aisles between the shelves! She knew I was there all the time.” Brigit shrugged, her long ears rippling. “And ‘tis so, what’s the harm? She knows we’d be after wantin’ to investigate. We’re always on her trail, she knows that.” “Oh yes.” Liberty cracked her knuckles, a grim smile on her muzzle. “We’ll fix HER little red wagon.” A flash of panic washed over her features, and she clapped a paw over her muzzle. “I mean – we’ll fix her little black, anarcho-criminal counterrevolutionary running-dog wagon,” she said loudly and clearly. Just then Wo Shin strolled in, her long tail waving jauntily and her Kilikiti bat carried at “slope arms” on her shoulder. “You’ll never guess who I saw outside the library, Liberty – and it wasn’t Comrade Trotsky, so don’t get your tail up.” Shin had been keeping a watch on the outside of the library and rooms around, after Liberty had signalled she was going in quietly. “A certain Ulster girl, with her ear to – you won’t believe this – an old tin can, with a wire to another wedged behind the curtains! That old trick still works, and it didn’t cost her a cowry to make. I had a listen after I’d chased her off, I could hear in there pretty well.” It was Brigit’s turn to bristle. “Maureen.” She spat the name out as a curse. “Please Shin – tell me as how ye had her head for a hooley ball.” “No such luck. She wasn’t listening to the can so hard she didn’t hear me coming – and when she did, you’d guess a greyhound got into her pedigree somewhere, the speed she took off.” Shin swished the bat frustratedly. “Next time, next time.” There was a brooding silence. Then Liberty spoke. “So. They’re poking their snouts into this, too. Can’t say I’m surprised. With that stunt Beryl pulled on them the day they got here.” “Though it was a good trick,” Shin mused, a wicked gleam in her eye. “I read a copy of that “useful guide” Beryl sold them. Half of the advice in it will get you into real trouble if you follow it, and the other half will get you far more if you ignore it. And you can’t tell which is which unless you already know! She does have style, that mouse. Though I hate to admit it.” “’Tis said, the world beats a path to the door of the fur as builds a better mousetrap,” Brigit commented. “And ‘tis a fact there’s more than one dorm working on that project full-time.” Liberty’s expression had been a rarely-seen happy smile for a few seconds as visions of mouse-traps involving giant steam-driven spiked rollers filled her head. Suddenly she snarled. “They can have any bits left over. That mouse, I want her first!” All three of Red Dorm nodded solemnly. Then Wo Shin raised a finger in caution. “When I was listening through the can microphone Beryl said she’s basing her scam on a book. I didn’t hear which one. We’d better find out. Amelia’s dorm saw the title, and they’re not best friends with Beryl right now. What say we try to find out from them?” Tatiana Bryzov had come into the plot late, but quickly agreed that Beryl was the sort of vermin who should be stamped on with hobnailed boots along with her schemes. Ironically, of all the target dorm she had drawn Maria Inconnutia to approach. Her chance came that evening when she spotted Maria coming out of the ground floor photographic laboratory (a grand title for a broom-cupboard with dim red lighting, extra tar-paper around the cracks and a door that only the Tutors could open from the outside). Maria was swishing a sheaf of wet freshly developed prints to dry them; the bovine looked unhappy about something. “May I help?” Tatiana kept her voice neutral, knowing the reaction she was liable to get. Of that entire dorm, Maria was the only one who had a dossier she had seen compiled in Moscow. Maria’s deep-set eyes flashed suspiciously, looking the sable up and down. “Why would you want to?” Her voice was also neutral. “I want to trade some help.” Tatiana looked her opposite number straight on, recalling more from her Mother Oharu’s training than anything Moscow had taught her. “And I’m willing to do my share first.” Maria dipped an ear, studying her. “You really have changed.” A bovine snort held a hint of amusement. “Very well. Uncle sent me two dozen proofs of his next month’s posters. You tell me what’s wrong with them.” Tatiana’s ears drooped. “I not qualified in that ideology!” She protested. “He could be spouting basic truths of his creed and I see it as stupid!” Maria gave a surprisingly carnivorous looking grin. “That’s why I am asking you. I’ll throw in a secret you can tell Moscow, if you still talk to them. Four years ago, Uncle lost his temper with me when I tell him what he’s doing wrong, he throw me out. He say to come back when I was worth listening to. I am going to do that. But today, I want your opinions.” She spread out the still-damp sheaf of propaganda extolling the economic miracles and