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section7mfuTitle: The Peaceful Meadows Affair, chapter 8
Summary: Now working together, the group discovers something very strange about the house....
By Lucky_Ladybug
Chapter Eight
Napoleon had to admit, to his utter surprise and relief, Illya knew how to make omelettes. Or at least, if he didn’t, their delicious taste was a happy accident.
The others at the table seemed impressed as well. Ecks and Wye, and even the worried Jennifer, enjoyed the lunch. By the time everyone was done and Illya was filling the kettle with water to soak until he could give it a proper wash, there was a general mood of feeling ready to tackle whatever came at them next in the mystery.
“Alright,” Illya said as he set the kettle down, “so now we will investigate that painting once again.”
“You won’t mind so many people crowding into your room?” Napoleon wondered.
“I will, but I will deal with it in the name of a good cause,” Illya answered.
He led the group down the hall and into his room. Wye and Napoleon went forward first, studying the painting from all angles and looking for any hidden images or messages in the scene that could help piece the mystery together. When they gave up, Illya and Ecks tried.
“Oh, this is impossible!” Illya ranted at length. “If there is any message in this picture other than the possibly ominous idea of what the man is actually beaconing the woman to come with him about, I cannot find it.”
Ecks sat on the edge of the bed, resting his hands on the covers. “I don’t see any letters in it at all.”
“Not even the artist’s name,” Illya realized. He got up, taking the picture off the hook. “Perhaps if we relieve it of its frame, we’ll find the artist’s name underneath.”
“It would be unusual to cover it up like that,” Napoleon mused.
Ecks stood, allowing Illya to bring the framed painting to the bed. “If it was really the case, maybe it would mean there’s a clue in the name,” he said.
Illya was already working to separate painting from frame. Ecks watched for a moment and then assisted, holding the frame steady while Illya worked.
“No wonder thieves cut paintings out of their frames,” Illya grunted.
But at last it was liberated and everyone crowded around. “Well?” Jennifer demanded.
“It means nothing to me,” Illya reported. “Mary Apple.”
“Apple’s a real last name?” Wye said doubtfully.
“If it isn’t, why would anyone choose it as their last name?” Ecks retorted.
While they were puzzling over that, Illya’s communication pen went off. Jennifer jumped a mile, but no one else batted an eye. “Excuse me a moment,” Illya said to her before uncapping the device. “Kuryakin.”
“We haven’t had much luck with your Pea and Cue mystery, I’m afraid,” Mr. Waverly said. “The only information we could uncover is what your Mr. Wye and Mr. Ecks already believe, that Mr. Pea is dead. The agent known as Ms. Cue has completely eluded us. Apparently she was never either picked up or killed. I hope, Mr. Kuryakin, that you’re having more luck on your end.”
“We’re not sure, Sir,” Illya replied. “Martin Jensen’s sister has arrived, impatient to find her brother. And we do at last know what Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye are doing here—they were hired by her to find Martin Jensen.”
“Well, it would seem that Martin Jensen is almost at the center of this entire mystery,” Mr. Waverly remarked.
Illya wanted to ask if he had learned anything about him, but hesitated when Jennifer was right in the room. “Right now we are all together,” he said, signaling to Mr. Waverly that he could not talk freely at the moment. Jennifer would no doubt be suspicious if he left the room altogether. Ecks and Wye certainly wouldn’t like it and would question it, especially after they had agreed to a truce.
“I see,” Mr. Waverly said, instantly taking the hint.
“We have agreed to a temporary truce with Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye,” Illya continued.
“Good,” Mr. Waverly shot back. “If all they’re doing there is investigating Martin Jensen’s disappearance, perhaps you can get to the bottom of things if you all work together.”
“That’s what we’re hoping, Sir,” Illya said.
“I’ll let you get back to that, then,” Mr. Waverly said.
“Oh, one thing,” Illya quickly interjected. “There’s a painting in every one of the houses. We took one down to look it over more closely and we found the artist’s name—Mary Apple.”
