The Mysterious Affair at Gremble Arms

      “This is… this is the worst gala I’ve ever been to!” the Bruce moaned, smearing a handkerchief across her cheeks and swooning dramatically, despite being securely seated upon the chair the hotel staff had brought back to the ballroom for her. “First the inedible catering, and now this! Wretched thieves running amok with their grubby little fingers at our necks! Shameful, just shameful… You ought to be ashamed…” she blubbered on. Although it was unclear who exactly the target of her accusations was meant to be, the Draik Concierge appeared to accept responsibility for them.

      “You have my word that no uninvited persons were allowed to sneak into this event, ma’am,” the Draik said solemnly, leaving a respectful distance between herself and Madame Soffleberg (probably a wise decision, as the Bruce had begun swatting at Jake until he was forced to back off). “You are of course right to be upset, and I will do everything in my power to rectify this situation, but I hope that I can give you some small comfort with a reassurance, for now at least. My staff have been posted at the doors all evening, and no one is staying at the hotel tonight apart from confirmed members of your guild and their guests. I checked the rooms myself earlier today. The only people who could possibly have physically been at the ball at any point tonight are in the room with us now.”

      Dozens of assembled guests, staff, and three extremely bewildered musicians all exchanged uneasy glances with one another. It was true that Madame Soffleberg’s scream seemed to have effectively regrouped the scattered attendees from all corners of the ballroom and beyond—Kiyoshi and Cherry had rushed onto the scene as quickly as anyone else—but the logic underlying the Concierge’s words had the uncomfortable side effect of shifting the blame away from an unseen intruder and instead implicating someone that everyone here might know.

      Next to Kiyoshi, Aidne gave a soft whistle under her breath. “Man,” she murmured, low enough that only Kiyoshi, Tyra, and Jeri could hear. “Guess no one's told her about this guild's track record with self-reflection.”

      “I want to speak to the manager,” Madame Soffleberg hiccupped.

      “You are doing so presently,” the Draik said.

      “Well then I want to speak to the owner.”

      “Still me,” the Draik said. “Minerva Moss, by the way, for those of you who don’t know. I’ve been the owner and director of Gremble Arms for the last thirty-eight years. Ma’am, let me be absolutely clear: I do not believe for an instant that anyone in this room stole your necklace. Nor do I believe that you would be so careless as to simply misplace it yourself, considering the value it clearly holds for you.”

      Madame Soffleberg sniffled, looking up at Minerva with wet, plaintive eyes.

      “Maybe it got snagged on someone’s clothes by accident during the dancing,” Jake offered, eyeing the Bruce’s flippers warily in case she decided to use them on him again. “Or kicked under one of the snack tables. Who knows. But we’ll find it, I promise.”

      “In the meantime, however,” Mr. Blom spoke up abruptly, and everyone turned in his direction. “It would be prudent to ensure that your employees remain alert and in position, Madame Moss.”

      The Draik regarded him levelly. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, sir. In what position would that be?”

      “The doors, madame, the doors! Can’t have anyone sneaking out any more than we can have hoodlums sneaking in! Although… hrmm….” Mr. Blom rubbed his chin. “That does present us with something of a dilemma… after all, if none of us is to be trusted, then none of us can be entrusted with guarding the exits….”

      “Mr. Blom,” said Jake, frowning, “With all due respect, I would caution you not to jump to any conclusions about your fellow guests, or about Mrs. Moss’s staff for that matter. We’d all do well to remember that so far there’s no evidence of any wrongdoing here.”

      “For what it’s worth, I can and will personally vouch for the character of each and every pet in my employ,” said Minerva. “If it would set your minds at ease, you can indeed trust us to secure the hotel’s exits until the necklace is found.”

      “That still doesn’t…” Mr. Blom started weakly, but someone else cut him off.

      “No no, she’s got a point.” It was Dalton, who had been leaning against one of the mirrored walls, content at first to spectate. But now he straightened with a faint smile on his face. “After all. Everyone knows it’s never actually the butler.”

      Mr. Blom looked at him blankly. “What are you implying?”

      “I’m not implying anything.” Dalton shrugged. “I’ll say it outright. I think someone here is hiding something. And we’re not gonna find out who that is, or whether this is a crime scene or not for that matter, without doing a little legwork ourselves. So sure, for the sake of argument, let’s look around for the necklace first. But I bet we won't find it.”

