Red Queen by Michael Bagen

Introduction
I was in the Owl and Walnut resting from my latest case when an old man slid into
the seat opposite me. Before I could ask the name of his game, he raised a hand.

"It's alright, detective. I come in peace, and I bring information."

"My name is Horace Stone. I am an academic by trade." Mr. Stone looked back
and forth in a poor attempt to make the meeting look casual. He fiddled with a
small object in his right hand and I could see that his hands were shaking. "I need
your help, detective. There is some danger and I cannot guarantee that you will
survive, but the reward will be well-worth the risk."

I shrugged. I heard a thousand offers like that one, and they all ended up the
same, promises with no reward.

"I'm not interested."

Mr. Stone made to speak but I silenced him with a glare. The old man got up and
walked away. But he left something on the table, a small wooden coin. I looked it
over and noticed it was polished carefully, and on the front there was the image of
a crown lacquered in red. The rear was a symbol in some unknown script.

Suddenly there was a screeching outside, followed by the dull thud of a man's
body being hit by a car. I looked out the window and confirmed my bleakest
suspicions. My new 'friend' had been hit by a car.

I ran outside and saw him there, lying in a ditch. The car that hit him had gone and
the crowd was forming fast. I knelt down beside him. He was conscious, just
barely. The old man took hold of my hand and stared into my eyes.

"Red Queen," he croaked, "Stop them." But with that last sentence he looked past
me and I saw a young man standing at my rear. He looked dead inside, frozen by
the sight before him. The air was filled with the sound of police moving in and just
over this cacophony I could hear the man expire. I rose and addressed the other
man. "Who are you?"
"William Stone," he said, half in shock, "My father...we need your help?"

Though I hated more than anything to admit it, I could see the sincerity in young
William's eyes. A man was dead, clearly murdered, and he had died begging for
my help. I could not turn away. I looked hastily over the crowd, then back to the
now vacant spot where William Stone had been standing.

I was standing on a crime scene...and I had work to do.

The Investigation
Crime Scene
Victim: Horace Stone
Age: 67
Location: Just outside the Owl and Walnut
Approximate time of death: 9:30 p.m.

The crime scene was a rainy street and physical evidence was almost nil. There
were a dozen witnesses, none of whom saw a thing. I cursed the silence and
looked around for one clue, one foothold in this otherwise traceless crime.

The street where Horace Stone was hit had only one distinguishing trace left, a
thick trail of rubber from the tires of the car that'd killed him. While there was
little I could for tracing the rubber itself, it did tell me a few things. The car that hit
him had accelerated coming up the street, hit him full on, likely as he was leaving
the Owl and Walnut. It hit him, stopped (likely to confirm that he was dead) and
then sped off, leaving behind the rubber skid. The problem was, it was past the
windows of the Owl and Walnut, closer to a nearby shop that sold small baubles
and other tchotchkes. It was closed at the time, but from what I could glean, the
proprietor had been in.

I walked in and introduced myself. The proprietor was a middle-aged woman who
identified herself as being one Laurel Penchant. Ms. Penchant nodded politely to
me and offered her aid. According to her, the car was a black unmarked deal, the
sort you saw in drive-by shootings and never again. But it was a start, one that
pointed to a professional job. I didn't have much pull with the city's underground,
but I knew people who did. A few questions at the Chez Fromage would probably
be a good start.

I bid Ms. Penchant a farewell, but made it a point to add her to my suspect list.
She seemed a little too earnest in her desire to appear ignorant and I had a feeling
that this little shop of hers had more behind the curtain than I knew of.

As I left the store, my attention was drawn to a great whiskered monster rendered
in plaster over the door. Its ruby-red eyes seemed to glow in the weak light.
William Stone

William Stone was a young, blond-haired man. I found myself liking him, and
feeling sorry for his loss. It did strike me as odd, though, that there was such a
discrepancy between his age and that of his father.

"Hello detective. What can I do for you?"

Detective: "Your father was trying to solicit my help just before he died. Do you
know what he wanted my help with?"
William Stone: "I'm afraid that I do not. My father was a very private man. I can
only guess it had something to do with his work."

Detective: "Your father left this coin with me. Can you tell me anything about
it?"
William Stone: "That coin is the symbol of a group my father belonged to. I know
little of the organization itself, but it is called the ‘Red Queen Society'. I'm afraid
that's all I can say. Show it around at the museum. He had friends there."