“Mary . . . Apple. That’s . . . quite an unusual name,” Mr. Waverly said. Illya was sure he was raising an eyebrow. “Alright, I’ll start research into her as well.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Illya said again.
As he hung up and turned to look at the group, he saw that Ecks and Wye were exchanging an uneasy look. Napoleon looked thoughtful, while Jennifer just looked bowled over.
“What’s all this about alphabet letters?” she demanded. “Pea? Cue? And you two are Ecks and Wye now?!” She looked to her hired detectives.
“We were in the past, Lovey,” Wye said, folding his arms. “It’s part of that spy business.”
“Codenames,” Ecks added flatly.
“What was your relationship with this Ms. Cue during your time working together?” Illya asked, deciding it best to not mention an extremist group if at all possible. Jennifer was rattled enough as it was.
“She was nice,” Ecks said.
Wye nodded. “She liked us fine back then. But who’s to say how she would feel now, considering the . . . erm . . . incident.”
“What incident?!” Jennifer threw her hands in the air. “You’re working for me; I think I have a right to know exactly what happened and how it might connect up with Martin!”
“It shouldn’t connect up at all,” Wye retorted. “Not unless she’s responsible for a warning that got slipped under our door this morning.”
Ecks nodded. “And she might not have anything to do with it. It could be a coincidence.”
“And what would happen if she did send it?” Jennifer countered.
“. . . Let’s just say if she were to catch up with us now, she might be feeling about as unfriendly as you could imagine,” Wye said.
“Let us say,” Illya agreed with a grunt. “But this really is wasting time. We should focus on the problems that we know connect up.”
“Or at least, the ones that very likely might.” Napoleon reached for the abandoned painting on the bed. “Mary Apple. . . . I wonder why they didn’t want that to show above the frame.”
“Because they thought no one would take it seriously?” Illya retorted.
Ecks leaned on the headboard with one elbow. “She could be someone who used to live here,” he suggested. “Maybe she was one of the first they kicked out.”
“Yes, but wouldn’t they want her name to show in that case, to remind everyone that no matter their contributions, they could be eliminated the same way?” Illya countered.
“Mary Apple,” Napoleon mused again. “Crabapples. . . .”
“What?” Wye shot him a bewildered look.
Napoleon looked to him. “It’s just possible that Mary Apple still lives here,” he said. “Just not under that name.”
“Marietta Crabtree?” Illya said in disbelief.
Napoleon nodded. “I’d like to ask her about the painting, at least,” he said. “Maybe if she did paint it, she could tell us what it’s supposed to represent.”
“And in any case, she could certainly tell us why the Council wants it in every house,” Illya said, his eyes taking on a new gleam.
“If she would go against the Council and talk to you about it,” Wye retorted. “She might not.”
Ecks leaned harder on the headboard, placing his hand on the side of his head. “Out of everyone here, she’s probably the only one in a high-ranking position who might finally bend and . . .”
Suddenly the headboard clicked and fell backward, sending Ecks falling with a shocked cry. At the same moment, the entire wall with the picture opened up and sent the bed spinning out of sight.
Jennifer screamed, clapping her hands to her cheeks. Wye, Napoleon, and Illya rushed forward, pounding frantically on the wall. “Ecks!” Wye yelled. “Are you alright in there?!”
“Yes.” Ecks sounded dazed, his voice muffled by the wall.
“Well, pull on the ruddy headboard again and come back out,” Wye ordered.
“Wait a minute,” Napoleon interjected. “This could be how everyone disappeared without a trace.” Louder he said, “What’s it like in there?”
“Just a minute.” Ecks groped in his trenchcoat pockets until he found a small flashlight. Clicking it on, he shined it around the space. “It’s a room, but it doesn’t seem to go anywhere,” he reported.
“A random room for no reason?” Illya scoffed. “Tap on the walls. It must lead to somewhere else!”
For the next few minutes Ecks tried that. “Nothing,” he called back at last. “The walls aren’t hollow.”
“And the floor?” Napoleon prompted.
“The floor is dirt,” Ecks replied.
“It could be concealing a trapdoor,” Illya insisted.