      Through some silent agreement, Minerva Moss and the hotel staff split up to stand at the doorways of the ballroom. There they remained, watching silently while the guests spread out across the space. An unpleasant tension was drawn through the air that only tightened as the guests dispersed, murmuring to one another and glancing over their shoulders with suspicion as they made a cursory show of lifting tablecloths, shaking curtains, and patting at their own trailing sleeves and skirts.

      After a few minutes, Jeri sank to the floor against the wall where he, Aidne, Tyra, and Kiyoshi had gathered to check behind an arrangement of decorative plant stands. “‘Course they take away all the blinkin’ chairs right before this happens,” he groaned. “Think one of you could distract Madame Sniffleberg over there while I swipe hers?”

      “I don’t think anyone here would take too kindly to another theft, least of all her,” Aidne said dryly.

      Kiyoshi, trying in vain to brush planter dirt off his jacket, asked, “You really think it was stolen?”

      “I wouldn’t put it past anyone here,” Aidne said, then paused. “Actually, let me rephrase that. The willingness and ability to steal are about the only things everyone in this guild has in common.”

      "That's a little harsh," said Jeri. "Though you could probably be harsher."

      “But that doesn’t make anyone here an actual thief,” Tyra argued. “Look at yourself, for a start. You only steal from dead people.”

      “That still counts," said Aidne.

      “And I mean I never—I mean I only—“ The Aisha’s voice caught, and she shut her mouth tightly, looking away.

      Without asking, Kiyoshi knew that she was thinking about NaKaranth, the Alien Aisha who had provided Tyra with the Virtupets scrap that allowed her to build her first communicator. While the materials and assistance had been offered willingly, they had come with some conditions, which had ultimately led to a falling out between the two Aishas when NaKaranth learned about Tyra’s plans to mass-produce communicators for the Guild of Explorers. Their final argument had been nearly two years ago, and she hadn’t heard from him since.

      “Face it, Tyra.” Aidne slid down the wall to join Jeri, splay-legged on the floor. She looked up at the Aisha from behind her mask, grinning ruefully. “We’re a selfish bunch.”

      “I’d be less selfish if I had a chair,” Jeri muttered, rubbing at the soles of his oversized shoes. “What d’you call it when you dance so hard your feet feel like they’re gonna fall off?”

      “I call it being a big baby,” Aidne said. “Sorry. I’ll try not to step on them so much next time.”

      “Maybe we should try barefoot.”

      “No.”

      Five minutes of searching stretched to ten, and then to twenty, until the ball attendees began to automatically drift back towards Dalton, who had been calmly waiting the whole time alongside a now mostly cried-out Madame Soffleberg. The Island Shoyru didn’t look at all surprised as the guests gathered to bemoan their lack of success.

      “It’s not here,” growled a rough-looking pirate Elephante.

      "I'm so sorry to hear that," said Dalton.

      The Elephante scanned the crowd balefully, cracking his knuckles. “So that settles it, eh? There really is a villain here, and it’s one of you lot!”

      “We should report the crime right away,” said an elderly Ogrin, eyes darting around behind his mask and the tiny crystal spectacles perched in front of it. His gaze landed on Tyra, and he lit up. “You there! Magenta! Don’t you make those funny little talking boxes? Can you call for help?”

      “Maybe I could,” said Tyra in a tone that barely concealed her bitterness, “if a certain guild’s higher-ups hadn’t decided that a functioning communicator was too risky to bring to a gala.”

      “There’s a station for the town watchman down in the square, Mr. Kugar,” said Minerva, approaching Jake from one of the doorways. “I can send one of my porters if you’d be so kind as to provide one of your adventurers as an escort on the road.”

      “What about the doors?” asked Mr. Blom dubiously.

      “We have them covered,” said Minerva. “There are only three on the ground floor that lead outside: the main entrance, the staff door in the kitchen, and the veranda off the ballroom." She pointed in their directions with a claw as she listed them. "There are fire escapes accessible on the other floors, so a guard should also be set in the lobby, in front of the lifts and staircase. Besides myself, I have two porters, a valet, and our chef on shift tonight—four exits, five staff. We can spare one. I must insist, though, on her being accompanied by a trustworthy member of your guild. This is Neovia, after all.”