Detective: "Do you know of anybody who might have had a motive to kill your
father?"
William Stone: "No clue, I'm afraid. My father and I were rather...estranged. He
contacted me last week and we met up at the Owl and Walnut on the night he
died. It was the first time we'd seen each other in years."

Detective: “What drove you two apart, if I may ask?”

William Stone: "It's alright. He was...devoted to his work, to the point where he
had no time for his family. I always hated him for that. But in the years since, I've
grown to understand his devotion to history. He was, after all, in his mid-fifties
when he fathered me, and already very set in his ways. I was so happy when he
contacted me."
Laurel Penchant

Laurel Penchant sat patiently behind the counter of her shop, "Snicker-Snack
Knickknacks". She was a pleasant woman to look at but she did not seem
comfortable with my company.

"Can I help you?"

Detective: “I have a suspicion about who was involved, Ms. Penchant. Tell me
more about what you saw. Could you make out anything specific about the car
itself?”
Laurel Penchant: Ms. Penchant shuddered.

"Yes, but you did not hear this from me. It was an old car, as I said. What I didn't
say was that the windows on both sides were covered with black paper, no doubt
to hide the driver's identity. However, when the car stopped, someone poked his
head out the passenger door. I didn't see the face, but I did hear him speaking...in
Italian. While this may not mean anything, it is at least suggestive."
Chez Fromage

It was time to stop by Chez Fromage, a fondue restaurant popular with tourists.

I wasn't interested in their cheese. I wanted to talk to Artemus Carr, the Waiter.

Detective: “Artemus, I need a word with the mob. Can you help me out?”
Artemus Carr (Waiter): "Sure, but you didn't hear this from me. Guido Carapace,
the Shell they call him. He's an old fixer from back in Sicily and he comes in here
from time to time." Artemus pointed him out to me and I thanked the waiter for
his help.
Guido Carapace

Guido Carapace was one of the fattest men I've ever seen in my life. He literally
needed two chairs to sit on. When he saw me coming, he looked from his
expensive and might I add, expansive spread, and sneered.

"What do you want?"

Detective: “I’ve got witnesses that’ll put that car in the ownership of the Mob,
Guido. I think it was your people.”
Guido Carapace: "Believe whatever you want, gumshoe. It's not my business. That
Stone guy and his pricks at the Red Queen Society were too arrogant to deal with,
and believe me, they asked! If you want to know more, go talk to Felicia. She
usually goes by the tea shop after six. But do us all a favor and don't go name
dropping. Wait until six. Otherwise, you'll get her mad, and I don't recommend
doing that."
British Museum

The British Museum was almost deserted, at that time of day. The ancient
treasures almost seemed to resent my intrusion on their solitude.

Shrugging off the feeling, I headed for the basement. I wanted to speak with Harry
Kumar, the Curator.

Detective: “Have you ever seen a coin like this before, Mr. Kumar?”
Harry Kumar (Curator): "Yes, although not in antiquity. Mr. Garrity, a sponsor of
our ancient Babylon wing, wears a pin with that symbol on it. Perhaps he might be
able to help you."
Donald Garrity

Donald Garrity was a young man so rich I could imagine his shoes having gold
toes. He greeted me with the same regard one gives for a microorganism, only
lacking the sincerity.

Detective: "I have it on good authority that Horace Stone was more than just an
acquaintance of yours, Mr. Garrity. He was a fellow member of the Red Queen
Society. Also, that your group has had some dealings with the Mob. Why don't
you tell me about it?"
Donald Garrity: "Your source is mistaken, detective. Mr. Stone did not have the
relevant...assets to be one of us. If anything, he and his skills were servants to our
group. And as to La Casa Nostra...the dealings of my group are none of your
concern."
British Museum

The British Museum was almost deserted, at that time of day. The ancient
treasures almost seemed to resent my intrusion on their solitude.

Shrugging off the feeling, I headed for the basement. I wanted to speak with Harry
Kumar, the Curator.

Detective: "Mr. Kumar, I've spoken to Donald Garrity. He seemed to say that he
was getting something out of the research he was sponsoring. Do you have any
idea what he meant by that?"
Harry Kumar (Curator): Harold suddenly got very nervous. "I know that Horace
was working on some translations, mostly relating to an artifact called the Tablet
of Ordo. It was his field. There are some samplings of his work open to the public,
along with the tablet itself, of course. I don't know if that helps, though."
Research #1
Before me there lay a large glass case containing an equally large hunk of
sandstone. On its surface were intricate carvings in a script I bet only three people
on Earth could translate...and one of them was now dead.

