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Update 28 July 2008
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The Case of the
Compromising Carbon
A Nancy Rote tale edited by Simon Barber (contains adult situations) “It’s the end of our first term already – I can hardly believe it!” Nancy Rote was as usual the first awake in Crusader Dorm; the lithe squirrel swung down effortlessly from her top bunk to land lightly on the floor. “We’ve made it!” Maureen opened an eye, clearly unimpressed. “Aye, ‘tis so, but how well? How badly? We don’t even know our scores, thanks to you.” “And to our dear Tutors, whose idea that was,” Nancy replied smoothly, “still, we shouldn’t have long to wait now – the results are up tonight.” “And we go up, or down,” Maureen sniffed, the Ulster bulldog throwing off the blankets and grabbing her bathrobe in the chill dawn. “Other dorms already know. Except the one with your friend Alpha.” “My wife.” Nancy had just about got used to saying that without blushing. “We were legally married on Cranium Island, before the whole community there.” “Which is like saying “not wanted by the Krupmark Island Police,” Maureen retorted “murder’s not illegal on Krupmark and two girls can marry on Cranium Island. The rest of the world thinks otherwise.” Nancy held her peace, knowing that arguing would not change Maureen’s mind. “Anyway, we’ve not been thrown out yet, whatever our marks may be,” she said “which means we have a holiday ahead of us! Are you staying on Spontoon?” “Aye, ‘tis a long way back to County Fermanagh, God’s own country,” Maureen’s eyes took on a dreamy look “Winter there, ‘tis a dark and wet time. Short days, Atlantic fogs and rain – to be sure and Spontoon’s no tropical paradise in December, but ‘tis better here by far.” Svetlana rose from the other top bunk, yawning and stretching. “Going home! Vostok, is the place to be at New Year, and I’ll be there. Pity I have to be back before the true Christmas.” Vostok kept to the old Gregorian Calendar and celebrated Christmas on January the sixth. “Nancy, you must come and see my homeland. Detectives and sleuths they are honoured there.” “Two rival secret police organisations, accountable to nobody … probably a secret fire brigade and secret ambulance to match,” Maureen grumbled. “I’m all for the Polis meself, mind ye.” “Secret fire brigade? No.” Svetlana puzzled. “I never heard of such.” “Well, if they’re secret …” Maureen grinned, miming dialing a telephone. “I’ve heard you don’t need to dial a number to call your Secret Police anyway – just pick up the phone and they’re listening.” “Well, yes. But of course.” The wolverine looked puzzled. “How else?” Nancy dipped an ear as she dressed; Crusader Dorm was certainly a team of right-thinking furs, as it should be – the problems arose when they disagreed as to whose version of righteousness should be standard. It made dorm life rather noisy at times. “At last – I’ll be with Alpha again. And more than that,” Nancy felt her tail twitch at the prospect. “Mr. Simmons is coming to meet us. I do hope we all three get along.” Just at that minute two rooms away, Alpha Rote was having troubles of her own. She was staring intently at an arcane circuit diagram describing an electronic detection device that could spot aircraft in cloud and darkness. She had checked the logic of the circuits and proved it consistent – unfortunately, the device itself she had just discovered was impossible to build. “If there’s any components I can scavenge for it?” Megan Brightwhite stood by hopefully, notebook in paw; she had managed to “obtain” some highly unlikely parts before when Alpha was building. “Nonono… is Cranium Island device. Special conditions prevailing at home,” the shrew forced her voice to slow down “Parts do not exist for an N-wave transmitter. Not there to be scavenged!” “N-waves …” Megan scratched her head-fur. “I remember! At school on the last day of term once we had a lesson in what the teacher called “pathological science” and she wasn’t talking about sleuthing. Didn’t some French scientist claim he’d discovered them at the turn of the century – but nobody outside France believed it?” Alpha nodded so vigorously that the tip of her long snout quivered. “Yesyes! Then rest of world reached a cusp point – outside Cranium Island now there are no N-waves. We have phlogiston too, samples two hundred years old preserved at home.” Katrina Schmidt considered carefully. “So … world history actually changes and back-dates? It’s not just a matter of proving one science or another? If things had been decided differently we’d be filling our aircraft fuel tanks with phlogiston not eighty-octane petrol?” “Yesyes! And Doctor Van der Valk at home says on many history lines we are doing that right now! Many things like that.” A long shrew snout wrinkled. “Professor Schiller, he came to look last August. See how Vrill energies work, his Government want to know. On Cranium Island, can demonstrate before cusp point reached – after that most timelines will use what he calls 'Jewish Physics'. Albert Beerstein is then right and Vrill never will have existed.” “But the split hasn’t happened yet?” Megan’s eyes went wide. “Nono. Like N-Waves, Special conditions on Cranium Island, any version works. N-waves won’t work here.” With a sigh, Alpha consigned the diagram to a bulging folder of such things to be sent back to her home where someone might be able to make use of it. “But now – holiday time!” Megan enthused “being able to sleep in a soft bed eight, nine, ten hours if we want! With a deep hot bath every night, maybe every morning too! And the food … whatever we want. No Poi or maconochie!” “Be fair …” Katrina mused “they only use that as an emergency ration. It’s perfect for the job – nobody’s tempted to eat it unless it really is an emergency. If it was chocolate bars …” her eyes glazed slightly. “I suppose we can’t even blame the manufacturers,” Megan nodded. “The recipe’s all right, but it’s a wartime ration and you can’t always get what you want then.” Although some batches of the (in)famous maconochie were a very sound and palatable beef and vegetable stew, other sub-contractors had filled their tins with a watery mess of stewed turnip and potato in a boiled bone stock, the only meat being disgusting lumps of fat and gristle. Despite all that, Eva Schiller often muttered that by the end of 1918 millions of furs in Central Europe would have been only too glad to have it. Alpha Rote had already switched her full attention from the impossible circuit design to the latest message from her beloved Nancy. She read the page in a second, memorised it then sat back to savour it like a fine wine: “Dearest Alpha”, it began “we’ve made it to the end of term, though sometimes I hardly hoped it could happen! Three cases of sleuthing solved as well, though I can hardly take all the credit – Crusader Dorm work well together, and must be making Police Chief Pickering happy he gave us our license. As long as his firm paw is at the helm of the Spontoon Constabulary, I feel sure all will be well with us.” Alpha sighed, smiling. Her lightning-fast brain called up all the details of what Nancy had chronicled as the Case of the Browned Rat, the Double Guide Mystery and the Case of the Opened Jar. Managing all these in a Songmark term had been a staggering achievement – indeed, Crusader Dorm had been left staggering for days afterwards. She read on. “The Freya Hotel has confirmed the rooms we have booked for the whole holiday, at very reasonable rates. I have arranged Mr. Simmons to have an adjoining room with a lockable door between us; he is scheduled to arrive the day after us. It may be that we decide to keep that door shut, Alpha – that decision we will make together. At worst we will show him around the islands and have a pleasant two weeks.” Alpha wriggled slightly in embarrassment. Nancy had not described “at best” but it hardly took a qualified scientist to work it out. They had been exchanging letters and photographs with the zebra all term, and she was very aware of Nancy’s hopes. As to meeting gentlemen … Nancy had done her best to prepare Alpha. The only full weekend they had shared in October while the weather was still good, they had spent on South Island with two Spontoon guides selected for their species; a mule and a Hawaiian goose. Much to her disappointment Alpha had utterly failed to interest Loha’he the gander in her slender charms (guides were not male Huntresses, after all.) Nancy on the other paw had very eagerly shown that despite appearances squirrels and equines were surprisingly compatible – at least, she was after her earlier experiences. Alpha’s ears and nose blushed furiously. Mr. Albert Simmons was definitely no mule, and both she and Nancy were exceptionally healthy after an energetic Songmark term. She recalled what Nancy had looked like fur-dyed as a zebra mix, and Nancy had speculatively sketched her wife as patterned much the same. “When Songmark finishes… with all my science I can’t give Nancy kits… but he can. And Nancy can’t with me either, but …” Alpha sighed, turning back to the letter. “Dearest Alpha – you know I am proud of our marriage, but you know why I cannot tell Father – not till we are set up in careers, hopefully graduates of Songmark. Even should Miss Devinski make good her promise to throw us out for just cause, we will find a way to be together regardless. In the meantime, Father has given Mr. Simmons his blessing to correspond with and to court me. He is naturally unprejudiced about mixed unions, far more than most – you have seen the photographs of my step-mother Georgina! As to the rest of Creekside, if the Governor’s own children will be mixed furs from now on, nobody will be too concerned about those of his daughter. So all I ask is – give Albert a fair chance. I found him a most agreeable gentleman. He is different to you in so many ways that I hope you will complement each other and not clash. But whatever happens I will be – your loving Nancy.” Alpha pressed the letter to her breast; knowing exactly what hormones were making her heart pound did nothing to change how fast it beat, as she committed the letter to long-term memory. Just then Katrina gave a yelp of alarm and pointed at the clock. It might be almost holiday time, but they were not there yet. In many schools and Universities the last day of term was traditionally one of relaxation and hilarity as staff and students alike celebrated the arrival of the holidays. Not so at Songmark. “I’m sure they plan this so we’ve bruises that’ll remind us … in January!” Nancy Rote picked herself up off the wet beach sand, still half winded. Ordering a morning of vigorous self-defence lessons in the rain appeared to be their Tutors’ idea of having a good time; over by the dunes Miss Blande and Miss Windlesham sheltered under umbrellas and shared cups of something steaming from a vacuum flask. “Da. But until then – come at me again!” Svetlana dropped into a wrestler’s crouch, the stocky wolverine ready and waiting. Nancy nodded curtly and began to circle, looking for an opening. Svetlana outweighed her by a quarter; evidently on Vostok trained ballerinas (as she claimed to be) were not exclusively slender slips of furs. The wolverine’s gaze shifted for an instant as the couple next to her hit the sand hard, and Nancy seized her chance – darting in to grab shoulder and jacket hem in preparation for a hip throw. But the wolverine had evidently studied more than dance moves before leaving her homeland: Nancy’s feet were swept from under her and she landed again with a damp thud on the wet sand. “I always felt sorry for Isabella – moles having just a stub of a tail,” she commented ruefully, rubbing her aching tailbones as Isabella dived like a furry bowling ball and sent Eva Schiller flying “but sometimes I’d like to swap for a minute.” The previous week Miss Blande had slowly stepped through demonstrating three possible moves that could dislocate an averagely built opponent’s tail – hardly a lethal move but cripplingly painful. Just then to everyone’s great relief, Miss Windlesham