      “I’ll go myself,” Jake said, nodding at the Poogle indicated by Minerva.

      “I should think not,” Mr. Blom was quick to retort. “Everyone here is a suspect, old boy, even you.”

      “Apart from the staff, of course,” said Dalton.

      With reluctance, Mr. Blom acquiesced to Dalton. “Very well. If you’re so certain they can be relied upon, then perhaps we should just send the porter.”

      “Out of the question,” Minerva said. “It’s over a mile down the hill to the town square. To make such a journey alone after dark would be beyond reckless, even in more favourable weather.”

      “Then send two porters,” said Madame Soffleberg coldly, still draped across her chair.

      “Then we won’t have enough servants to watch the doors!” cried Mr. Blom.

      Jake rubbed his forehead. “This is getting ridiculous. Mr. Blom, no one here is trying to sneak out, because no one here is a criminal.”

      But Jake the Explorer—a familiar and trusted figure for so many in his guild—for once in his life, found his words met only with oppressive silence. The Kougra seemed bewildered by the distrustful expressions shadowing the faces of his friends and colleagues. The hairs on the back of Kiyoshi’s own neck prickled at the shifting mood, but he felt trapped within the silence just like everyone else.

      “And yet… the diamonds have vanished,” Dalton said.

      Broken out of their trance, the guests turned to him as one.

      “I know it’s hard to accept that one of our own could be a thief,” the other Shoyru continued. “But look on the bright side. In this room, we’ve assembled a couple dozen of the most accomplished problem-solvers in all of Neopia. What can some sleepy small-town watchman do that we can’t?” He smiled at Minerva, who didn’t return the gesture. “Look at yourselves. Look at what we’ve achieved already. Why sit around wringing our hands and waiting for someone else to save us? Tonight, let’s all be detectives.” His smile broadened, flashing white in the light from the chandeliers.

      “You don’t need detectives if it’s a ghost story,” quipped Cherry, who had been hovering near one of the snack tables, seemingly uninterested in the interpersonal drama unfurling around her.

      Her voice hadn’t been loud, but it still caught the attention of Dalton, who hesitated for a split second before asking her bluntly, “What do you mean?”

      The Cybunny twirled her bubblegum-hued hair. “The wicked maid. The Gremble Arms ghost. C’mon, Dalton. Everybody here is thinking it.”

      “I really doubt it,” Dalton said, but a murmur was stirring through the crowd again. Before it could produce a fresh wave of panic, however, it was Mr. Blom’s blustery voice that called everyone back to reality.

      “Oh come now, all of you!” the Tuskaninny snapped. “Really? A jewel-stealing ghost? If we want to point fingers, I’m sure I could think of at least a few living souls among us with more compelling motives for the crime!”

      “Wait, really?” said a nervous-looking Kacheek. “Like who?”

      “Well,” said Mr. Blom, but he looked a little flustered until, by some disastrous stroke of misfortune, he locked eyes with Tyra.

      “Like her, for one,” Mr. Blom said. The accusatory finger he raised in the Aisha’s direction seemed to hone all his many months of resentment towards her into a single, cruel point. Righteous fury blazed behind his mask as he spat, “After all, if we’re looking for someone with a pressing motive to steal, we needn’t look any farther than our clever little inventor friend here, don’t you think?”

      “Hey,” growled Aidne, moving in front of Tyra and Kiyoshi. “Back off.”

      But Mr. Blom was too fired up to spare any consideration for the Zafara’s warning. Basking shamelessly, fiendishly, in his hard-earned moment of catharsis, his voice trembled with emotion as he added, “Don’t even try to deny it, Magena. Everyone knows you’ve drained your bank account dry in order to crank out even more of your detestable toys. You’re desperate.”

      The next few seconds of silence that filled the ballroom were some of the most painful Kiyoshi had ever experienced. He found he could only stare at his friend with wide eyes, waiting for her reaction while his own heartbeat pounded in his ears. Wasn’t she going to say something? But really, what was there to say? She had always been able to talk circles around everyone in this guild, turning their own condescension against them time and again until she had them all wrapped around her finger, hopelessly enthralled in spite of themselves. But this was her worst nightmare, and Kiyoshi knew it. He couldn’t stop himself from anticipating the hot tears that would surely spring to her eyes as the cruelty of her colleague’s words pierced through her hopes and dreams, imagining her crumpling under the outright mockery of her ambitions and all the work she’d done to get here. But as the initial moment of shock faded and a new emotion began to creep onto the Aisha’s face under her mask, Kiyoshi realised that even his wildest imaginings had stopped short of this. This was something even worse.