Silence reigned for the next few minutes. “There’s nothing, unless it’s buried several feet down,” Ecks objected then. “I’d need a shovel to look deeper.”
“Alright, Duck,” Wye sighed. “Come back.”
Everyone quickly leaped away from the wall as another click brought the bed swirling out again. Annoyed, Ecks walked past and right into the connecting bathroom, wanting to wash the dirt off his hands.
Illya glowered after him. “Don’t leave any on the sink,” he ordered.
Wanting to see the room for himself, Napoleon pressed the headboard but then jammed the frame at the wall when it opened a crack, propping it open and preventing the bed from swinging completely inside. “Hmm,” he mused, studying the space beyond.
The others crowded around. “It’s nothing special,” Illya frowned. “It’s a room of nothing, just as Mr. Ecks said. It could be used to hold someone for a time, but unless there’s another way to get in and out, they could never be trapped there as long as they had the bed.”
“Yeah. The beds weren’t missing in those houses last night,” Wye said, “so they weren’t in the panels.”
“And if anyone had been trapped in the secret rooms last night, they would have pounded and called for us to help them get out,” Napoleon said.
“Unless they were incapable of pounding and calling out,” Illya said grimly.
Jennifer went sheet-white. “You mean . . . dead?”
“Or drugged,” Napoleon quickly returned. “We don’t know what’s happening to the missing people. They might still be alive.”
“And they might not be,” Illya said, not wanting to give Jennifer false hopes.
“Let’s call Marietta Crabtree and see if she’ll come over,” Ecks suggested as he returned to the room. “We’re only acquiring more questions and she might be the one to answer them.”
“I agree,” Napoleon nodded. “I’d say we have several things here that are in need of explaining.”
“I’d say that we deserve an explanation as well.”
The group looked up with a collective jerk. The Homeowners’ Council, fronted by Harvey and Marietta, was standing in the bedroom doorway.
“How did you get in?!” Illya snapped. “The door was locked!”
“Ah, but everyone on the Council has a master key to every home.” Harvey held his up.
Unable to stand it any longer, Jennifer stormed forward. “Where’s my brother?!” she screamed. “What did you do with him?!”
Marietta jumped, looking honestly bewildered. “Your brother?” she repeated.
“Martin Jensen,” Jennifer snarled with a curt nod.
“First things first,” Illya growled. “What made you come here and use your master key?”
Harvey slipped the key into his pocket. “We’ve been wondering about this young lady ever since she got here,” he said. “When we received a report that she, as well as Mr. Finch and Mr. Harris, went into your house, we decided we should investigate further.”
“You really don’t believe in privacy, do you?” Wye said in annoyance. “You couldn’t even knock?”
“I’m glad we didn’t,” Harvey said, staring at the de-framed painting on the bed and the panel being pried half-open by the frame. “What happened here? Why is the house dismantled like this?!”
Ecks folded his arms. “I was just leaning on the bed when it happened.”
“Oh dear,” Marietta sighed. “I knew the panel could be opened too easily.”
“And the painting?” Harvey persisted.
“We found it so entrancing, we wanted to know who brought it to life,” Napoleon said smoothly. “So we took it out of the frame to see. We would really love to meet this ‘Mary Apple’, if she’s around.”
Marietta ignored that and looked to Jennifer. “It’s really true that your brother hasn’t been back since he was here?”
“Yes!” Jennifer exclaimed, her voice ragged.
“But all we did was tell him that he would have to move on,” Marietta insisted. “He should have gotten back to you.”
“Well, since he didn’t, that makes all of you the last people to see him alive,” Jennifer snapped. “And I think this charade has gone on long enough. Either you let me see my brother, alive, or I’m getting the police here.”
Napoleon and Illya exchanged a look, wondering if they should reveal their true identities. It was debatable whether that would help the situation at this point, and since the Council seemed to have the upper hand, it seemed better to stay silent on that point. However, Napoleon had another idea.
