The Boarding House Horror

15. Siege

The first thing that caught my gaze upon awakening was the cocoa tin mouse trap. It sat upon the rug in front of the fireplace. If there was a mouse inside, not only had the creature been fed expensive cheese, it had subsequently been sent to bask at the spa.

As had I. My body reclined on a sofa in the common room. Layers of thick blankets draped over the French doors. Lazar Yankov paced back and forth by the piano. His arms were crossed and George Raptis's big colt pistol leaned into the crook of his elbow. His intense manners exemplified the alert guard on duty.

Mario Costa's grinning head swam into view, upside-down as he leaned over the back of the sofa. "You were notta out very long. You are tougher than-a you look."

A moment after he spoke, the alcohol on his breath arrived and I winced. My lips and tongue felt dry. "What has happened?"

"Notta much. There is stew if you are hungry. The windows on this floor are covered. Lazar will shoot anything that comes in." Mario looked up. "Won't you, soldier?"

Lazar's voice came dry as desert air. "Yes, and possibly you, too, Mr. Big Mouth."

Mario snorted in amusement. "He izza mad at me for drinking all the brandy. I don't-a blame him. I'm mad at me, too."

"We could all use a snort of it right now," Trevor's voice said. "Now that we're under siege."

I rolled my eyes up to spot Trevor and Daria by the chess table. "What about Alice Bree? Is she all right?"

Mario snorted again. "You mean Ace Carroway? She has bruises. Not much blood."

"Ace Carroway?" The name echoed and ricocheted around my skull. It was significant, I felt sure. I should know that name.

Trevor Brashear recited in droll tones. "Do you not recall the celebrated captain, Cecilia 'Ace' Carroway? Double ace pilot of the Great War, shot down behind enemy lines and drafted as slave labor by none other than Darko Dor, Ottoman Minister of Technology. She escaped his clutches, sabotaged his factory, and stole his secret airship. After the war she has gone on to even greater fame as inventor and adventurer."

I remembered, now. Recent newspapers were full of tales of the camera-shy heroine.

Trevor continued, "Only five days ago she delivered Darko Dor to the Peace Palace in chains. And so the great war trial began. We stand in rather exalted company, I daresay."

Mario gestured grandly at Trevor. "So eloquent atta the English, these Englishmen. But he forgot to mention the black market."

"What black market, exactly?" Trevor said.

Mario's voice went gravelly and dark. "The one where if you kill Ace Carroway you get a hundred thousand pounds."

"Goodness," Daria exclaimed. "That's terrible."

Mario pursed his lips. "I missed-a my chance to be rich. Earlier today, I could have carried her away. Now, there is competition outside."

"Mario!" Daria's eyes widened. "That's awful."

"I joke. I joke, my love."

"Don't call me that," she said in a small voice.

Mario strolled at a stately velocity to present himself before Daria, hand over heart. "I willa be a chef soon, Daria. I willa make good money. I willa work so hard and take sucha good care of you. And your father cannot stop me like he did before."

Daria's vexed expression pinched to a frown. "He what?"

"Ha. You never knew. Me, so traditional, I went to see him to ask for your hand. But he didda not want no stinking criminal to marry you."

"When? Oh, never mind. Oh, Mario." She inched toward him.

Mario spread his hands. "Too much irony. Him complaining about criminals. Uh, no offense."

I happened to glance at Trevor, and his face was a mask of pain. His defocused eyes saw scenes other than the boarding house, and his feet walked other roads.

Daria closed the step between her and Mario and poked him in his brawny chest to punctuate her remarks. "You drink. You smoke. You ... you ... probably don't keep your room very clean."

Mario gazed at her fondly. "I am a work inna progress, what can I say?"

She straightened his collar.

A delicate floral scent distracted me. I looked the other way to discover Mariam peering at me. My eyes flew wide and my heart leapt upward to clog my throat.

Like a spring after a hard winter a smile spread across her face with slow inevitability. "You're back."

After a few swallows, I got past the lump in my throat. "Hello."

I swung my legs over and sat up. A blanket slid off my bare chest with a sudden chill to my skin. They had put my right arm in a sling made of a slashed bedsheet. "This whole situation is a little embarrassing."

She retrieved the bunched blanket and draped it over my shoulders. "And scary."

"Yes, in hindsight. At the time, I hadn't the sense to realize it." I felt stable, just thirsty and weak.

"Do you think they'll come in after her?"

Lazar Yankov answered in granitic tones, "Not unless there are a lot of them."

He's a hero, I thought. That explains a lot. I titled my head at him. "Did you see much action in the war, Lazar?"

"No, not much. I saw battle twice, and was wounded twice. I spent most of the war recuperating. Look, you're not going to spread this around, are you? My employer is such a stickler, I'd be fired in a heartbeat."

"I won't. Unless you killed Raptis, in which case employment is not really a worry."

"I didn't," he said.

But it seemed that my words had cast a pall on the room. No one spoke. Mariam patted the blanket in place on my shoulders and swished toward the kitchen.

A squeak and rustle made my eyes flick back to the mouse trap. It was occupied.

I inquired of the room, "Did Ace explain the mouse to everybody?"

From the darkness past the kitchen Ace replied in her American accent, "Naw. I was using the radio. But let's get started."