      Tyra was scared.

      Run, shrieked an incredibly unhelpful voice in Kiyoshi’s head. His oldest and most deeply-rooted instinct to bolt in the face of a crisis and deal with the fallout later would almost certainly make things even worse if he were to act on it now, both for him and for Tyra… but then again, could their situation really get any worse? If they took off at the same time, they could still probably beat everyone else to the front door and leave the porter spinning on their heels before anyone even knew what was happening. They could take the back roads all the way home to Neopia Central. They could live out their days in the Haunted Woods if they had to. They could start again, anywhere but here.

      Helplessly, he stood frozen at her side, hoping to convey at least some of this through eye contact alone, but it was eye contact the Aisha seemed determined to avoid.

      Then, bizarrely, someone laughed.

      “You people don’t know the first thing about desperation.”

      Dalton Oritz gave a half-shake of his head as he spoke, the lightness of his tone such a stark contrast against the intensity of the moment that for several seconds, all anyone in the room could do was stare in utter incomprehension. “You think if you want something bad enough, it makes you so stupid you’d try taking it in front of all the people who need to like you in order for you to succeed? So much for Neopia’s best problem-solvers. Use your brains.”

      Somehow, the admonishment was enough to knock most of the guests out of their stupor, and they slowly came back to themselves with embarrassed shuffles and mumbled apologies under the weight of the Shoyru adventurer’s judgment.

      Dalton turned to Tyra, still addressing the crowd. “You wanna call Magena desperate? Sure. Everyone truly great was desperate first. It keeps you sharp. You learn to use all the resources at your disposal.”

      Next to Kiyoshi, Tyra’s body language had gone rigid, suggesting overwound clockwork right on the edge of cracking. But still, she managed to hold Dalton’s gaze.

      “And you’d best believe that the good graces of all you benevolent souls are a resource Magena is more than aware of. Which means she’ll be on her best behaviour tonight—she’d be an idiot not to be. And whatever else you may think of her, you know as well as I do that Tyra Magena is not an idiot.” Dalton came to stand on the other side of Tyra, crossing his arms as he sized her up. “She might just be the only one here we can trust.”

      The statement hung there in the air for a few moments while the guests struggled to catch up to it.

      “Erm.” Mr. Blom, deflated from his earlier outburst and somewhat cowed by Dalton’s forceful words, raised his flipper timidly. “Oritz, wasn’t it? Oritz, my boy, do you mean to say we should have… Magena fetch the watchman?”

      Dalton sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No,” he said. “Fyora above, forget the watchman. I mean to say, take a look at the most logical choice we have for leading this investigation.” He gestured towards Tyra with a flourish, as if he were presenting the grand prize for a contest only he knew about. “Detective Magena. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

      “This is,” said Tyra, standing in the middle of the lounge and far too worked up to do much lounging at the moment, “unbelievably stupid.”

      Dalton tilted his head in acknowledgement, as if to say she were entitled to her opinion. He had quickly capitalised on the momentary discombobulation of his fellow guests to take charge of the ballroom, tasking the rest of the hotel staff with keeping an eye on things there while he, Jake, and the Concierge helped to set up Tyra in what Dalton called her ‘interview room’. Kiyoshi had stumbled along behind Tyra without even thinking about it, but luckily no one seemed to mind, allowing him to fade into the periphery as Tyra finally got a chance to give Dalton a piece of her mind.

      “I don’t often have reason to say this, but you’ve read way too many books.” Tyra glared at him as he dragged an end table away from the sitting area in front of the fireplace. The vase of dried flowers upon it wobbled dangerously until Minerva swooped in to catch them, moving the vase to safety upon the mantel. “You can’t possibly believe all that slop about desperation and trust and… and good behaviour, or whatever it was you were waxing poetic about back there. The fact that I want these people’s money doesn’t somehow make me immune to reckless decisions. I’m as suspicious as anyone else out there.”