military triumphs of Il Puce’s regime. Tatiana hesitated. But then, she reminded herself, she had been asked to criticise not to praise. Imagining the direwolf who was her controller taking notes behind her, she picked up the first poster. “This is all wrong. Ethiopia is no “land of boundless riches empty for enterprising colonists”! It is mostly howling desert, still full of locals who will cut any “brave colonists” to bleeding strips the second they catch them!” She threw it aside and picked up the next one. “Oh, really. If the “Mighty Italian Expeditionary force” was so good, the war in Spain would be over last year. Everyone knows you’ve not done half as well as you promised.” She paused, expecting a furious argument with the Dictator’s niece. But Maria was rapidly scribbling in her notebook, and nodded for her to continue. Taking a deep breath, Tatiana picked up the third poster. This was going to be a long evening. “And after all that she could not help me!” Tatiana exploded, back in her room as night fell and Red Dorm headed for their beds. “She doesn’t care what Beryl’s doing, didn’t give the book more than half a glance. She only remembered it was by “Chip” somebody.” She seethed for a few seconds. “At least I got to tell Il Puce what I think of his worthless propaganda.” “Which will be passed onto him by someone he listens to, so he can tear it up and do it better next time. The World Revolution thanks you, Tatiana Bryzov.” Liberty said dryly. Tatiana flushed. “Well, how did you do with Miss Duclos? Got everything signed, sealed and delivered, I expect.” “No.” Liberty scowled. “If you must know, she told me where to stick my sleuthing. She said she knew exactly what book it is, but she’s not telling us.” “Ah, and it’s no change that I’m getting out of Molly, sure enough,” Brigit sighed. Just then her ears perked up at the sound of Wo Shin’s paw-steps. “Shin! And how’s it been with that so-English pedigree puss? Tell me ye beat it out of her!” “Amelia? I’ve not found her. She’s been on small boat handling since lunch. She’ll be tying up about now, if she’s in on the evening tide.” Shin’s glance flicked from one hopeful face to another. “Don’t say none of you could find out the book?” “No.” Liberty gritted. “And we won’t. You’re our last chance, Shin – when you get to talk to that aristo capitalist-imperialist oppressor, make sure you make it … persuasive.” As Shin carefully checked her bed for surprises that evening, her mind was working on problems other than itching-powder or apple-pie beds – even the variant with real apple pie. Despite Red Dorm having started to work together, keeping each other on their toes was regarded as fair game. “So. How do I get anything out of dear Lady Allworthy?” She whispered to herself, brow furrowed in concentration. She had gathered a number of anecdotes from the previous Summer on Krupmark, of a rather peculiar raid on Susan Allworthy’s “lavender house” down on The Beach where two of the girls had skipped out on their contracts and (almost uniquely) got clean away with it. That story had some very interesting sidelines, such as the mid-level Krupmark player Lars Nordstrom being in the house next door, taking one of “the girls” upstairs. That had been a rare event in itself. The girl in question had never been seen before or since, and apart from her costume had a striking resemblance to a certain Miss Amelia, now Lady Allworthy. For a second her ears and tail went up. Then her spirits drooped. For one thing, by all accounts Amelia was trying to get rid of the Allworthy title and a juicy scandal might be the very thing she wanted. Plus, nobody ever trusted stories coming out of Krupmark. Even worse, it was rumoured that Amelia had already made confession to her Tutors, her Priestess and her Native boy about the whole episode, without visible repercussions. “Honest girls!” Shin’s tone made it a curse. “Like soap in the bath – just when you want to grab it – there’s nothing to hold onto!” The evening of Beryl’s first (and only free) lecture was a fine but rather chilly one for the end of October. The water-taxi folk had an unexpected bonus when representatives of three years of Songmark turned up after supper at the Eastern Island ferry slip. “Well, look who it isn’t,” Liberty Morgenstern drawled. “We’re so honoured to have our senior year here – and the juniors are honoured to have us looking after them.” Had someone drawn a map of the amount of aggressively raised fur on the Spontoon group that evening, the jetty would have stood out as a bright red blob. While the only two water-taxis on the route stood offshore looking on in interest, on the jetty eight furs stood and glared at each other. In rough order of seniority they comprised Amelia Bourne-Phipps, Jasbir Sind, Molly Procyk, Liberty Morgenstern, Jane Ferris, Lucy