Act Two, Part Two

"Well," said James West briskly. "The king asked us to investigate, so let's get started. Artie, you talk to them while I check for clues."

"Right, Jim." Artie turned to those who were still present. "Ladies, if you wouldn't mind taking seats on the divan."

Anje and Catalina exchanged a glance, then complied.

"Thank you. And you gentlemen, if you could all find chairs."

Andreshko pulled a couple of wingchairs over and gestured for Dr Rodin and the majordomo to take advantage of them. The young officer, however, chose to take up a position standing just behind Lady Anje.

"Fine, fine," said Artie. Every eye, his own included, stole a look at the bedroom door as Jim closed himself inside, then Artie began the questioning with, "Well. It was an eventful night last night. Let's begin at the point when the king sent Mireje back up to her roo… No, let's go back further than that. Merinko Duzko — that is, I presume I address you as Merinko, as Mister? Or do you have a title?"

The majordomo rubbed a thumb over one corner of his moustache and rumbled out, "No, no title. Mr Duzko will do." Catalina reached over and laid her hand on his.

Artie nodded. "All right. So last night at the party, Mr Duzko, after Jim and I made our grand entrance, the king noticed the lack of his fiancée's presence and sent you to fetch her."

The man nodded. "Dasda."

"And then you, Cat. You followed him up here, correct?"

She looked a bit startled. "I… Sí. Yes, I did."

"And Mireje was already sloshed?"

Duzko glanced at his wife. "Teshnante," he began, then switched to English. "I beg your pardon, Mr Gordon, but… 'sloshed'?"

"Drunk, he means, Ruvenko," Catalina murmured. "Sí, Señor Gordon, she was, I am sorry to say, borracha."

"And you told us," Artie now turned to Captain Andreshko, "that Mireje has been drinking quite a bit lately."

"Well… yes," the missing woman's brother replied in an unhappy mumble.

"But what does this have to do with your investigation, droshtafko?" Anje broke in. "Why does it matter whether Mireje was drunk or sober so early in the evening?"

"Probably nothing," said Artie. "But for a girl about to marry Prince Charming and live happily ever after, she didn't seem to be very happy."

"Perhaps not, but…" Catalina began, then turned to Anje at her side.

Anje smiled wanly. "I too am shortly to be married, Artemus. I too am very nervous, wondering if I am about to make the biggest mistake of my life. And I do not have the added pressure upon my shoulders that Mireje does, that of becoming a queen as well. I have… I have spoken to her about her drinking. We all have." She glanced around, and all the others nodded.

Now Anje drew a lace handkerchief from the cuff of her sleeve and said, "And on top of all that, to be stolen from her very bed and carried off into the night by, by, well, by who knows whom!" She sniffled and pressed the cloth to her eyes. Behind her, Andreshko squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, and she reached up to pat his hand.

"All right, moving on then," said Artie. "The pair of you," and he indicated the Duzkos, "along with Lieutenant Jenko, um, escorted Mireje down to the party. And after her even grander entrance than Jim's and mine, you three brought her back upstairs again. What happened next?"

The Duzkos glanced at each other and shrugged. "I helped her into her nightgown and put her to bed," said Catalina.

"And the bottle of wine Lieutenant Jenko mentioned? Where is that?"

Again Catalina shrugged. "I know nothing of a bottle of wine, señor. I helped la baronesa to bed, turned down the lights, locked up, and went off to our rooms as usual." She gripped her husband's hand.

"All was well then, Mr Gordon," the majordomo added. "I did my own usual rounds of the entrances and exits of the palace. All was properly locked up when I joined my wife in our rooms. There were no alarms during the night. We knew of nothing wrong until this morning when my wife came up to awaken the baroness to dress her for breakfast. She knocked… That is, you knocked?" He turned to Catalina.

