Chapter 11 – The Plot Thickens
"Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat."
― F. Scott Fitzgerald
"The road to hell is paved with careful planning."
― Marty Rubin
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Jón Grár was idly sipping his coffee when five members of the Arendelle Gendarmerie strode into the cafe. Two of them blocked the door from the street and the one leading out the back, and the officer rapped on the countertop to get everyone's attention.
"I regret the need to interrupt your afternoon, good people. But we are searching for a murderer and need your help. My men will be interviewing each of you in hopes that you may have seen someone or something out of the ordinary that will aid us in tracking down this criminal. Please remain seated as we call you into the back room to consult with you."
Two of the Gendarmes remained watchful in the cafe as the officer waved at the cafe owner and the waiter to follow him into the back. It was a matter of a few moments before they returned and resumed taking orders and serving their customers while a steady stream of men and a few women were called by the Gendarme into the small office.
"So, they are looking for a murderer, are they?" mused Grár. "I would think that is one term that could be used to describe the assassin who tried to kill their Queen. It seems they don't want to spread the news about that yet. Clever. Most of the good burghers of this rustic kingdom would be eager to help track down a murderer."
When it was Grár's turn, he picked his portfolio up from the chair next to him and walked into the room where the officer was sitting at what was clearly the cafe owner's desk, littered with papers. The officer had cleared a small space for his notebook, where he had apparently been writing down the names of those he was interviewing, and their answers to his questions.
"Please, sit, my good man. May I ask your name and business?" The Gendarme's pencil was poised to write down the information.
"My name is Johannes Grau, sir, I am a solicitor who specializes in financing of new enterprises in this part of Northern Europe," replied Grár, with an easy smile. "If I may ask, are we in any danger from this fugitive you are seeking?"
"No, Herr Grau. We believe that he has left the city. That is why we are searching for any clues as to where he may have gone. Now, are you a citizen of Arendelle?"
"No, indeed. I spend most of my time traveling between various kingdoms seeking business opportunities, but I am a citizen of Hansestadt Lübeck," stated Grau/Grár.
"And how long have you been in Arendelle, Herr Grau? And may I see your papers?"
"I arrived two weeks ago. There are several new enterprises being set up to take advantage of the … disagreement between Arendelle and Weselton, and I have been working with Monsieur Robin Pierre to set up the business charters and partnerships that he is leading. Prior to this most recent business, he and I worked together to import marzipan from Lübeck."
'Grau' fumbled with his portfolio and pulled out several papers, which he laid in front of the Gendarme. "There are my bona fides and my letters of introduction to Monsieur Pierre. I believe he has been doing business in your fair kingdom for several years." He sat back comfortably as the Gendarme examined the documents closely.
"And where are you residing while you are here?" asked the Gendarme.
"I have taken a room in the most hospitable inn next door. It is convenient to those business offices of Monsieur Pierre and sets a very nice table. Not to mention its proximity to this cafe. Business meetings are often conducted over coffee or tea, are they not?"
"Where were you around one this afternoon and how long were you here in this cafe?"
"I arrived about half an hour ago. I had meetings with Monsieur Pierre all morning until about two, after which I returned to my room to freshen up and have a late lunch, then came here for coffee. You may verify that with Monsieur Pierre and the innkeeper if you care to."
The Gendarme wrote all this information down, copying names and addresses from the papers 'Grau' had shared with him. Pushing them back across the desk, he said, "I will, Herr Grau. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you, but … duty." A shrug, then the Gendarme waved dismissal at Grau. "Thank you, you may go."
'Grau' nodded, picked up his portfolio and returned to the cafe. Ordering another coffee and a krumcake, he sipped and read through some papers for another half hour before he took his leave to return to his inn.
As he walked the short distance to the inn he noticed many Gendarmes patrolling the streets and going from door to door. He suppressed a smirk, maintaining the dull demeanor of the mid-level bureaucrat his cover made him out to be. Dull and bland and blending in was his salvation. He made an art out of being unremarkable.
Every word that he had spoken to the Gendarme was true. Except for where he had spent the morning and early afternoon. His alibi was solid; Pierre would swear on a stack of holy books that they had been engaged in business negotiations behind closed doors as he had said. They had worked together before.
In reality, Jón Grár had spent hours lying concealed in the snow on a rooftop across the harbor from the castle with a clear view of the castle gates and the marketplace. Dressed in a thick suit of white wool that covered him from head to toe, he was almost invisible as long as he did not move very much. He was practiced in lying in ambush. His rifle was painted white as well. It was a specialty item, custom build for him by a gunsmith he could trust. A gunsmith hundreds of miles away from Arendelle. It was designed for extreme accuracy up to three hundred yards, fitted with a telescope to aid in zeroing in on his target. The barrel could be quickly detached from the stock so that it could be carried under a coat inconspicuously.