checked her pilot’s chronometer and blew her whistle. “And that,” Nancy sighed as she shook sand out of her ears “is that. For awhile.” Lunch, much to everyone’s utter disgust, was a particularly runny three-finger poi. “Not again!” Katrina Schmidt moaned, jabbing her spoon savagely into the slightly sour, slightly purple mess. “If there was a national Poi factory they bought this off, it’d be a job for you, Nancy. Checking if Songmark was being bribed or blackmailed to take the stuff.” “It’s an idea,” Nancy agreed. “But by all accounts it’s good for you, builds stamina and physique. Just look at some of the Natives.” Her ears blushed slightly, recalling a long afternoon with a certain Spontoon guide. It was fortunate in several ways that he had been a mule. If not …she wriggled slightly as she remembered the last letter from home and the postscript from her new step-mother Georgina. Nancy was expecting a half-brother or half-sister in the Spring; Georgina had been a nurse and was keen to tell her only slightly younger step-daughter all the details. Looking the other way she caught Alpha’s attention, and smiled. That was about all they were allowed for the next six hours – after which she promised herself they would make up for lost time. “Attention please!” Miss Devinski rapped sharply on the table and utter silence fell, even from Rosa the Anarcho-Surrealist. “Third-years! Before you leave tonight I want you to devote some time on your future career plans. I will be wanting clear, workable plans handed in early next term – and I do mean early.” There was not exactly an audible groan, but something of a massed sigh escaped from that table. “Second-years!” Some dorms do not seem to have got the message yet – individual scores may be good but you will work together or lose marks! First-years,” and her expression softened slightly “remember triumphing over problems is its own reward. Expect the opportunity to be rewarded a lot more that way next term. This will include actual flying. That is all.” The first-years seethed with excitement as their Tutor sat down. “They were starting to ask questions, back home,” Svetlana whispered “all this money to send me to flying school and we don’t fly yet! Now at last I can tell them.” “Yes, it was getting galling.” Nancy was not as rabidly air-mad as most Songmark girls appeared to be. Her profession would be a flying sleuth; that needed flying skills without a doubt. She had picked Songmark rather than the cheaper aviation college in Saint Louis not an hour’s flight from Creekside for all the other subjects on its timetable. Survival, self-defence, generally whatever a fur needed to get by in a hostile world – the needs of a Sleuth and Adventuress overlapped considerably without even considering the aircraft. “At last, a pilot meself! ‘Tis many the time I’ve watched the flying boats testing on Belfast Loch – Shorts’ of Belfast, ye know.” Maureen’s expression was suddenly softer than her usual look of grim determination. “I know what our Tutors are after doin’, though. My father and brother were in the army and the Black and Tans afterwards, to be sure. They never fired a shot till the Sergeants had them taking their rifles apart, cleaning and puttin’ them together again blindfold. ‘Tis the same with aircraft here, I’m certain sure.” “Da! In that Spanish flying school they have their girls flying in the first week, back seating. They say “a lady employs mechanics – no true lady is one.”” Svetlana made a mock show of spitting on the floor. “Pah! One day I hope to meet one of theirs stranded on a dirt strip a hundred miles from nowhere. And then I will look at that “true lady” and laugh.” “Would you not help her?” Isabella asked, her pink snout tendrils writhing in concern. Svetlana considered the matter. “Da,” she decided “I would maybe fix her machine with bits tin cans and chewing gum so it flies – and then I will laugh some more.” Nancy sighed with relief, resolutely eating her poi. “First term survived, check.” She ticked a mental list. “Flight training on the way – so far so good. First holiday to survive – that’s next.” Just as Nancy suspected, it looked as if the Tutors were intent on giving everyone enough sprains and strains to last them well into the holiday. A four-hour run around Main Island with packs full of (numbered and carefully counted) bricks had finished at the bank of the biggest river on the island, the outlet from Crater Lake now swollen with Winter rains. “Quite right, girls!” Their mixed-species tutor Miss Wildford was looking cheerful as ever. “Yes, you do have to cross right here carrying your twenty pounds of bricks – no using the bridge. I’ll be generous and tell you now there are no materials for ropes or bridge building hidden around here, so you don’t waste time searching. Bonus points to the dorm that crosses first. Anyone drowned won’t be invited to the meal on Casino Island tonight.” “Ah, divvil tek’ it,” Maureen cursed under her breath. “Too deep to wade, the packs are too heavy to swim with and the river’s too wide to throw them over first. But ‘tis certain sure there will be an answer. A simple one.” “She said there’s no bridge or raft materials hidden,” Nancy said thoughtfully “but we do need a raft. Our tutors pick every word with care, I’m sure of that. So…” “Look! Eva’s dorm’s found the way of it!” Maureen pointed down the river bank and began to empty her pockets. “Nancy! Everybody! Off wi’ your Troosers!” “Maureen! I hardly think this is the time and place to…” Nancy’s eyes went wide, but then she understood. The dorm that Alpha had started the term in now had the Texan bobcat Lucy Ulrich in her place along with Meera Sind and Rosa Marquetta. All four were already half-way across the river with one pack of bricks held between them, the swimmers made buoyant by trousers tied at the ankles and inflated with air as improvised life-jackets. Before Nancy had finished tying her trousers to match, Eva’s dorm had already dumped their first load of bricks on the far bank and were heading back for the rest. Alpha Rote was