"Sí. Yes, I knocked upon the door, expecting Lieutenant Jenko to open it for me. He sleeps here, upon this divan, ready to spring to the aid of la baronesa if anything should occur. But when I knocked…" She spread her hands. "No one answered. I used my key to let myself in, and found…" She shook her head in bafflement. "The suite was deserted. I saw no trace of anyone."

"Were the windows usually left open at night?"

Startled, everyone turned to see Mr West, arms folded, leaning against the doorjamb of the bedroom door.

Dr Rodin jumped and pressed a hand over his heart. "Why, M'sieur West! I did not hear you emerge!"

West gave a small smile at the Frenchman, then addressed Catalina once more. "The windows, señora?"

"Ah, sí, sí, la baronesa preferred them to be open at night for the cool breeze."

Jim's eyes swept over the five people seated in the room, each of them watching him back with varying degrees of nervousness and expectancy. Then one of them spoke up.

"And did you find anything, Mr West?" asked Anje.

He nodded. "I found the remains of a bottle of wine on the floor, rolled up under the head of the bed."

"Oh!" That was Catalina. "The drugged wine then, that Lieutenant Jenko told us of."

"Very likely, yes." Jim glanced around the room again. "So, Señora Reyes…"

"Zerinje Duzche," she corrected gently.

"Señora," said Jim. "The last you saw of the baroness, she was in her own bed ready to go to sleep."

"Sí."

"And you, Mr, ah, Duzko," Jim turned to the majordomo. "When did you last see Mireje?"

"I aided Lieutenant Jenko to bring her upstairs, but left her in the hands of my wife to ready her for bed. I had my usual rounds to make, in addition to seeing off His Majesty's guests after the party ended."

Jim nodded. "What about the rest of you? Anje, Andreshko, Dr Rodin?"

Anje glanced at the two men, then answered. "We did not leave the party until after the king did. For my part, I then went up to my own suite and to bed. I did not go to see Mireje before that, nor did I visit her when I came down for breakfast. And then of course, we three followed you up after Ruvenko here came in bringing his distressing news." She turned her eyes up to look at Andreshko standing behind her.

"And I, as you know, gentlemen, escorted the pair of you back to your suite after the party. After our brief conversation and the nightcap, I returned to my rooms and retired for the night." He now turned to Dr Rodin.

"Moi?" The Frenchman shrugged. "I, ah… had made the acquaintance of a charming young lady during the party. We, er… we chose to… peruse the royal library for a bit après de la fête." He tugged at his collar. "In a manner of speaking, that is."

"And the young lady's name?" Jim prompted.

"M'sieur!" Rodin drew himself up in his chair, affronted. "It would not be chivalrous to speak of the lady in question by name!"

Artie tugged at his earlobe as he shot Jim a smirk. "I think, Dr Rodin, that we can probably leave the, ah, other party to your little tryst out of our investigation. For now, at least."

"Mr Duzko," said Jim, "have you gone around the palace this morning unlocking what you locked up last night?"

"Dasda. Yes, of course."

"And was anything amiss?"

"No, no," said the man thoughtfully. "All was as I left it last night. All doors locked, all windows securely shut."

"And what about the servants? Do they live in the palace?"

"Many of them, yes." Duzko's brows knit. "You suspect one of them?"

"Not necessarily, but I would like to interview them, if you would please go gather them all together. Perhaps one of them saw or heard something during the night."

"I shall gather them directly, Mr West, in my office." Duzko stood, then turned to his wife and offered his elbow. "Katalinje?"

"Just a moment, señora," said Jim.

Catalina paused. "Sí, señor?"

"How many keys to this suite are there, and who has them?"

"La baronesa had one, of course. I have one, as does my husband. The king too may have one, I suppose."

"We'd like to have yours now." Jim held out his hand.

"Ah? But why?" She began fumbling at the reticule pinned at her waist.

"We need to lock up the suite," Artie explained. "Until further notice, no one is to enter these rooms."

"Pardonnez-moi, m'sieur," put in Dr Rodin, "but is that not a case of, as you Americans say, locking the barn door after the horse is stolen?"