Ulrich, Maureen O’Hara and Eva Schiller. All had valid passes for Meeting Island and were glaring at each other in varying degrees of hatred, amusement and contempt. Molly Procyk was the first to move. “The four-seater, that’s the taxi ah’ve booked. Come on. Jane, there’s room to you.” She beckoned the Bostonian canine over, and stepped aboard with Amelia and Jasbir. Liberty was left with the three first-years, returning their glares while the only free water-taxi in sight stood offshore a good Olympic long-jump distance (plus a metre; the taxi pilots knew all about Songmark) from the shore. After dark and outside tourist season there was little “casual trade” and most of the wandering taxis were already shuttling furs to Meeting Island. “I am NOT going anywhere with that … that Fascist!” Liberty spat, pointing at Eva accusingly. Eva Schiller smiled, reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out a neat ersatz leather wallet, opening it to reveal identity cards. “National Socialist and German Worker’s Party. Member 23057 of the Mecklenburg Gau, membership in good standing with six purity seals, to be precise.” Her eyes hardened as she looked at the New Havenite. “You need to find an insult that works. Is pathetic.” With that she beckoned the water-taxi. “We need not share a boat at all. With your so superior second-year swimming powers, what need have you of boats?” Liberty’s ears went flat and her hackles raised. Yet she hesitated. Taking on two first-years she would have risked, but three (especially with the bulldog bitch; there were already stories about her) might be too much for a girl who wanted to live to see the eventual triumph of the World Revolution. “Go ahead. You soft bourgeois need to exploit other oppressed workers just to get you from one island to another,” she gritted. Maureen cast her a hard smile. “Oh’ an’ we’re not insisting, Citizenne. Age before beauty.” The bulldog’s deep-set eyes glittered in the harsh industrial lights of the ferry slip. Liberty waved them forward to the boat with as magnanimous a gesture as she felt right for a Daughter of the Revolution, and set her teeth as she vainly looked out across the waters for the sight of another taxi heading her way that chill October evening. Evidently the World Plutocratic Conspiracy had seen her coming. Beryl Parkesson beamed happily as she looked around the assembly room that was often far emptier when used for its intended audience in Althing debates. In the crowd she could see several snouts she recognised from Songmark and elsewhere – her smile increased as a totally saturated half-coyote staggered in dripping to sit at the back and do a creditable impression of a pedigree drowned rat. She nodded to herself, checking for the expected number of Songmark girls. Rosa Marquetta was not representing her dorm, which was a pity. But the anarchist had been to Meeting Island earlier that week, as she could tell. Tourist areas were mostly free of the more officious signs though Meeting Island was rather closer to tidy-minded bureaucracy and had the posters to match. Or at least it had – she had spotted signs promising “Drop Litter – you will be Fine.” There had been a leading “Don’t” and a final “d” involved before Rosa had struck her surrealist blow against local authority. “I’m glad to see so many faces here tonight” she commenced, seeing the mostly Spontoonie crowd settle in expectation of an evening’s free entertainment which she certainly had planned for them. Beryl pulled out a slim brown-covered book and waved it like a talisman; there was a crate of the same edition on sale by the exit door, quite reasonably priced. “I’m here to tell you about a system of self-improvement that really works. A practical, proven system to help you get what you want – you can start working with it today and see the results – today.” When Liberty staggered back into Songmark five minutes before the gates closed for the night, the rest of Red Dorm was there displaying their usual caring, supporting nature. That is, seeing Liberty dripping with seawater and hearing her teeth chattering with cold, they grabbed her by both elbows and rushed her into the shower, two minutes before the hot water supply shut off for the night and fifteen before second-year lights out. Liberty yelped as they stripped her mercilessly, and felt the scalding impact of the water turned up full heat on her bare fur. Comfort was a luxury at Songmark as common as chocolate gateaux on the menu (the more optimistic still hoped it might happen one day) but cleanliness was strongly encouraged. When a damp but no longer shivering canine staggered upstairs dressed in a towel to face her dorm-mates, she ardently wished she had something more dramatic to report than Beryl’s disturbingly normal presentation. “That’s IT? That’s the big secret? We