      “Sure, I played it up a bit for them,” Dalton said, opening table drawers at random until he found a pad of writing paper. Minerva, clearly disapproving of the Shoyru ransacking her hotel, stepped in to provide her own Crokabek quill as well as a small ink bottle that she produced from a discrete pocket on her dress. Dalton arranged these supplies upon his chosen end table and spun an armchair around to face Tyra, inviting her to sit with a gesture. When she didn’t, he shrugged. “But I know it wasn’t you.”

      Tyra hummed. “I guess I do have something of an alibi. After all, I was—“

      “You were dancing with me. I know.” Dalton brought another armchair up so that the two seats faced one another with the table in the middle. “And Soffleberg still had those diamonds on her right before we started—believe me, she wouldn’t shut up about them. But I’m probably the only one who could vouch for you with any certainty. I needed everybody else to believe in you too.”

      “Why? Why on Neopia do you want me to be your detective?”

      “You’re smart,” he said simply, brushing off his hands. “And I think you’re not afraid to tell these people things they don’t wanna hear. Believe it or not, I just want to see this thief get what’s coming to them. Nothing I hate more than a dishonest crime.”

      “That’s a strange way to put it,” said Jake. He alone had chosen to settle into one of the lounge chairs, and now eyed Dalton from across the room with his arms crossed. “What’s your definition of an honest crime, then?” But Dalton just grinned at him.

      “I guess… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what happened,” Tyra admitted with a sigh. “And a part of me really does want the satisfaction of proving it wasn’t me. Of shoving that right in Blom’s pompous face and watching him eat it.” She slowly sank into the chair Dalton had prepared for her, dragging the quill and pad of paper back towards herself. “I might as well do a little poking around.”

      “I’ll bring in whoever you want to question,” Dalton said. “Make sure the Concierge is always in here with you though. Just in case.”

      “Shouldn’t I also… I don’t know, look for clues?” Tyra asked. “Isn’t that what the detective in this kind of story is supposed to do?”

      “You can,” said Dalton, “but I wouldn’t bother. Someone will slip up in the interviews. I guarantee it.”

      “I’ll go along with this for now, as long as it stays civil,” said Jake. “But first light of morning, one of us is going out to get the watchman so this can be handled properly. No more excuses.”

      “It won’t come to that,” said Dalton. “We’ll have cracked this whole thing open by then.”

      Even Tyra seemed to have forgotten about Kiyoshi for the moment, and she jumped when he drifted over to her chair and spoke in a low voice, “Hey. You okay?”

      Recovering quickly, she gave him a slightly strained smile. “Hanging in there. Honestly though, the work will help. Might even be fun.”

      Privately, Kiyoshi wondered for how long that would hold true. But out loud, he said, “Okay. I’m gonna go stretch my legs.”

      Tyra nodded. “Sure. Be careful.” She seemed to think of something, and immediately grabbed the quill. “Dalton, could you get me Madame Soffleberg?”

      “Right away.” Dalton left the lounge with a cordial nod, and Kiyoshi trailed out behind him.

      The mood in the ballroom was subdued, but peaceable enough for the moment. Under the supervision of the chef guarding the staff entrance, where the kitchen and storage areas were located, some of the guests had been allowed to move the chairs back into the ballroom. These sorely-missed luxuries were quickly hauled off to various corners of the dance floor where attendees now clustered in small groups, all waiting to find out who among them ‘Detective Magena’ might deem ripe for questioning. Kiyoshi was looking around to see where Jeri and Aidne had ended up and nearly ran straight into Dalton, who had turned around to face the smaller Shoyru.

      “You came here with Tyra, right?” Dalton asked him. His tone was friendly enough, but something about it unnerved Kiyoshi all the same. “What was your name?”

      In for a penny. “Kiyoshi Paco,” he said, “and yeah, I was her plus one.” As an afterthought, he extended his hand, which the other Shoyru shook warmly.

      “Pleased to meet you, Kiyoshi Paco,” Dalton said. “Sorry to leave you on the sidelines back there. But can I just say: I’m glad you’re here. Tyra’s lucky to have a friend like you looking out for her through all of this.”

      “She definitely doesn’t need me to do that,” Kiyoshi said. “She can take care of herself.”