He had read the Queen's schedule in the local paper; it was the day of her monthly visit to the people of Arendelle. He had positioned himself several hours in advance, as it took careful planning to get to the roof without being seen. His escape route had been planned so that he could slide down the drainpipe to the courtyard.
There he removed the white woolen overalls to reveal rough work clothes like any common laborer might wear. Stuffing the rolled up overalls and the disassembled rifle into a small wheeled cart such as used by peddlers, he casually left the courtyard to stroll nonchalantly to a street that would take him past the back of the inn where he was staying.
This all took less time than it took Captain Gunnarsson to get Elsa and Anna into the shop out of sight, then send for the Gendarmerie to start a search. By the time the Gendarme captain had gathered his men, given them their orders and sent them out looking, Grár had pulled his wheeled cart into one of Pierre's warehouses, the one where his office was. Once there, he quickly changed out of the peddler's clothing and into his normal business suit, including a long cashmere overcoat with special pockets designed to hold his disassembled rifle.
He pushed the cart with the discarded clothes into a storeroom where Pierre would see to their disposal, then left the warehouse for the short stroll to the inn where he had rented a room. He greeted the innkeeper and asked if there had been any messages for him. The Gendarmes had not yet begun their search. This inn faced another street, not the city square and marketplace across the harbor, so there had been no indication of the drama playing out there. It would take some time for them to get to this part of the town thanks to the hilly terrain.
"No messages, Herr Grau. Would you like lunch sent to your room?" 'Johannes Grau' was known as a generous tipper, and the innkeeper liked to keep such customers happy.
"Yes, please. It was a long meeting and we skipped eating. A quick lunch, then maybe I'll take some coffee later next door. Thank you." Grár nodded genially at the innkeeper as he walked to the stairs leading to his room.
Once in the room, he hid the rifle in the false bottom of one of his suitcases, then washed up for lunch.
When the waiter brought his lunch to the room, he thanked him effusively and gave him a good sized tip, then tucked into his meal.
"Damn the luck of that woman. It will be harder to take a second shot at her now. They probably won't let her out of the castle for weeks." He scowled as he finally let down his mask of banality. He would have to think about what to do next. He had no intentions of returning the Duke's money. Not out of greed – out of pride. He had never failed in a commission, and he was determined that this would not be the first.
He just wasn't sure if he could accomplish it before the Snow Queen sailed off to Weselton and made his deal with the Duke moot. An icy statue would have no interest in a bank account, after all.
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The next morning dawned cold and clear again. It was unusual to have two sunny days in a row in January. Grár's breath made a white plume as he hurried to walk from his inn to the business office of Monsieur Rob S. Pierre. They had more 'business' to conduct today.
He noticed that there still seemed to be more Gendarmes on the streets of Arendelle than usual. The Gendarmes spent most of their time breaking up bar fights in the taverns near the docks. Real crime was rare. The kingdom was practically a dictionary entry for the words 'dull', 'peaceful', and 'boring'. That is, it had been until the past July. Now it seemed like the term 'dull' would never be applied to Arendelle again.
Grár entered the building that housed Pierre's business headquarters. He passed his hat and coat to a servant, and was ushered into Pierre's office.
"Good morning, Rob. How are you this fine day?" Grár would stick to trivial small talk until the servant had finished bringing them coffee.
"Quite well, my friend. And you?" Pierre could out-bland him it seemed.
They accepted their beverages and thanked the servant, who left a carafe on the sideboard and closed the door behind him. The change in atmosphere was palpable.
"So," Pierre began, "It seems that you are losing your touch, mon ami." Pierre sipped at his coffee with a sour look on his face. He hated Elsa of Arendelle, although his hatred was rather more impersonal than that of the Duke. He hated all royalty and the noble classes of any sort, a hatred that was born in the Reign of Terror when the uprising against the monarchy of France was betrayed and the common people were put back under the yoke. Pierre had lost his father during that uprising, and had sworn that he would bring death to all royalty until he drew his last breath.
"Luck, my friend, pure luck. Just as I pulled the trigger for a perfect shot that would have taken down both of them, the Princess tripped and pulled the Queen down with her," Grár waved his hand in dismissal.
Pierre frowned. "The Gendarmes were here asking about our meeting yesterday. Of course, I assured them that we were busy until well after the time the Queen was attacked. And that we have done business before, so that you are not a newcomer to Arendelle."