“It seems reasonable,” he said calmly. “I’m surprised you haven’t already had the police here, after so many people have vanished without a trace and, according to people such as Ms. Jensen here, never contact the outside world again.” He folded his arms. “I think all of us are understandably disturbed by what Ms. Jensen has told us. That’s why we were all meeting here, because we saw her arrive and she thought we had a right to know the truth.”
“I don’t understand this!” Marietta cried. “Why haven’t they contacted anyone? Being asked to leave here isn’t something to be so ashamed of that they should want to isolate themselves from everyone they know!”
“I also don’t understand what these rooms are for,” Napoleon said. “I’m not sure I like something like this being in our house.”
“There’s nothing sinister about it,” Harvey said, finally finding his voice. “They’re so that anyone asked to leave can slip away quietly without a fuss.”
“I couldn’t find any way out of there,” Ecks objected.
“You have to know exactly the right code sequence,” Harvey said. “It won’t open up just by doing one thing.”
“Hmm. You should have gone into the spy business,” Napoleon mused.
“Why don’t you just step inside and we’ll demonstrate?” a crusty old man growled.
“I think we’d rather not, thank you,” Napoleon said calmly, envisioning them all being locked in—or worse.
“I think we’re going to step into your office and we’re going to talk to the gate guard and find out if he let Martin out that night,” Jennifer ordered. “And you’re going to let him talk, instead of furthering this nonsense about no one being allowed to speak of the missing!”
“Well, you certainly think you’re the boss around here,” Harvey remarked. “But very well; we’ll do it. We want to clear ourselves on this matter.” With that he turned, leading the Council to the door. Jennifer marched after them.
“Naturally we’re going along,” Napoleon said to Marietta, who had lingered behind.
“Of course,” she said dazedly. “We’ll all go.”
“And hope we’re not walking into a trap,” Illya said under his breath.
“We probably are,” Ecks said in disgust.
“Unfortunately, that’s sometimes the only way to learn things,” Napoleon mused.
“More’s the pity,” Wye grunted.
Summary: Now working together, the group discovers something very strange about the house....
Chapter Eight
Napoleon had to admit, to his utter surprise and relief, Illya knew how to make omelettes. Or at least, if he didn’t, their delicious taste was a happy accident.
The others at the table seemed impressed as well. Ecks and Wye, and even the worried Jennifer, enjoyed the lunch. By the time everyone was done and Illya was filling the kettle with water to soak until he could give it a proper wash, there was a general mood of feeling ready to tackle whatever came at them next in the mystery.
“Alright,” Illya said as he set the kettle down, “so now we will investigate that painting once again.”
“You won’t mind so many people crowding into your room?” Napoleon wondered.
“I will, but I will deal with it in the name of a good cause,” Illya answered.
He led the group down the hall and into his room. Wye and Napoleon went forward first, studying the painting from all angles and looking for any hidden images or messages in the scene that could help piece the mystery together. When they gave up, Illya and Ecks tried.
“Oh, this is impossible!” Illya ranted at length. “If there is any message in this picture other than the possibly ominous idea of what the man is actually beaconing the woman to come with him about, I cannot find it.”
Ecks sat on the edge of the bed, resting his hands on the covers. “I don’t see any letters in it at all.”
“Not even the artist’s name,” Illya realized. He got up, taking the picture off the hook. “Perhaps if we relieve it of its frame, we’ll find the artist’s name underneath.”
“It would be unusual to cover it up like that,” Napoleon mused.
Ecks stood, allowing Illya to bring the framed painting to the bed. “If it was really the case, maybe it would mean there’s a clue in the name,” he said.
Illya was already working to separate painting from frame. Ecks watched for a moment and then assisted, holding the frame steady while Illya worked.
“No wonder thieves cut paintings out of their frames,” Illya grunted.
But at last it was liberated and everyone crowded around. “Well?” Jennifer demanded.
“It means nothing to me,” Illya reported. “Mary Apple.”
“Apple’s a real last name?” Wye said doubtfully.
“If it isn’t, why would anyone choose it as their last name?” Ecks retorted.