"Well, that is unfortunately all too apt," said Artie ruefully.

"However, there's still the possibility we might find more clues here," Jim pointed out.

"Not to mention the possibility that someone linked to the crime might realize he left something incriminating behind and want to come back."

"But with the suite locked, he — or for that matter, she — won't be able to come in and destroy such evidence."

"And for that reason, Cat, we'd like to have your key now." Artie held out a hand.

"Yours as well, Mr Duzko."

A look of fury on his face, the majordomo yanked out his key ring, found and removed the proper one, and slammed it into Jim's hand. "Would you like the rest of my keys as well?" he snapped.

"No, this one will do," said Jim calmly. He then crossed to the door and made sure it worked.

"Surely you do not suspect Ruvenko of being involved," Anje protested as Catalina removed her own key and laid it in Artie's hand.

"Of course not," Artie replied with a smile. He patted Catalina's hand, and blinked when she looked up at him, that familiar expression of confusion upon her face. "Don't worry, Cat. We'll get this all cleared up muy pronto, you'll see. Mireje will be back before you know it."

Catalina extracted her hand from Artie's and took her husband's arm. "Gracias," she said. "Muchas gracias." The pair left the room, and as they hurried away down the hall, Artie heard Duzko hiss to his wife in Pterovnian, "Why does he insist upon calling you Cat, my wife?"

"It is but a nickname from when we knew each other before, my husband, back at the West Coast Embassy," she assured him.

"But why? Why must he use a nickname for you at all?"

"I never truly understood that myself, Ruvenko." At this point the couple rounded the corner, their voices fading as they began to descend the stairs.

"If we may leave also?" asked Anje. She came to her feet, as did Dr Rodin. Andreshko slipped out from behind the divan to offer her his arm.

"Oh, certainly," said Artie. "If you think of anything that might help, be sure to tell us."

"And if we have any more questions, we'll know where to find you," added Jim.

"Yes, of course." She accepted her cousin's arm, and slid her other hand through the crook of Dr Rodin's elbow. "What I should like most, I think, is to retire to my own room to have a good cry. But I think instead I must seek out Cousin Panko. No doubt he's in a terrible state just now. I must steady him. My own grief can wait." She nodded to Jim and Artie. "I hope your investigation goes well. Atuchejnte djozí — for now." The three of them left the room as well.

Artie let out a puff of air. "Well, isn't this fun! A kidnapped bride just before the wedding, and we're on the hook to find her!"

Jim went into the bedroom and returned a few seconds later bearing the bottle of wine he'd found under the bed. As he handed it over to his partner, he said, "So is there any hope of you analyzing this? I mean, I don't suppose you brought a portable lab with you all the way to Pterovnia."

Artie accepted the bottle and took a moment to inspect the label. "Mm. At least they didn't ruin a truly fine wine! And, no, I didn't bring a full lab with me, but there's bound to be some sort of chemist's shop here in Lyuko." He glanced up at Jim and, with a twinkle in his eye, added, "And then if worst comes to worst, there's always the old-fashioned way."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I take a slug of the stuff myself and try to figure out my symptoms before it conks me out!"

…

In his prison cell in the dungeons of the Old Palace, Capt Koloshko stared up at the tiny barred window high above his head and awaited the inevitable.

…

"What a beautiful sight!" Artemus murmured to himself as he strolled across the courtyard of the New Palace toward the open portcullis. Out the gate he went, then paused to grin back at the heavy iron grillwork suspended high within the gate. No being locked up today! Or at least… A frown settled on his face. He wasn't locked up, but what, he wondered, had happened to Mireje? Was she languishing somewhere, waiting for deliverance?

From the pocket of his mauve jacket Artie pulled out the directions he'd been given to the nearest chemist's shop. Turn right and head toward the river, it said, and so he did.

Behind him, across the street from the palace, a kid peeked out from an alleyway. "There!" he hissed in Pterovnian. "One of the Americans. The Boss will be pleased!"