      “Of course.” He took a half-step closer to Kiyoshi, and his voice dropped in volume, almost conspiratorially. “But this is a pretty demanding kind of spotlight for her to be in, isn’t it? Think about it. Someone here really doesn’t want her to find the truth about what happened to that necklace. And they might be prepared to resort to extreme measures to prevent her from doing so. That’s a dangerous situation that calls for good backup.”

      Kiyoshi bristled. “That’s a dangerous situation you put her in.”

      “As I said,” Dalton said. “She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.” He smiled back over his shoulder briefly as he continued along on his way towards Madame Soffleberg.

      Kiyoshi, finding his mood so soured after the exchange that he couldn’t bear the thought of inflicting his presence upon his friends, instead turned towards the back hallway that connected the ballroom to the lavatories, kitchen, and staff areas. He wasn’t heading anywhere in particular as he marched away. Truth be told, he was mostly hoping that he’d find at least one of those back rooms empty. He had a feeling this was the kind of irritation that only a good five minutes spent decompressing in a quiet, boring room would soothe.

      The deserted hallway, tastefully decorated with gleaming lamp sconces and the occasional pedestaled houseplant, was indeed blessedly silent for the moment, which made a welcome change from the near-constant whispers and murmurs of the ballroom. But as for being boring, it rather failed completely. In fact, Kiyoshi had only wandered about twenty feet down the hall before his feet slowed to a halt, his worries temporarily replaced with curiosity as he turned to face this section of the long interior wall. Arranged on the plum damask wallpaper here in a careful grid were dozens of small, square-framed portraits, each with a polished brass nameplate. Set into the grid towards its leftmost extremity was a larger frame, this one featuring a sepia-toned photograph of the hotel itself. The plate on this frame read:

     GREMBLE ARMS

     Our Home, Our Family, Our Pride

      Letting his eyes roam over the portraits, Kiyoshi noted that the likenesses captured within represented nearly every species of neopet and every imaginable age group, with the notable exception of any children. Although not much could be seen of their clothing in the photos, they all seemed to be dressed very plainly, the high black collars and freshly pressed apron straps suggesting the Neovian working class. There must have been well over a hundred portraits altogether, which Kiyoshi was able to quickly confirm thanks to the tidy way they had been hung. Were these all former staff at the hotel? Kiyoshi followed the grid to the end closest to the ballroom, where he found a portrait of a serious-looking pastel Poogle, its nameplate engraved with Sabina Ali. Directly below it was a portrait of a similarly familiar blue Uni with its own label: Archer McAllister. Kiyoshi traced the long line of photos back the other way, all the way back to the photo of the hotel. It took him a moment, as the monochrome photos on this end were clearly older and beginning to physically show their age, but eventually he picked out a portrait of a pretty, smiling young Draik in what was probably a maid’s uniform, the slightly tarnished nameplate beneath still clearly legible as Minerva Emery.

      Wandering further down the hallway, Kiyoshi realized that there were even more photos to the left of the portrait gallery. The numerous sizes and shapes of frames here created something of a collage comprising various subjects and settings, mostly group photos. At the end furthest from the ballroom, there was a picture of a dozen smiling, uniformed pets surrounded by evergreen boughs and tinsel, obviously taken in The Gremble Arms ballroom and featuring both Sabina the Poogle and Minerva the Draik in the front row. Day of Giving, Y25, read the caption. Other photos immortalised enormous birthday cakes from celebrations decades past, cosy picnics on the hillside with petpets tearing around in the background, and beaming couples with their arms wrapped tightly around each other. As varied as the photos were, none of them seemed to feature anyone who wasn’t an employee of the hotel. One of the oldest-looking photos even depicted a grumpy-looking Pteri maid surrounded by dress forms and tailors’ supplies, wings awkwardly outstretched, while a laughing Mynci held a half-completed gown in front of her to create an illusion for the camera of the Pteri modelling the garment. Cecilia Kindly Assists Mabel With Another Project. Even despite himself, Kiyoshi couldn’t help but crack a smile.

      “Ahem.”

      The polite interruption drifted over Kiyoshi’s shoulder from seemingly some distance, and when he turned, he saw straight through the propped-open double doors into the kitchen. Beyond the polished counters and covered crates and barrels along the walls, a moustachioed yellow Nimmo in a chef’s toque had paused partway through arranging a tray of pastries. He raised a questioning eyebrow as he gazed out at Kiyoshi, who now realised he had been hovering near the kitchen (and thus the staff entrance) for what was probably a suspicious amount of time. “Can I help you find anything, sir?”