furious; the shrew’s body trembled in a mixture of rage and exhaustion. “Stupid stupid stupid!” She shook her damp snout angrily “How could I have missed that?” “We all did, hon,” Katrina consoled her as the dripping dorm staggered off the water-taxi dock . “Meera was at Roedean, maybe THE top school in England - I’ve heard they’re very big on practical problems. I’ll bet you had fifteen good ways of solving that one.” “Eighteen,” Alpha replied automatically “only using three space-like and one time-like dimension. But your idea was better given the materials – a simple unequal weighted fulcrum to throw the bricks across.” “Medieval trebuchet, nothin’ fancy. Can’t take the credit for seein’ it in a book,” Katrina shrugged. “But don’t go getting’ too upset. We’re here to learn, right? Meera and her dorm they got the bonus, but the rest of us, hon? We learned.” “And now it’s just half an hour till the end of term. Time for a shower then we can see what sort of marks we got for all that,” Megan’s ears perked up. “Come on!” “Three ... two ... one ... Holidays!” The massed cheer came from the ranks of Songmark girls watching the guardroom clock as they surged towards the notice board Miss Devinski had just stepped away from. Evidently even the final day’s marks were included in the final result. Alpha took a long second’s glance at the results, fixed them in memory and jumped over the white line at the gatehouse. Her heart raced as she saw her squirrel in the crowd. “Nancy!” She waved, but waited till her wife stepped over the line to join her outside before hugging her. The Tutors had been very clear about it; they had not spoken with or touched each other the entire term on Songmark property. “Nance – Miss Devinski smiled at us, if only for one tenth of a second. Approximately.” Alpha wrapped her arms around her wife, running her paws through the luxurious squirrel tail fur. “I’m so happy!” Feeling Nancy wince, Alpha looked up in concern. “Nance?” Nancy Rote forced a smile of her own. “Oh, Alpha. I’ve worked so hard for this. But Crusader Dorm are ranked bottom! Doesn’t all our hard work sleuthing count for anything?” “Evidently not. With Songmark.” Alpha cocked her head aside. “Well, my dorm doesn’t sleuth, but we’re not top either.” “You’re joint second, that’s good enough,” Nancy said dryly “Maureen’s furious with me. She was right all along, though.” Then she looked down at Alpha’s worried face. “But we can forget about that now till next year. We passed, and that’s all that really matters. Now it’s just us.” Alpha nodded eagerly. Though one part of her complex brain flagged up a querying sign – how many is defined by “us”? The next morning dawned cold and wet; Alpha woke to the sound of rain on the window outside. For a second her brain whirled as it assembled unfamiliar sensations – a soft, warm bed around her, nicely scented, and an absence of Megan’s snoring. Also, she had told her well-trained internal time sense not to wake her a minute before the alarm. Then someone stirred in the bed next to her, and everything fell into place. “Nance…” Alpha breathed softly, trying not to awaken the squirrel lady she was so happily wife to. She let her body relax, while for several minutes she dissected and analysed her feelings. It was inaccurate to say as many Outsiders did that the Cranium Islanders were without feelings – but unlike most furs they understood exactly what they had rather than constantly being surprised by them. “Closely analogous to … muscle memory,” Alpha decided. That term Megan had demonstrated an unerring throw with a hard cricket ball much to their Tutors’ delight; the Tutors approved of things showing good hand-eye coordination. It had taken Alpha half an hour of diligent practice and one broken window to concede that though she could calculate the precise ballistic trajectory required, translating the figures into a primitive hind-brain throwing action was another matter. “The mind knows the settings but the body’s not calibrated. Not without practice.” Satisfied, she relaxed fully. Just because her body had not recalled exactly where it was, was simply a matter of practise. And she had two long weeks to work on that. The rain continued to beat down heavily on the windows of the Freya Hotel. It was an hour till dawn in the short December day and outside the streets were wet and empty save for the surprisingly vigilant street cleaners, who might have been expected to slack off and let the weather do their work for them. Inside the hotel room, all was warm and peaceful. By mid-afternoon the sun was shining on the sparklingly clean Spontoon Islands as the day’s only direct flight from Honolulu touched down in fine style, the Shawnee Pacific Airpaths insignia on its fuselage a little the worse for wear and due for repainting before the next tourist season. There were few tourists in December; furs fleeing to the sun generally carried on much further South. There were travellers all year round, stepping off to change flights or rest between distant destinations – those added to the steady flow of commercial, diplomatic and neutral military traffic across the Nimitz Sea. But tourists listing Spontoon Island as their sole and final destination – in December that was decidedly rare. “Business or pleasure, Sir?” the pronghorn antelope on Customs looked up at the imposing zebra with professional interest. “Oh, pleasure.” Albert Simmons, for that was he, replied with a smile. “I won this trip as a prize at work, and this is the only time I can take it. Some of my colleagues would have gone to the mountain resorts this time of year had they won, but I don’t ski.” Every word was literally true; had there been a star-nosed mole on the other side of the one-way mirror, they would have confirmed that. But no emotion-reading mole could read what was not said or thought about – just why Albert had chosen Spontoon. The Customs officer chuckled, looking through the suitcase. He held up a large jar of petroleum ointment. “You can buy this here, Sir.” Albert looked embarrassed. “I am a