studied that in high school here.” Shin sat back in disbelief, having heard Liberty’s brief report. “You’re telling me all Beryl is doing is running a self-improvement course based on “Chip” Carnegie’s classic “How to win friends and Influenza people”? You can buy a copy of that anywhere. There’s one in the Songmark library, even. No, no, you must have missed something. This is Beryl Parkesson we’re talking about.” “’Tis true, the author he made a million on the book,” Brigit mused. “Tellin’ as how folk could impress by hard work and dedication no matter how ill or contagious they were – as the title says. ‘Tis a book I’ve had the readin’ of myself.” “I nearly drowned for this. Twice! And the Tutors weren’t even watching.” Liberty rubbed her head-fur vigorously with a corner of the towel. “That’s the book she’s based it on, all right. The question is – why?” Just then they heard the paw-steps of their year Tutor on the stairs, and all of Red Dorm flung themselves into bed, eyes closed and paws folded above the thin blankets in the accepted position as Miss Cardroy looked in and switched off the lights. Red Dorm appeared as quiet, peaceful and as decorous a quartet of young ladies as the rival school run by Father Dominicus would be proud to own. Shin had spotted early in her first term that Miss Cardroy was an excellent actress. Since then, Red Dorm had proved a quick study in all sorts of ways. The next day being a Sunday, Red Dorm shared the luxury of having an extra hour in bed. Liberty had certainly been brought up to work hard as befitted a proper Daughter of the Proletarian Revolution, but in the Worker’s Paradise one of the few things not currently on ration was sleep. “He who sleeps, eats” was the old folk phrase, and so long as industrial quotas were met, the Commissar for Nutrition was happy to allocate extra sleep whenever counterrevolutionary wreckers were responsible for another sub-quota turnip harvest. As she lay half asleep still faintly aching from her labours in the chilly Nimitz Sea, Liberty frowned at the thought of the report she was going to have to write as the price of her Pass. Evidently the plot was deeper than it appeared; certainly the Spontoonie audience had gone away quietly impressed with every sign of wanting to return the next week; several had even bought the book. “How to Win Friends and Influenza People,” she inwardly snorted as with one eye she sneaked a look at her hundred-hour New Havenite clock. Making a quick calculation, she decided she had ten Spontoon local minutes before the alarm went. The book was as Brigit had said, written by “Chip” Carnegie expanding on the success of his older brother Dale, and similarly recommended a system of getting ahead by learning to give people what they really wanted. “No Revolution ever succeeded by giving furs what they say they wanted – that way leads to populist decadence and luxury.” Unlike the Gnu York Senator Miss Boop’s promise in her election pledge, neither boop-de-doop nor chocolate ice-cream featured in the production schedules of New Haven’s Council of Nine. As she grumbled and turned over on the remarkably hard Songmark bed (ten percent softer than the average turf under a tent groundsheet – no more, alas) the alarm rang. With a sigh Liberty threw off the blankets and greeted the new day. She had a report to write exposing the scam that Beryl Parkesson was running – and even after a night sleeping on it she still had no idea of what it was. Not twenty paces away in the first-year dorm, Nancy Rote had forfeited her extra Sunday sleep to make an early start on that very same problem. She stretched as the alarm woke her dorm-mates and put the report aside half-finished to see what new evidence the day brought, and started on her daily communiqué to Alpha. Though the shrew was only at the end of the corridor they were not allowed to speak to each other on Songmark premises – and sadly it had been Eva Schiller who had drawn that dorm’s pass the night before. “Beryl Parkesson drew a good crowd last night – not amazing since it was free, and the Spontoonies have had few “Euro” conceits to laugh at since tourist season ended,” she wrote in her neat, careful script “Attached, a copy of the plain facts as I shall be presenting them to our Tutors. The interpretation will take longer.” She frowned, tapping her chisel teeth with the end of the pencil. Her luxurious squirrel tail twitched as she thought hard. Maureen had a keen eye for details and Nancy had cross-examined her closely. It would be interesting to talk with Eva Schiller and see if the German had spotted anything that the Ulster girl had missed. Only one Pass per dorm had been allowed, or would be the next time. “Beryl can certainly afford to dress the part, whatever role she chooses. Last night she was in a respectable dress of a blue