Read Online Johannes Cabal the Detective by Jonathan L. Howard - Free Book Online Page B

nonchalantly towards the starboard corridor.
    “You!” barked the officer, making everybody—Cabal included—freeze. The officer marched up to the purser, stamped to attention, and saluted. Even at this extreme, the purser returned the salute and even clicked his heels. The guardsman opened his sabretache and produced an official-looking piece of paper. “I’m looking for somebody,” he snapped, holding the piece of paper up to the purser’s eyes for him to read. “Do you have this man aboard?”
    It could be anybody, thought Cabal. A country like this, Marechal’s people must be constantly hunting down enemies of the state. There’s no need to worry. Just remain calm and await developments.
    The purser read the piece of paper twice before turning and pointing directly at Cabal.
    All right, thought Cabal. I may be in trouble after all.
    The officer wheeled, the purser being dropped from his attention like a leprous dog, and looked at Cabal with a steady intensity that boded badly. Cabal began to regret not transferring his switchblade to his pocket earlier while he had the chance. He didn’t fancy his chances in another fencing duel against a man in a gleaming metal breastplate. Tactically, sticking four inches of blade in the guardsman’s throat as he approached would have worked much better.
    The room seemed much darker with the guardsman standing over him. “Can I help you, Lieutenant?” he asked.
    In a single quick motion, the guardsman thrust the piece of paper into his face. “Fourth draft, Herr Meissner!”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “The agricultural land-remittance discussion papers, fourth draft. I’m here on the personal orders of Baron Mitracht of the Agricultural Ministry. The papers you are carrying are to be redrafted while you are en route, according to these criteria.” He leaned closer until he was nose to nose with Cabal. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” he bellowed.
    Cabal took a step back, realised that he wasn’t going to be dragged off in chains, after all, and nodded curtly. “Of course I understand,” he snapped back. “Tell the baron his orders will be carried out to the letter.” He twitched the paper out of the guardsman’s fingers. “You are dismissed.”
    The soldier went very white, and Cabal wondered if he’d overstepped the mark there. Then, with a wheel about and a stamp, the officer marched back to the gangway, snarling “Bastard civies!” to the purser, a comrade in uniform. His bootsteps, sharp with fury, echoed down the covered bridge until they were gone.
    The purser looked over at Cabal. Cabal waved the piece of paper before putting it away in his breast pocket. “A civil servant’s work is never done,” he commented, picked up his bag, and went to stateroom Starboard 6.
    T he steamer packet Heimlin had been held up just as she was about to leave the lakeside port, and the passengers and crew made to wait until the Count Marechal and his troops arrived. Lieutenant Hasso had stormed on board, thankfully not on horseback, and made a lot of fuss over a simple job. Finally, three quarters of an hour later, Johannes Cabal, beaten and bleeding, had been dragged across the gangway and dumped on the quayside.
    Except, of course, that it wasn’t Johannes Cabal.
    “It’s not him, Hasso,” said Marechal, pleased that fate was at least being consistent in its unkindness.
    Hasso kicked the groaning man another couple of times before asking, “Are you sure?”
    “I’ve spent some time in Cabal’s company. I think I’d recognise him. This man is of about the same age and appearance but, no, it is not him.”
    “Oh,” Hasso said, pouting. The man groaned. Hasso kicked him again. “Do shut up. We’ve just had a bit of bad news.”
    “I … I’m Duke Aachel’s nephew, you bastards,” moaned the man. “I know … I know you, Marechal. Uncle Günter will … will have your miserable hide nailed to the gatepost for this.”
    Marechal, sitting on a mooring