While they were puzzling over that, Illya’s communication pen went off. Jennifer jumped a mile, but no one else batted an eye. “Excuse me a moment,” Illya said to her before uncapping the device. “Kuryakin.”
“We haven’t had much luck with your Pea and Cue mystery, I’m afraid,” Mr. Waverly said. “The only information we could uncover is what your Mr. Wye and Mr. Ecks already believe, that Mr. Pea is dead. The agent known as Ms. Cue has completely eluded us. Apparently she was never either picked up or killed. I hope, Mr. Kuryakin, that you’re having more luck on your end.”
“We’re not sure, Sir,” Illya replied. “Martin Jensen’s sister has arrived, impatient to find her brother. And we do at last know what Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye are doing here—they were hired by her to find Martin Jensen.”
“Well, it would seem that Martin Jensen is almost at the center of this entire mystery,” Mr. Waverly remarked.
Illya wanted to ask if he had learned anything about him, but hesitated when Jennifer was right in the room. “Right now we are all together,” he said, signaling to Mr. Waverly that he could not talk freely at the moment. Jennifer would no doubt be suspicious if he left the room altogether. Ecks and Wye certainly wouldn’t like it and would question it, especially after they had agreed to a truce.
“I see,” Mr. Waverly said, instantly taking the hint.
“We have agreed to a temporary truce with Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye,” Illya continued.
“Good,” Mr. Waverly shot back. “If all they’re doing there is investigating Martin Jensen’s disappearance, perhaps you can get to the bottom of things if you all work together.”
“That’s what we’re hoping, Sir,” Illya said.
“I’ll let you get back to that, then,” Mr. Waverly said.
“Oh, one thing,” Illya quickly interjected. “There’s a painting in every one of the houses. We took one down to look it over more closely and we found the artist’s name—Mary Apple.”
“Mary . . . Apple. That’s . . . quite an unusual name,” Mr. Waverly said. Illya was sure he was raising an eyebrow. “Alright, I’ll start research into her as well.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Illya said again.
As he hung up and turned to look at the group, he saw that Ecks and Wye were exchanging an uneasy look. Napoleon looked thoughtful, while Jennifer just looked bowled over.
“What’s all this about alphabet letters?” she demanded. “Pea? Cue? And you two are Ecks and Wye now?!” She looked to her hired detectives.
“We were in the past, Lovey,” Wye said, folding his arms. “It’s part of that spy business.”
“Codenames,” Ecks added flatly.
“What was your relationship with this Ms. Cue during your time working together?” Illya asked, deciding it best to not mention an extremist group if at all possible. Jennifer was rattled enough as it was.
“She was nice,” Ecks said.
Wye nodded. “She liked us fine back then. But who’s to say how she would feel now, considering the . . . erm . . . incident.”
“What incident?!” Jennifer threw her hands in the air. “You’re working for me; I think I have a right to know exactly what happened and how it might connect up with Martin!”
“It shouldn’t connect up at all,” Wye retorted. “Not unless she’s responsible for a warning that got slipped under our door this morning.”
Ecks nodded. “And she might not have anything to do with it. It could be a coincidence.”
“And what would happen if she did send it?” Jennifer countered.
“. . . Let’s just say if she were to catch up with us now, she might be feeling about as unfriendly as you could imagine,” Wye said.
“Let us say,” Illya agreed with a grunt. “But this really is wasting time. We should focus on the problems that we know connect up.”
“Or at least, the ones that very likely might.” Napoleon reached for the abandoned painting on the bed. “Mary Apple. . . . I wonder why they didn’t want that to show above the frame.”
“Because they thought no one would take it seriously?” Illya retorted.
Ecks leaned on the headboard with one elbow. “She could be someone who used to live here,” he suggested. “Maybe she was one of the first they kicked out.”
“Yes, but wouldn’t they want her name to show in that case, to remind everyone that no matter their contributions, they could be eliminated the same way?” Illya countered.
“Mary Apple,” Napoleon mused again. “Crabapples. . . .”
“What?” Wye shot him a bewildered look.