salesman, Sir, I mostly live on the road. One can never guarantee what a town will stock. And before that I was a shipping clerk – hours a day sat on those old-fashioned wooden benches tends to produce painfully … lasting problems.” This too was literal truth and no doctor or star-nosed mole would disagree. Albert had not stated that he suffered from such problems himself. The pronghorn shuddered in sympathy. “Well, that all appears to be in order. I hope you have a good time in our islands despite the time of year.” The Zebra nodded courteously. “I surely hope so, Sir. That I do.” Just on the far side of the customs barrier two neatly dressed young females were waiting for him, standing paw in paw. One he had seen only in photographs – the other he had certainly seen before and in such very different circumstances. “Miss Rote! Miss Zarahoff!” A broad smile wreathed his muzzle. “I’m so glad to see you!” As the sun went down that day Nancy and Alpha stepped out of the shower in their room at the Freya – even the expensive rooms with built in bathrooms were affordable at that time of year. As requested there was a door to the adjoining room where to judge from the sounds the shower was still running – but there were closed bolts on each side of the door. “Well? What do you think of him?” Nancy had been bursting to ask the question ever since she and Alpha had politely said goodnight to Albert. She knew her wife had been furiously “crunching data” as she called it, going over every event and analysing it all. Alpha stood stock still for two seconds as her fast-ticking brain delivered a verdict. “I like him,” she declared. “From your description and the photographs he looked a healthy gentleman, yes. But such a nice scent! And so intelligent! Not only for stored facts – I could expect stored data from someone who sells encyclopaedias. And so polite.” Nancy hugged her. “I’m glad.” It was a fact that three quarters of Albert’s attentions and gallantries had been spent on Alpha that day; unlike her socially naïve wife Nancy knew exactly why and wholeheartedly approved. “I told him, Alpha, that you’d not really had any gentleman friends for walking out with.” “That’s accurate.” Alpha nodded seriously. An afternoon three months ago with Nancy sharing the attentions of a handsome guide was not the same thing socially, she knew. “And you knew him before, anyway.” “Yes. A little.” Nancy’s ears blushed red as she guided her wife towards the bed. “You know he was the last person I met before I was kidnapped. You saw in your memory machine what happened to me afterwards.” Alpha nodded, silently hugging. Nancy’s voice was low. “All that month I wished I’d seduced him. I know, I’d never have thought of such a thing before, let alone done it – but if I had, then I’d have given my innocence to someone I wanted to. I lost my chance to do that.” Her ears went down. “Afterwards, none of the “nice young gentlemen” in Creekside wanted to know me any more. But Mr. Simmons didn’t reject me. He impressed Father, and it takes a lot to do that.” “Yes! He’s dependable, not just nice to look at. That counts for a lot, I’m told.” Alpha cuddled closer. ”Still. We should be careful. It’s a big step to take.” “That we will, Alpha,” Nancy reclined on the bed, smiling. “That we certainly will.” “Theft of the Season! Island’s ration of Christmas Puddings stolen, held to ransom!” was the headline in the next morning’s edition of the Spontoon Mirror. “Query. Why do they not just make some more?” Alpha asked, scratching an ear as she sat down to breakfast in the dining room with Nancy and Mr. Simmons. “Because Christmas Puddings aren’t like ordinary bread or cakes, baked fresh as required,” Albert Simmons’ voice was deep and low “these were probably baked to order back in October. They’ve been maturing in special storage since then, probably “fed” with a teaspoon of brandy or rum every week, carefully looked after.” “Yesyes! So not rapidly replaceable.” Alpha’s mind ran fast once she had data to work with. “And only used on one yearly festival – so only as many are made as were demanded last year, plus small percentage for contingencies?” “That’s it exactly, Alpha!” Nancy exclaimed in delight. “A lot of wealthy Euros would say it’s just not Christmas without the pudding – even if they live in the Southern Hemisphere or somewhere like the Gilbert and Sullivan Islands where it’s hot all year round. I’d guess they’d pay a fortune to get them back.” She fixed her gaze longingly on the paper. “This would be a job for Crusader Dorm. But Svetlana and Isabella have gone home for the holidays and I don’t think Maureen wants to talk to me right now.” “This is a job for Nancy Rote, lady sleuth,” Albert Simmons declared, as the squirrel looked at him in delighted surprise. “Plus whatever local talent she can call in to help her.” He winked. Nancy’s eyes were wide. “But you’re on holiday!” Albert rose, with a small bow and an embarrassed grin. “My holiday is being here to meet you. And you are Nancy Rote, terror of crime. Let’s get them!” He sat down again, looking from one surprised face to the other. “Yes!” Nancy and Alpha did not quite jump into his lap, there being insufficient room. But it was a good first attempt. “Proof of the Pudding is in the Sleuthing!” was the Mirror’s headline four days later. The picture below it showed a beaming Police Chief Pickering presenting Nancy with a five-pound pudding, donated by the Madston Hotel whose entire stock had been recovered. In the background could be seen a nervous-looking Alpha Rote and a tall zebra. Only someone familiar with Albert’s usual fur pattern would have spotted the bruises on his face courtesy of the final encounter with the smuggling gang on Main Island. Nancy’s sleuthing skills, Alpha’s forensic skills and Albert’s keen nose had played their parts in tracing the half tonne of tins from the ransacked Casino Island warehouse to the remote potato shed on a family farm high on the slopes of Mount Kiribatori. That night, Nancy and Alpha made a decision. There were two bolts on the