The plaque read:

The Tablet of Ordo

"For years, this ancient artifact has been subject to great study and criticism, as
scholars work tirelessly to translate its ancient writings. No one knows of its true
significance, only of its authenticity as a relic of ancient Babylon."
Donald Garrity

I returned to the home of young Donald Garrity, money incarnate.

Detective: “I had a look at Mr. Stone’s research in the ancient Babylon

department. Now would you mind telling me what you meant?”
Donald Garrity: "I have a great deal of money, detective. However, I know, as I
imagine you know, that money's greatest and only substantial power is in its
spending. Clout is all well and good, but in the end it's how you spend it that
defines your worth. I paid the museum, and Mr. Stone, to make my money into a
tangible asset...a translated version of the tablet of Ordo. That is all I am prepared
to say to you on the topic. Please leave."
Twist #1
I went back to have another word with Mr. Donald Garrity, but while I'd gone, he'd
split. I had no idea where he was going, but it wasn't looking good for the rich boy.

The church bell chimed six and though I had lost this lead, another one was about
to open up.
A New Leaf Teas

I stopped by A New Leaf Teas, a small tea shop near the Globe Theatre.

The city leadership of the Eastern Triads had a space in the back where they
discussed their dark business.

I wanted to talk to Esmeralda Sherwood, the Tea Merchant.

Detective: "Esmerelda, I heard that one of your customers is a higher up in La

Casa Nostra. Could you quietly point her out to me?"
Esmeralda Sherwood (Tea Merchant): "I think I know whom you are referring to,
but I cannot introduce you. She hasn't come by today, which is strange. But I'll let
her know that you're looking for her. Just do me a favor and don't bring it up
again. She'll find you."
Twist #2
Donald Garrity had pulled the old vanishing act and I knew I couldn't find him
without help. Whatever had precipitated Horace Stone's death was turning out a
lot more complicated than I'd originally thought. There was the mob, but I
somehow doubted their ultimate role in the crime. La Cosa Nostra was an
arrogant business, and they would lie to a gumshoes face about anything,
especially a crime. But there was something in the substrata that didn't seem
right. The eyewitness account seemed a little too planned, too calculated.

As I walked the streets in search of clues, a siren came clear across the night. At
first I thought it was a police siren, but then it occurred to me what it was: a fire
engine.

The British Museum was in flames.

I rushed to the scene, just in time to see the fire engines clearing up the
remainder of the fire. It must've been small, controlled. The exterior of the
building didn't seem burned, and the exhibits for the most part were undamaged.
I spoke to the police officer on the scene, then to Harry Kumar, who was just
about beside himself with grief.

"They've stolen it."

"What? They stole what?"

"The Tablet of Ordo. It's gone!"

I asked Harry about the fire and all he could say was how none of the paintings,
none of the other exhibits had been burned. Thankfully the wing where the tablet
was displayed had been otherwise empty. The fire, the police told me, was very
controlled, and had burned only the outer walls and areas surrounding the egress
of the thieves. This stood to reason, given that moving a massive stone tablet
would require some sort of carriage. Tire tracks.

I began to search for the tire tracks. And there they were, along with what
appeared to be an oil trail. I hailed a cab and headed off. Scotland Yard was too
busy with the fire itself to hear one private dick's theories, so they opted not to
follow. It was just me, the cabdriver, and the black sedan tailing us. The trail led us
down London's busy streets, and off towards the Thames. There on the banks I
found the remains of a burned vehicle, one vaguely like the one I'd had described
by Laurel Penchant. A quick look at the vehicle's charred front confirmed my
suspicions about the car's oil leak: its front end had been damaged by hitting
something...or someone.

The sedan ground to a halt behind me and my cabbie sped off. He apparently
knew something I didn't. I rose to face the driver, who did not appear. What did
appear was a Tommy Gun at my back and the scent of a woman's hair.

"Felicia, I presume." I turned. The woman behind me was a fair-faced brunette

with a predatory gleam in her eyes. She dressed in a man's clothes and carried the
Tommy like she knew exactly what to do with it. She wore trench coat and fedora
hat, both tan and well-kept, giving her the air of wealth, or at least employment
by wealth. But that gleam in her eye told me everything I needed to know. She
wasn't a broad, nor was she a dame. She was a killer.