"Thank you. Our partnership has been productive for both of us over the years."
"Bah. Now what? Will you try again?"
"I certainly have no intentions of returning the Duke's money, but another opportunity before they sail to Weselton is unlikely. I doubt she will be making any public appearances for a few weeks, at least. Certainly none that will be announced beforehand."
"And after she returns, it is unlikely that the Duke will care much about anything at all, much less money."
"Do you really think she'll kill him?" Grár asked.
"She has no reason to leave him alive. He deserves whatever she chooses to do in revenge for that attack," shrugged Pierre. To him, the Duke was just another member of the nobility that preyed upon the common people. Whether he lived or died meant nothing, although dying was preferred.
"That would raise three kinds of hell with other kingdoms. Reigning monarchs don't usually get their hands dirty with the blood of their peers," pointed out Grár.
Another shrug was Pierre's only response. Elsa's diplomatic problems were less than nothing to him.
"Let us continue with our business, then, Grau. The best cover for funny business is real business, is it not?" Pierre pulled out some papers from his desk and they continued to plan the new manufacturing enterprise.
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The servant returned at noon to announce that Baron Bjorn Thorstad had arrived for his luncheon appointment, and would it please Monsieur Pierre to receive him?
"By all means, please escort him in," replied Pierre. He began to tidy up the papers he and Grau had been reviewing.
Baron Thorstad entered, still in his woolen coat, his hat and gloves tucked under his arm. "Good day, Rob, Johan. Are we ready for lunch?"
"Indeed, Bjorn, and it is good to see you again." Grau rose and extended a hand to Thorstad in greeting. "We have been hard at work since the early morning, and a good meal is just the thing. Where shall we dine? Next door, or do you have something else in mind?"
"Next door is fine. The next best dining room is across the harbor, and it is too cold to hire a boat and too far to walk."
Grau and Pierre accepted their wraps from the servant and the three men walked next door to the small cafe for lunch.
Once they had hung up their coats and settled into seats around a table, the waiter was quick to appear. Their clothing marked them as prosperous men of means, and the waiter would work eagerly to earn a good tip. They ordered beverages and the meal, then Pierre spoke to Thorstad.
"Well, mon ami, I understand there was quite the excitement yesterday, non? How is the Queen?" Pierre inquired of the Baron. As a member of Elsa's Royal Council of Advisers, Thorstad would often hear of things that were not common gossip or items for the Arendelle newspaper.
Thorstad looked grim. "We almost lost both of them. By some miracle, the Princess had tripped and pulled the Queen down with her just as the bullet passed through the space that they had occupied. Naismith's analysts are sure it would have killed them both."
Grau reacted to this as any concerned citizen would, even though he was not of Arendelle descent. "That is indeed fortunate, my friend. Let us offer thanks that your Queen is apparently blessed with excellent luck." Inside, he seethed, "And my luck couldn't be worse."
Sipping his coffee, Pierre nodded in agreement. "Indeed good luck. And what vile coward is behind this attack, do you think, Bjorn? Does your Admiral have any leads?"
Shaking his head ruefully, Thorstad admitted, "No, not yet. Whoever this assassin is, they are subtle and skilled. There is no hint of anyone trying to flee the kingdom. And no one from outside the kingdom has arrived in the last two weeks."
Pierre shrugged and suggested, "Does that not indicate that it most likely is some local disgruntled soul who carries some deep grudge against the Queen?"
"If nothing else turns up, that would be what must be assumed. However, if nothing else, the weapon used is not something that would be in the hands of any ordinary citizen; it clearly was a special design to be accurate at the distance used, according to Colonel Nordholm," Thorstad answered.
Their waiter arrived and placed their luncheon plates in front of them, inquired whether they needed refills on their drinks, and left them to enjoy the meal.
Pierre offered a toast. "Vive la reine, mes amis. Long may she reign in good health."
"Long live the Queen," responded his companions.
Of course, only one of the three men was sincere.
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Author's Note:
It so happens that Hansestadt Lübeck is a great place for 'Johannes Grau' to be a citizen. Lübeck's location makes it a trading port, and it was the capital of the Hanseatic League. One thing Lübeck is known for is marzipan, which is very popular in Arendelle. So he's been working with Pierre to import it, along with all those liquors and cordials and such like.
The Hanseatic League was a commercial and defensive confederation of merchant guilds and their market towns that dominated trade along the coast of Northern Europe. I've actually been to Lübeck, it's a beautiful city.