door between the rooms: taking one apiece they counted to three and opened the connecting door. Christmas day at the Freya Hotel was celebrated in the Euro traditional style, including the pudding Nancy had been awarded shared between the half dozen guests and the staff. One of the kitchen helpers had made a quiet joke about having seen plenty of honeymoon couples in the hotel before, but never a honeymooning trio. He was promptly howled down by the rest of the workers and his share of the pudding divided between them. “To us!” Nancy raised a toast of Nootnops Blue; she had investigated thoroughly and decided it was less damaging to the system than alcohol; sleuths needed good health and a clear head. Albert and Alpha joined her and they sat before the cheerful common-room fire. There was never snow on Casino Island, but some damp December days were a raw five degrees Centigrade with a biting wind. “I’m remembering this time last year,” Nancy reminisced. “I’d just solved the Gibbering Samovar Mystery. Everything was planned for the future. I’d graduated from High School a year ahead of Bethany and the rest of my class – by now I was to be studying Applied Criminology at Saint Louis.” She winced slightly. “Well, my life changed. It happens. Some furs go off to war, and it turns the rest of their lives around. Mine certainly was – but without it I’d never have met you!” She had an arm around both Alpha and Albert, relaxing in their company. “It was just this Spring when we met!” Albert agreed. The zebra stallion nuzzled Nancy’s ear. “Why – as I recall, I was the one who first told you about Spontoon and Songmark. Other girls I talk to about the encyclopaedias want to know about fashion and cosmetics history – mostly I believe so they can laugh at what their grandmamas were wearing. I knew you were different.” “Last year! I assisted Dr. Kroll with Project X.” Alpha nodded happily. “Then young Doctor Zippermeyer came over from Germany. He had a scheme for creating artificial whirlwinds, for defending cities from aircraft. We proved they could never be stable past four hundred metres. But a self-energising toroidal flow like a smoke ring – that was more like it! He sent effective test shots to four thousand metres and went home very happy.” There was a companionable silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Nancy nuzzled both her mates in turn. “It’s time I moved on. I mostly re-grew my fur and regained my health by midsummer – physically. Now it’s time to chase the last shadows away.” She looked from one to the other; there was nobody else in the hotel common room. “Alpha – Albert – I’ve told you exactly what was … done to me.” She blushed furiously. “Some of it I discovered I liked. It’s not a comfortable thing to find out, but there it is. Now I want to try again – everything else, on my own terms. Then some of it I’ll put behind me forever, and some of it I’ll claim as my own.” She drew a deep breath. “Would you help me do that?” Albert’s reaction was not one that a hidden microphone would have picked up. It might have recorded an extra-heavy tread on the stairs as he carried Nancy upstairs to their room and over the threshold, with a very eager Alpha padding behind to close and lock the door. Spoken like a true Cranium Islander, Alpha thought happily as she put up the “Do Not Disturb” sign again – a day without an Experiment is a day wasted! The short days and long nights passed quickly, and by New Year it was not only Nancy whose experiments had proved highly satisfactory. “New Year’s Eve – and we haven’t a thing to wear!” Nancy joked as Alpha put the finishing touches to her new look. The room was warm and both girls were only in their fur as was becoming usual when together with Albert. But that fur was now different. “You look exotic, yes!” Alpha’s eyes gleamed as she stepped back to admire her work. “Nobody recognise now!” “And you look splendid. Just a few minutes and our stripes will be dry.” Nancy and Alpha were now fur-dyed with bold zebra markings, as if their ancestors had shared their tastes. “We look more … compatible with him now,” Alpha scratched a newly dark ear. “I feel more compatible, too. I wonder what the mechanism is for that? Must investigate further!” “We only have another three days,” Nancy reminded her. “Next year – it’s not likely we’ll see Albert at Easter. We could get back to Creekside in the Summer; possibly we could meet him then, as well as Father.” Her long, two-tone tail twitched. “I’m still not sure what we’ll tell Father about us, though.” “Nance! Can say both of us are marrying Albert! Some places in Pacific that’s perfectly possible. And within limitations is perfectly accurate!” Alpha nodded happily. “And I’d like to meet his sister, if we can,” Nancy mused. “She sounds a sturdy independent type. Running a ranch of her own in the wilds of Montana, miles from any neighbours! That must take a lot of courage. And looking after the livestock. That far from any market I’d think it’d have to be breeding horses or cattle.” Alpha nodded. “A new experience for me! Like this!” She gave an experimental pirouette, her dyed tail swinging round behind her. Nobody had sat down and planned out the fur dye; it had just seemed the thing to do. Albert had liked it immensely and called them “a fine pair of mares” which they took as a compliment. “Better not get too used to the stripes – it’ll have to come off at the end of the holiday.” Nancy caught sight of her unfamiliar body in the mirror, and swished her own luxuriant tail. “Not that there’s anything in the Songmark rules against it, exactly … but if we needed to travel for a field trip using our passports and looking like this, it might be difficult.” She smiled. “Eva Schiller would go into fits! She says they’re even banning cosmetics in the Reich, let alone fur dye. It’s your pedigree that counts there – what’s on show outside should match what’s inside.” “Well,” Alpha replied promptly. “It does right now! Albert sees to that!” Nancy hugged her, laughing. “But now we’d best put some warm clothes on