so dark it was almost black, that only needed a religious symbol for someone to sadly mistake her for a missionary.” There were less likely missionaries around, Nancy had to concede – instead of a crucifix or ankh, the ranting hellfire Atheist preacher on Casino Island wore a highly polished circle representing zero, while the fanatical Agnostic evangelist wore a question mark. “Piet van Hoogstraaten was there in support, also respectably dressed in a sober suit of this year’s cut. I remember how they looked when we met them in the Temple of Continual Reward, that week before we started Songmark.” Nancy’s ears flushed, as she put her pencil down and checked the rest of her dorm had not yet returned from the showers. She had taken hers necessarily cold an hour earlier, before the hot water came on. Alpha would recall exactly what Beryl and her partner-in-crime had looked like; Alpha remembered everything. She would remember Beryl’s rather daring sun-dress, and Nancy’s speculation as to how long it would stay on once she got Piet home. Worse, she would remember how they had discussed how receptive the mouse might be to a shrew and a squirrel helping him to take it off her. Such would of course be quite beyond the pale in Term-time, but on that day they had not yet been exactly Songmark students and such restrictions would not have applied. “No doubt Piet’s as bad as she is.” Nancy told herself. “Back at the Temple of Continual reward he did say his family was accused of all sorts of thing. Isabella didn’t detect any lies there. He didn’t say he was innocent, we just assumed that. One thing’s true, I’ve checked – he really did row in Berlin for the Spontoon Olympic team. And his name's down for the next Olympic Games in Sapporo, in 1940. A definitely – athletic gentleman, whatever else he is.” Her tail twitched as she picked up her pencil once more. “Athletic and his species certainly compatible. With all of us. We talked about that, too.” Alpha had an unnerving habit of working things out from first principles and coming up with odd but workable solutions. She had speculated of various possibilities that had not occurred to Nancy, involving the uses of a furless tail. For a second she wished she was back in the turret room at the Madston with Alpha and no highly stressful reports to write. Then she stiffened her shoulders, and settled back down to work. “I don’t yet see what’s illegal about what Beryl is doing. I have read the book she is basing her lectures on – she is not even claiming to have written it herself. She is keeping to the course as strictly as Mr. Carnegie and his brother could wish. But this is only the first, “free sample” – when the next lectures supposedly start to rake in money, that will doubtless be the time she somehow turns the screw. And I believe the crowd will be back with cowries to spend – the first evening was very well received.” Nancy lay back on her upper bunk, relaxing for a minute. The Tutors had put Alpha’s dorm two rooms away from her, so the obvious Morse code knocking on walls would not work – and the radiator pipes all went straight down to the ground floor, so were no use as a sound conduit between rooms. Next door she could hear Lucy Ulrich reading out of her notebook; the cougar was a prolific writer and was following their president Mr. Long’s example in writing a diary for the near future. Nancy’s keen ears perked up. “Suddenly Liberty Morgenstern died and nobody cared,” she faintly heard Lucy’s Texan tones through the thin wall, and smiled. “The only Red left in the area was touring with the circus in the freak show along with the pinheads and fake two-tailed girls. When the audience poked him with a stick he would snarl and declaim about the Workers controlling the means of production. It was a better comedy act than the clowns …” Just then the rest of her dorm returned, still combing and towelling their fur; Isabella, Svetlana and Maureen looked refreshed and eager. All except Nancy had religious Passes to Casino Island that morning; Svetlana to the tiny Eastern Orthodox Church, Isabella to the Catholic one and Maureen to the Reverend Bingham’s. Nancy was getting used to the feeling of floor soap on her fur as she worked on the fatigue duties given in lieu of attending a religious service. Cleanliness was apparently next to Godliness, she reflected. Someday she hoped to find a faith to replace the one she had lost with her capture and imprisonment - but she would rather honestly scrub floors than attend any church or temple as a hypocrite. “Nancy! You are up early. You should use the time for sleeping.” Isabella looked up at her, concern showing in the mole’s eyes. “Here we cannot afford to miss a meal, or an hour’s sleep.” “Or the chance to do some thinking or work,” Nancy replied, nodding graciously. “There’s little enough