The boy took a step towards the street to follow the American, only to be jerked backwards by a hand on his sleeve. "Idiot, he will see you!" snarled his companion. "Besides, he is not the one. It is the blue-eyed American; he is the one the Boss wants. Remember?"

"But he will know where his countryman is, will he not?" the kid insisted. "He may even lead us to him!"

"His countryman is still within the palace!" said the other. Then he paused, his brows knitting. "Or at least, he has not left by way of the gate… But he is very resourceful, as we have been told. Perhaps… perhaps he has left the palace by some other way…"

The kid grinned at his companion's misgivings. "Then I shall follow that one, the brown-eyed one?"

"Ah… yes. Yes, go. And quickly! See where he goes and report back to me. I shall stay here and watch for the other."

With a grin, the kid tore off down the road, hoping he hadn't lost the brown-eyed man already. And back in the alley, his companion, a somewhat scruffy-looking man in a mud-splotched green coat, settled in to continue watching for the other American.

…

The bell on the door jingled as Artie stepped into the chemist's shop. From the back a voice called out in Pterovnian, "I shall be with you presently!"

That was fine; Artie prowled around the shop as he waited, looking at the various displays, paying particular attention to the long braids of local herbs hanging up to dry. He leaned close, challenging himself to identify them without peeking at any labels. If he was the least bit aware of a young kid settling down on the sidewalk opposite the chemist's shop to munch on an apple, Artie gave no sign of it.

"Ah, good morning, sir!" came the voice again as someone stepped through the curtained doorway from the back. "How may I help you today?"

Artie turned to face the chemist, and in that moment, whether because of his long history as an actor, or as a prankster, or simply from habit, Artie abruptly fell into a character. His shoulders stooped, his eyes blinked myopically, and his voice softened, becoming mousy and developing a stutter. "Wh-why, yes. Yes, my good man, I-I hope you can," he replied in perfectly good Pterovnian. "Th-th-this b-bottle of wine here. It, it was given to me this, ah, this past Christmas. I only just o-o-opened it last night, you see, and took a glass of it. And th-this morning I awakened to, to find myself still, ah, still sitting at my t-t-table. I-I think there must be some, some sleeping draught in the b-bottle. C-c-could you check it f-for me, please?"

"Sleeping draught?" The chemist, a bespectacled man with thinning hair, came over to take the bottle Artie was holding out. "But why would anyone want to do that? Who gave this to you?"

"I-I-I haven't the least clue wh-wh-why," Artie replied. With a chagrined smile, he added, "And I-I'm embarrassed to a-admit that I, ah, I d-d-don't recall who g-gave it to me. My m-m-memory isn't wh-what it used to, ah, used to be, you see."

"Hmm. Well, let's have a look." The chemist carried the bottle through the curtained doorway into the back. "Ah… you're not supposed to come back here," he added, seeing that Artie had followed him.

"Oh, but you did say 'let's'!" Artie replied brightly. Still wearing that gently befuddled smile on his face, Artie sat down at the chemist's work bench and settled his hat upon his primly drawn together knees. "I-I've always wished I'd b-become a chemist," he said, putting a sigh of regret into his voice. "S-s-such fa-fascinating work! B-b-but Mother insisted I follow in Father's footsteps." Again he sighed.

Only partly paying attention to his customer's prattle, the chemist set up some apparatus and began examining the bottle more thoroughly. "And what sort of work do you do?" he asked.

"F-f-florist," Artie answered with the first thing that popped into his head. "I-I supplied n-nearly th-th-three wagonloads of p-pansies for the royal wedding."

The chemist gave a snort and shook his head as he measured out some of the wine. "I hope you got paid, then. Word is going around that there won't be any wedding."

"Oh?" Rumors were flying already, were they? Trying to keep his interest purely casual, Artie asked, "What, what have you heard?"

It was such a simple question, but it sure reaped Artie a huge reply.