for awhile. It’s chilly out there and we can’t miss the New Year Party!” Since arriving on Spontoon Nancy had heard a lot about the New Year celebrations when Natives made palm-leaf effigies of things that had troubled them over the past year and cast them into the flames. “It looks like everyone’s here!” She had to shout above the noise of the crowd in Tower Hill Park “There’s a dozen Songmark girls – I wonder if they’ll recognise us?” Albert returned from the crush around the refreshment booths carrying three mugs of steaming pineapple punch; away from the bonfire the night was indeed chilly. “Your good health!” he toasted them, handing out a mug apiece. “Cheers!” Nancy raised hers in reply. Then her tail twitched. “There’s Amelia Bourne-Phipps and her dorm – except the gangster doe. It looks like they’re leaving before the ceremony’s even started – I wonder why?” She watched the three third-years go past. “Alpha! They looked right at us and I’d swear they didn’t recognise us!” “Effective disguise,” Alpha observed. “Dappled effect of stripes multiplied by flickering of firelight breaks up shapes.” She looked across to the line of Spontoonies carrying elaborate models towards the fire. “Irrational behaviour, outwardly. Yet by observation psychologically effective. Must investigate!” “I heard one of the Songmark cooks say once, 'the happiest furs on the island come to the celebrations empty-pawed',” Nancy mused “I see what they mean now.” She joined paws with Alpha and Albert and they saw the New Year in as Nancy hoped they would see many more – together. The last two days before Albert was due to leave passed in a rather frantic whirl. Alpha happily recorded the ways in which she and Nancy were changing both physically and in behaviour – “muscle memory, indeed!” She finished off her observations with a most enthusiastic flourish. “We’d have to renew these stripes soon if we were keeping them,” Nancy looked down at her fur. “We’re wearing them out.” Alpha nodded happily. “Which is something a real half-shrew or half-zebra mix won’t have to worry about.” She cast a glance towards Albert’s sleeping figure “Not just our stripes that we’re wearing out!” Nancy’s expression became pensive. “Alpha,” she said “it’d be easy – so very easy to – let Nature take its course. We’ve been very careful so far, Mrs. Oelabe our nurse would be pleased I think.” Alpha’s eyes went wide. “Nance! We’ve two and a half years of Songmark still to go. We’ll have to be just as careful all that time.” She took a deep breath. “But then… we’ll know just what we’ve got to look forward to.” “Oh yes.” A sudden gleam came to the squirrel’s eye. “But for now – let’s see how worn out Albert really is!” The final day came all too soon, and final arrangements were made. Still in their striped fur patterns under their clothes, Nancy and Alpha went to check at the Shawnee Pacific Airpaths terminal that the flights were running to schedule. Albert had letters to write, both to his firm (he had promised to update the Songmark and general Spontoon entries) and to his sister at her ranch. As he explained, he had little chance of meeting her on his travels at work; in such a sparsely settled area the market for encyclopaedias was slim and his firm rarely sent any salesmen that way. “We’ll miss him.” Nancy voiced the obvious as they returned to the hotel. “At least he’s got some holiday snaps to take home.” She and Alpha had shown off all their striped fur on several occasions; having one’s own discreet film developing setup was useful for more things than sleuthing. The roll of developed negatives was easier to conceal going through Customs than a sheaf of prints, and she had concealed it with her own paws in Albert’s hat band. “I hope he gets the film home.” “Anyway,” Alpha replied promptly “if they enquire on Spontoon about a pair of zebra striped girls – they won’t find them tomorrow. They’ll be gone.” “Yes. And we’ll be left with nothing but memories.” Nancy paused. “I’m almost certain of that, my monthlies are very regular. I’m as sure as I can be last night was safe.” “That is what the other girls in my dorm call a “soldiers’ farewell” I think?” Alpha scribbled in her notebook “I wish my timing had been the same!” “Maybe we can arrange to meet him in Summer.” Nancy mused. “We’ll work hard next term. If only our Tutors would let us include sleuthing in our marks! Albert’s so useful to have along.” “Yes! That pudding smuggler Mahoney, Albert he “knocked him for six” as Megan says. And the Police didn’t mind either in the circumstances.” They had managed to persuade a Main Island constable to go with the guide when tracking the stolen tins, just to make it official – and the Native smuggler had pulled a knuckleduster on and swung first. Constable Pohovic had evidently seen nothing to complain about Albert laying out the shifty fox with one punch – something evidently much harder to do than Hollywood suggested. Just then the typing stopped from the adjoining room currently being used as Albert’s study, and there was the scent of matches and burning paper. Albert had explained that his company were as nervous as any newspaper about being beaten to a “scoop” and insisted on tight security when their employees sent in information. There was the sound of the window opening to clear the air, then closing again. The door opened and Albert appeared holding three stamped addressed envelopes. “All done, ladies! Just these to post and it’s time to go.” Nancy’s ears and tail drooped. “Back in Creekside we studied Shakespeare in school,” she said “He wrote “parting is such sweet sorrow.” I think he got that part wrong.” Albert hugged her and Alpha. And then it really was time to go. Half an hour later Nancy and Alpha stood on the dock waving as the big Seversky flying-boat taxied out onto the central waters with Albert and the letters, and took off Southwards for the kingdom of Hawai’i. A squirrel tail drooped. “Well, that’s that.” Nancy squeezed her wife’s paw. “Now we’ll wash off these stripes, and get our Songmark uniforms out of storage. After