time to oneself, in the quiet. I was thinking about next week – if just one of us gets a Pass again you should be the one to go to Beryl’s little evening entertainment.” The star-nose of pink tentacles drooped. “I let us down, at the start of term.” “Not exactly. You did tell us Beryl was thinking very hard whenever she spoke to you. She was misdirecting us with specific truths rather than lying – because she knows your talent. This time, we’ll be ready for her. I imagine your Father as Police Chief can set things up when he’s interrogating a crook so they can’t do that.” “Si! He works out first exactly what he must ask, if it is a “yes” or a “no” and nothing in between.” Isabella smoothed down the seams on her best Songmark uniform, ready for breakfast and church. “But he says, it is only truth or lies as the suspect sees it. He ask a Bolshevik has he committed any crimes, they not lie when saying no – killing a Judge or robbing a train for funds are good deeds in their heads if done in the benefit of the Revolution.” Nancy’s ears dipped. “So. Last time Beryl foisted us that book on us and told the truth as she saw it, that it’d make us better Songmark students. I suppose she meant that we wouldn’t be taken in again. Well, that was right enough. Now it’s our turn. Maureen says Beryl asked the audience if there were any questions, at the end of the lecture. Now, that is where you do your turn, Isabella. We’ve got nearly a week to work out exactly what you’ve got to ask her – something she can’t avoid.” Her eyes gleamed for a second. Then she spoke smoothly and casually. "Isabella. To help our class project I'm thinking of teaming up with Beryl to start a Federation for the promotion of street crime and nocturnal disorder." Isabella's pink tendrils waved. "You are fibbing! I never heard you lie before!" Nancy smiled, nodding graciously. "You see? You really can spot it. Now do the same with Beryl." The week passed by in an exhausting whirl of hard exercise for all three years. Crusader Dorm worked hard, spent nights out in the jungles of Main Island on survival exercises, picked leeches and scraped mud off each other and returned on the Friday evening ready to drop. “’Tis only a wooden hut with no radiators and a bed like a church pew,” Maureen groaned, stiffly climbing upstairs still damp from a most necessary shower “But Saints alive, ‘tis good to see it again.” Outside the rain beat down, as it had all day. “Yes.” Nancy dropped her mud-soaked first-year jacket in the laundry bin and stretched her lithe form, looking out over the wet compound. “And we’re in the dry, at last. Which is more than some furs. Senior years get more passes but they work for them.” Outside she could see two rain-soaked figures resolutely walking the perimeter fence. Though it was too far away to see their faces she knew just which pair of third-years they were. Despite what folk said about Alpha, only one Songmark girl was truly insane enough to carry the fifty pound weight of an anti-tank rifle with fixed saw-backed bayonet around all night – utterly impractical, but certainly imposing to any potential invader. “There’s the gangster girl and the traitor – Procyk and Bourne-Phipps. It’s something, that at least they get their share of the soaking.” “They went to that mouse’s lecture, along o’ meself,” Maureen mused. “Now. I’ve heard tell as there’s not much love lost between them and Beryl. Maybe they’ve an idea o’ what she’s up to.” Nancy’s ears went down. “You can ask. We can always ask anyone. But it might be best to take Isabella with you, going up against that pair. I don’t trust them.” The mole and the bulldog slipped on their oilskins and headed downstairs. Although it seemed Songmark girls on gate duties were not encouraged to chatter, Maureen and Isabella took ten minutes before they returned, and Nancy reflected they would not be out their for the sake of the view. She relaxed slightly as she combed her tail-fur, though her ears dipped realising the next time any of her dorm saw one of Beryl’s lectures they would have to pay for that dubious privilege. “Nancy! We did talk it over – they are as baffled as we are.” Isabella panted, hanging up her dripping oilskin jacket and smoothing her short fur. “At least the English girl was, the gangster she would not talk to me. They telling the truth, as far as it goes.” “Which may or may not be significant. I suppose she knows about your talent, and that we’re sleuths. I don’t suppose anyone from her background would want to help us.” Nancy frowned. “It’s up to us, then. If we get a Pass you’d better go this time, and we’ll pay your ticket and the fee on Meeting Island. Is that all right, everyone?” She looked round as Maureen and Svetlana nodded. “I know it hurts to put money in that mouse’s pocket – but I’d pay a lot more to catch her.” next |