Napoleon looked to him. “It’s just possible that Mary Apple still lives here,” he said. “Just not under that name.”
“Marietta Crabtree?” Illya said in disbelief.
Napoleon nodded. “I’d like to ask her about the painting, at least,” he said. “Maybe if she did paint it, she could tell us what it’s supposed to represent.”
“And in any case, she could certainly tell us why the Council wants it in every house,” Illya said, his eyes taking on a new gleam.
“If she would go against the Council and talk to you about it,” Wye retorted. “She might not.”
Ecks leaned harder on the headboard, placing his hand on the side of his head. “Out of everyone here, she’s probably the only one in a high-ranking position who might finally bend and . . .”
Suddenly the headboard clicked and fell backward, sending Ecks falling with a shocked cry. At the same moment, the entire wall with the picture opened up and sent the bed spinning out of sight.
Jennifer screamed, clapping her hands to her cheeks. Wye, Napoleon, and Illya rushed forward, pounding frantically on the wall. “Ecks!” Wye yelled. “Are you alright in there?!”
“Yes.” Ecks sounded dazed, his voice muffled by the wall.
“Well, pull on the ruddy headboard again and come back out,” Wye ordered.
“Wait a minute,” Napoleon interjected. “This could be how everyone disappeared without a trace.” Louder he said, “What’s it like in there?”
“Just a minute.” Ecks groped in his trenchcoat pockets until he found a small flashlight. Clicking it on, he shined it around the space. “It’s a room, but it doesn’t seem to go anywhere,” he reported.
“A random room for no reason?” Illya scoffed. “Tap on the walls. It must lead to somewhere else!”
For the next few minutes Ecks tried that. “Nothing,” he called back at last. “The walls aren’t hollow.”
“And the floor?” Napoleon prompted.
“The floor is dirt,” Ecks replied.
“It could be concealing a trapdoor,” Illya insisted.
Silence reigned for the next few minutes. “There’s nothing, unless it’s buried several feet down,” Ecks objected then. “I’d need a shovel to look deeper.”
“Alright, Duck,” Wye sighed. “Come back.”
Everyone quickly leaped away from the wall as another click brought the bed swirling out again. Annoyed, Ecks walked past and right into the connecting bathroom, wanting to wash the dirt off his hands.
Illya glowered after him. “Don’t leave any on the sink,” he ordered.
Wanting to see the room for himself, Napoleon pressed the headboard but then jammed the frame at the wall when it opened a crack, propping it open and preventing the bed from swinging completely inside. “Hmm,” he mused, studying the space beyond.
The others crowded around. “It’s nothing special,” Illya frowned. “It’s a room of nothing, just as Mr. Ecks said. It could be used to hold someone for a time, but unless there’s another way to get in and out, they could never be trapped there as long as they had the bed.”
“Yeah. The beds weren’t missing in those houses last night,” Wye said, “so they weren’t in the panels.”
“And if anyone had been trapped in the secret rooms last night, they would have pounded and called for us to help them get out,” Napoleon said.
“Unless they were incapable of pounding and calling out,” Illya said grimly.
Jennifer went sheet-white. “You mean . . . dead?”
“Or drugged,” Napoleon quickly returned. “We don’t know what’s happening to the missing people. They might still be alive.”
“And they might not be,” Illya said, not wanting to give Jennifer false hopes.
“Let’s call Marietta Crabtree and see if she’ll come over,” Ecks suggested as he returned to the room. “We’re only acquiring more questions and she might be the one to answer them.”
“I agree,” Napoleon nodded. “I’d say we have several things here that are in need of explaining.”
“I’d say that we deserve an explanation as well.”
The group looked up with a collective jerk. The Homeowners’ Council, fronted by Harvey and Marietta, was standing in the bedroom doorway.
“How did you get in?!” Illya snapped. “The door was locked!”
“Ah, but everyone on the Council has a master key to every home.” Harvey held his up.
Unable to stand it any longer, Jennifer stormed forward. “Where’s my brother?!” she screamed. “What did you do with him?!”