tomorrow – it’ll be another whole term before we can even talk to each other, in Songmark.” “Nance. Will be harder than before. After sharing – everything.” The shrew’s whiskers drooped to match her lady, but instantly perked up again. “Whoever said “two’s company three’s a crowd” had a very limited imagination!” “Oh, yes.” Nancy walked with Alpha back across Casino Island towards the Freya hotel. “But there’ll be weekends, sometimes. Maybe we can have another trip to Main Island with Mr. Rotahovi that handsome mule Guide.” She hugged Alpha. “And then I hope you’ll get to experience one of the delights of the islands they don’t print postcards of.” “Yesyes! And we’ll have lots of sleuthing to do! In February the license Chief Pickering gave us runs out. To renew that we’ll have to keep in practise.” The pair returned, paw in paw to their room and a hot bath plus a grooming with rubbing alcohol consigned their stripes to history. “Until Summer, anyway,” Nancy declared. “And after I introduce you to Father. Although he might understand – striped like that we could travel with Albert on the road while he’s working, staying in the segregated guest houses he has to use in some states.” Her eyes gleamed. “What a scandal it’d be if we turned up there with him as Pedigree girls!” “I never saw the point in all that. Irrational.” Alpha confessed. “Cranium Island is full of exotic furs from all branches of evolution and de-evolution. Beautiful mutants everywhere! Nobody even cares.” She towelled herself dry, and her whiskers twitched excitedly. “Well! That’s over. Now we can start sleuthing again.” “Quite right. Sitting around moping never helped anybody,” Nancy brushed her elegant tail dry. “Let’s see what we can find to practice on.” Alpha happily trotted over to the now unoccupied adjoining room and poked at the ashes in the grate. “Not much here Nance, the maid’s already been and made a start tidying. There’s only…. Oh!” There was a silence for a few seconds then a thud, as of a body hitting the carpet. “Alpha!” Nancy was through the door in a second, eyes wide in alarm. Alpha was lying flat on her back, eyes glazed and her paws twitching, looking for all the world like a derailed model train with the wheels still madly spinning. In her paw was clutched a flimsy, feather-light sheet of carbon paper. “What is it?” Despite all appearances, Nancy knew her wife was not having an epileptic fit. Shrews’ nervous systems were like Schneider Trophy racing engines, tuned up to the very limits the materials could withstand – and any great stress was likely to overload and short-circuit them temporarily. “Paper… in wastebasket,” Alpha’s voice sounded as if it was coming up from a deep well. “Local brand – two carbons – not one like other brands. Albert didn’t know – maybe when window opened second sheet blew away.” Nancy took the flimsy carbon gingerly as if it was a poisonous snake. She confirmed it was indeed “Coco Blossom Brand”, the common local make. And to judge from the typewriting impression it had indeed been the second sheet. In a second her eyes flashed over the message – she gasped, and sat down heavily in a chair, unable to pull her eyes away from the page. She heard her own voice reading it, as if from afar: “Dear Sis: I know you were angry that I didn’t deliver the Rote girl to you after the Brummers had done with her. If you could see her now you’d agree it’ll be well worth the wait! Better than that, she’s got what she calls a “wife”, if you can believe it, who’s a registered Genius! After you’ve gotten them properly trained up they’ll make better bloodstock that you’ve ever seen – you keep saying the market’s growing all the time for kits with intelligence like that. If we wait we’ll have two actual third-year Songmark graduates coming our way – you know what the reward money is for even one, and nobody’s EVER collected it. It’ll be a hard choice; if we sold them on we’d be set up for life – or would we keep them for the ranch? Just wait till you see the pictures. Her “wife” is nothing to look at but fortunately that can be bred out and intelligence is inheritable. We’ll have to make very, very sure to cover our tracks when they “disappear”, though – she’s from Cranium Island and those mad furs don’t stint at revenge when it’s one of their own. You know those hundred foot basalt bluffs in the South Pasture? That geologist said they were a “flood basalt” that came out in one go, covered half the county. Well, triggering off another one of those onto our ranch would be nothing to those folk. All the best, see you soon. Your loving brother, Albert. PS. How’s the new stock I got you coming on? I hope to be over at Easter to see the foals!” Nancy sat, her mouth open, her world in ashes. She felt sick. Her body began to convulse in a way that few species except squirrel females could, rejecting. “Oh, Nance,” Alpha hugged her, weeping. “Nance. We wanted him so very much. I was going to take turns with you, having his kits. But instead…” “Yes. Instead.” Nancy Rote shivered, pulling her wife close. “We know there’s a ranch somewhere in Montana – though I doubt it’d be listed under the Simmons name. We know what’s happening there – some of it. When I escaped from the Brummers I swore, Alpha, I swore I’d seek out and destroy everything like that, no matter the cost. And I will.” Her ears went right down. “We’ll have to wait till we graduate, even knowing what’s going on out there every day. It’ll give me the skills I need. Are you with me, Alpha?” “Yes!” Alpha Rote hugged her lady, feeling the acrid taste in her mouth as shrew saliva became venomous, looking at the compromising carbon – as instinctive and uncontrollable reaction as a tail locking sideways. “I’ll help! And if a flood basalt event really is what it needs – that’s what there’ll be!” Nancy held her wife tightly with one arm. With the other she slammed the door to the adjoining room savagely shut, never to re-open it. Crusader Dorm had just found a new meaning in life. Which did not mean they had to be happy about it. End of Case. |