      “Um.” Kiyoshi stared back blankly. “…Washrooms?”

      The chef pointed back towards the ballroom. “Back that way. On your right.”

      “Oh. Right. Sorry,” Kiyoshi said. “Must’ve just missed them.”

      “Of course.”

      A little embarrassed, Kiyoshi scurried back down the hallway in the direction indicated by the Nimmo, resigning himself to further languishing in the ballroom, whose miserable confines it seemed he would not escape so easily. He was still thinking about the staff gallery as he passed the (very obvious) doors to the lavatories, and at first he didn’t think anything of the portrait of the Pteri maid on the wall across from them. Then he stopped to stare at it, confused.

      It was the same Pteri he’d just seen in a different photo. But that one had been one of the oldest there, faded with time and hung alongside others of its era, far down towards the kitchen end of the hallway. Kiyoshi was now barely ten feet away from the ballroom, well past even the individual staff pictures. In fact, the longer he looked at it, the more he realized that this portrait stood apart from the others in all regards, with its large size, ornate gilded frame, and crisp, vivid colours that made its historical subject appear to be no more a fragment of the past than Kiyoshi himself was.

      He noticed the movement of his own reflection in the background behind the Pteri at about the same time as he noticed the sight of his breath hanging in the suddenly chilly air.

      His mouth opened, but his brain was still catching up, and no words were immediately available to him.

      The likeness of the green Pteri, impossibly captured in the framed mirror before him, looked equally surprised for a split second as they locked eyes. Then, slowly, she raised a finger to her beak and smirked. There was a fine chain wrapped around her wingtip, a swinging golden pocket watch just visible through her feathers.

      “Who… who are you?” Kiyoshi managed once he had found his voice. He spoke quietly, trying to keep his words from carrying to the ballroom. “Cecilia?”

      She froze, smile fading.

      “What do you need?” he asked. “I can help you. Please let me try.”

      The Pteri rolled her eyes, then took a step backwards in the frame.

      Were she physically in the hallway, she would have collided with Kiyoshi. Even a ghost in the same space would have had to phase through him; the familiar but awful sensation of ectoplasm sucking the vitality from his veins would have been impossible to ignore. But the Pteri maid wasn’t in the hallway. She was only in the mirror, and he felt nothing whatsoever as he watched her image melt through his, seeming to reappear behind him next to a potted plant.

      Cecilia reached out and, with a single casual motion, tipped the plant off its pedestal.

      The very real crash behind the Shoyru was so unexpected that he almost discovered the secret of flight spontaneously. Whirling around, he took in the grim tableau of broken porcelain and scattered dirt with dull astonishment, while at the same time, an archaic but colourful expletive thundered from the other side of the door to the men’s lavatory. By the time Kiyoshi spun back to face the mirror, the Pteri was gone.

      The lavatory door slammed open, striking Kiyoshi like a pinball paddle and blasting him face-first into the opposite wall, missing the mirror by mere inches.

      “So! It was YOU!” roared a wild-eyed Mr. Blom when he located the Shoyru still struggling to get off the floor. Mr. Blom seized his hapless victim by the back of the collar and hauled him upright.

      “I should have known you were in on it with Magena!” the Tuskaninny barked in his face. His jacket was unbuttoned, and his sleeves were pushed up, flippers wet with what Kiyoshi dearly hoped was water—now slowly and uncomfortably soaking into the fabric at the Shoyru’s neck. “Well, the jig is up, thief! Your greed has proven to be your undoing. I’ll see you both thrown behind bars and swallow the key myself… just as soon as you’ve returned what you stole from me, and of course from poor Madame Soffleberg.” He shook Kiyoshi like a dusty rug. “Hand it over. You know very well what I mean.”

      Kiyoshi, insensate from shock as much as from the rough handling, swallowed weakly. It didn’t do much to ease the vice-like constriction that seemed to have materialised around his oesophagus. Already he could hear the hurried clack of heels on marble, the cries of the crowd as guests and servants alike converged on the scene.

      “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied.

To be continued…