Marietta jumped, looking honestly bewildered. “Your brother?” she repeated.
“Martin Jensen,” Jennifer snarled with a curt nod.
“First things first,” Illya growled. “What made you come here and use your master key?”
Harvey slipped the key into his pocket. “We’ve been wondering about this young lady ever since she got here,” he said. “When we received a report that she, as well as Mr. Finch and Mr. Harris, went into your house, we decided we should investigate further.”
“You really don’t believe in privacy, do you?” Wye said in annoyance. “You couldn’t even knock?”
“I’m glad we didn’t,” Harvey said, staring at the de-framed painting on the bed and the panel being pried half-open by the frame. “What happened here? Why is the house dismantled like this?!”
Ecks folded his arms. “I was just leaning on the bed when it happened.”
“Oh dear,” Marietta sighed. “I knew the panel could be opened too easily.”
“And the painting?” Harvey persisted.
“We found it so entrancing, we wanted to know who brought it to life,” Napoleon said smoothly. “So we took it out of the frame to see. We would really love to meet this ‘Mary Apple’, if she’s around.”
Marietta ignored that and looked to Jennifer. “It’s really true that your brother hasn’t been back since he was here?”
“Yes!” Jennifer exclaimed, her voice ragged.
“But all we did was tell him that he would have to move on,” Marietta insisted. “He should have gotten back to you.”
“Well, since he didn’t, that makes all of you the last people to see him alive,” Jennifer snapped. “And I think this charade has gone on long enough. Either you let me see my brother, alive, or I’m getting the police here.”
Napoleon and Illya exchanged a look, wondering if they should reveal their true identities. It was debatable whether that would help the situation at this point, and since the Council seemed to have the upper hand, it seemed better to stay silent on that point. However, Napoleon had another idea.
“It seems reasonable,” he said calmly. “I’m surprised you haven’t already had the police here, after so many people have vanished without a trace and, according to people such as Ms. Jensen here, never contact the outside world again.” He folded his arms. “I think all of us are understandably disturbed by what Ms. Jensen has told us. That’s why we were all meeting here, because we saw her arrive and she thought we had a right to know the truth.”
“I don’t understand this!” Marietta cried. “Why haven’t they contacted anyone? Being asked to leave here isn’t something to be so ashamed of that they should want to isolate themselves from everyone they know!”
“I also don’t understand what these rooms are for,” Napoleon said. “I’m not sure I like something like this being in our house.”
“There’s nothing sinister about it,” Harvey said, finally finding his voice. “They’re so that anyone asked to leave can slip away quietly without a fuss.”
“I couldn’t find any way out of there,” Ecks objected.
“You have to know exactly the right code sequence,” Harvey said. “It won’t open up just by doing one thing.”
“Hmm. You should have gone into the spy business,” Napoleon mused.
“Why don’t you just step inside and we’ll demonstrate?” a crusty old man growled.
“I think we’d rather not, thank you,” Napoleon said calmly, envisioning them all being locked in—or worse.
“I think we’re going to step into your office and we’re going to talk to the gate guard and find out if he let Martin out that night,” Jennifer ordered. “And you’re going to let him talk, instead of furthering this nonsense about no one being allowed to speak of the missing!”
“Well, you certainly think you’re the boss around here,” Harvey remarked. “But very well; we’ll do it. We want to clear ourselves on this matter.” With that he turned, leading the Council to the door. Jennifer marched after them.
“Naturally we’re going along,” Napoleon said to Marietta, who had lingered behind.
“Of course,” she said dazedly. “We’ll all go.”
“And hope we’re not walking into a trap,” Illya said under his breath.
“We probably are,” Ecks said in disgust.
“Unfortunately, that’s sometimes the only way to learn things,” Napoleon mused.
“More’s the pity,” Wye grunted.
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Date: 2015-07-07 05:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-08 01:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-07 05:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-08 01:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-07 08:33 pm (UTC)This is getting curious-er and curious-er! Can't wait for the next installment.
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Date: 2015-07-08 01:08 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2015-07-08 10:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-08 10:34 am (UTC)