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

through exact angles.
    Then they fought.

Chapter 3
    IN WHICH NAMES ARE CALLED AND A FUGITIVE TAKES FLIGHT
    “Of course I have a reservation. A government reservation. Here is my authorisation.”
    Gerhard Meissner was a low-ranking member of the Mirkarvian civil service and, as is sometimes the case, he had hugely inflated ideas of his importance. If he didn’t arrive in Katamenia on schedule with the incredibly important “Agricultural Land Remittance Discussion Papers (Third Draft)”—currently safely tucked away in his documents folder—well, it hardly bore thinking about. Unable to have the latest draft of the papers, civilisation would be at a loss to discuss the remittance of agricultural lands. The result … catastrophic. Thus, he had been issued with the necessary documentation to bypass the lesser folk at Emperor Boniface VIII Aeroport customs and pick up his ticket. He examined it now and was pleased to discover that he had a berth aboard the Princess Hortense , a brand-spanking-new aeroship of the Mirkarvian civil aeroforce, MirkAir. “You’re a lucky man, sir,” said the woman at the counter. “The Hortense was only commissioned a week ago—this is her maiden flight.”
    Meissner sniffed. He wasn’t lucky, he was a civil servant, and this was no more than was due to a corpuscle of the body politic. Instead, he asked, “Why are all these people milling around? It’s like race day in here.”
    “Some trouble in the city, sir. People panic. It’s only human.”
    A well-dressed man, sweating and frantic, pushed by Meissner, who glared at him fiercely. “Please!” said the man. “Have you got any more berths available? Any at all?”
    “I’m sorry, sir. All places aboard the Princess Hortense were booked in advance.”
    “What?” The sweating man saw the ticket in Meissner’s hand. “Please, sir. Would you be willing to sell that billet? My daughter … There’s rioting in the city. I simply want her to get to safe …”
    “Sell my ticket?” snapped Meissner. “The impertinence, sir! Even if I were at liberty to sell this ticket—which I am not, it being government property—I very much doubt that I should feel disposed to …” But the man had more urgent matters to attend to than listening to how important Meissner was, and had already gone. Meissner pulled himself up to his full height, a little over six feet, and looked dignified, an expression lesser mortals could assume only with the aid of lemon juice and alum. The woman at the desk thought that he could almost have been attractive if it weren’t for what his personality did to his face. He noticed her attention and she smiled, politely but without warmth. “When does the ship depart?” he demanded.
    “In two hours, sir. If you’d care to check your luggage in now, you’ll have some time to relax aboard before she lifts.”
    “Relax?” he snorted. “I shall work!”
    Having emphasised his innate superiority to the herd, he walked away.
    Meissner went to the handling building—a capacious hangar split into many small bays with padlocked gates—to check his luggage. On his way back out, he was accosted by a serious-looking man dressed in black and white. “Excuse me, sir,” said the man. “Might I have a word?”
    “If you’re trying to buy my ticket, my good man, I must—”
    The man looked around, leaned closer, and said, “State security, sir. It is a matter of some urgency. The well-being of Mirkarvia may be at stake.”
    Meissner blinked and swallowed. He hadn’t lost that paperwork, he assured himself, he’d only misfiled it. It would turn up eventually. He’d been intending to look for it the very day he got back. It wasn’t even important. Or, at least, it had seemed unimportant to him. Perhaps it was important to somebody . They wouldn’t send security after him for that, would they? Would they? “You … have identification?” he stammered, trying for time.
    The man smiled grimly.