"Felicia Maretti," she said, smiling, "I hear you wanted to speak to me."

"I did. What do you know about the death of Horace Stone."

She shrugged and lowered her Tommy. "Only that someone's doing a very lousy
job of setting us up."

"Oh," I said, cocking an eye.

Ms. Maretti nodded. "Only an idiot tries to do a hit and run with an auto like
that." She pointed to the car. "Look at the front end. They're lucky they could get
up the speed, and it's been leaking oil across two different crime scenes. Damned
amateurs." Well, that did it for me. She was a hit ma--...hit woman. But that told
me only half of the story.

"Who did this," I asked her.

"The Red Queen Society. One of ours did the hit, but it wasn't sanctioned."
"Someone's skimming?" I grinned at the irony. Ms. Maretti didn't appreciate it.

"So it appears you and I are on the same side. You need to find a killer, just like
me." Off in the distance there was the sound of more cars. "That'd be the bobbies.
Don't let them know I'm working with you, or my people for that matter. Go on
like you're doing and come see me later. We'll compare notes." And then, without
another word, she was gone.

This was bad. A killer as an ally. Rich and powerful enemies. And what was worse,
I was fresh out of leads. My last ditch effort would have to be another interview
with Mr. Harry Kumar. Otherwise, my investigation was at the mercy of an
assassin.
British Museum

The British Museum was almost deserted, at that time of day. The ancient
treasures almost seemed to resent my intrusion on their solitude.

Shrugging off the feeling, I headed for the basement. I wanted to speak with Harry
Kumar, the Curator.

Detective: "Have you found out anything else about the fire, Mr. Kumar?"
Harry Kumar (Curator): "No. The police think that someone burned away their
path when they left with the tablet. That would make sense, as the tablet itself is
three feet by five and weighs close to two tons. They'd need something to carry it
out. If you want to know more, you can go talk to the officer himself. His name is
Inspector Shaun McCarthy."
Shaun McCarthy

I went to see Inspector Shaun McCarthy, Scotland Yard. He was obviously not a fan
of private detectives, if the look he gave me was any indication.

Detective: "I have reason to believe that the fire at the museum was
perpetrated by the same men who killed Horace Stone, whose death I'm
investigating. Have you found anything?"
Shaun McCarthy: "Aye, we found something, but we're still not quite sure what to
make of it. The rock they stole was a precious antique, about two tons in weight
and really cumbersome. We looked over that oil slick you found and you know
what? That car couldn't have carried it. But it was there at the time of the robbery.
We need a witness to know what really went down."
Felicia Maretti

I went to see Felicia Maretti, the beautiful and deadly assassin for La Casa Nostra.
She was surprisingly happy to see me.

"How are you, detective? How's the hunt goin'?"

Detective: "Do you know of anybody who might have a reason to kill Horace
Stone?"
Felicia Maretti: "Oh boy...that is the question. I've got a few leads for you. First of
all, it's pretty obvious that the Red Queen Society is neck-deep in this poor guy's
death and the amateur job they did on them does speak of a rich boy's work, so
let's start with them. A guy named Willis Foucault, who's another member of their
little group, and a chickie named Alice Masters. They're both Red Queen
grounders.

"The other possibility is kind of creepy, even to me. I noticed a guy skulking
around the scene of the accident and the robbery. Both times he was in the
background, obviously not part of the job itself, but very interested. I don't know
his name, but he was tall and walked like one of my professional colleagues. I
don't think he's Red Queen, though. He doesn't look like the type that money will
buy."

Detective: “Tell me more about this other hit man. What did he look like?”
Felicia Maretti: "Like I said, he was tall and very calculating. His hair was blond
and he wore a long, grey coat. I got the impression that he had metal under it, but
I don't think it was guns. Probably some kind of pig sticker. I'll tell you more when I
find out for myself."
Alice Masters

Alice Masters was a young woman, as visibly arrogant as she was blonde. It was
unsettling to be in a room with such a person. I kept feeling the urge to throttle
her on basic principle.

Detective: “Who is the man with the gray coat, Ms. Masters? Is he one of your
numbers?”
Alice Masters: A very visible chill passed over Alice Masters. She wrapped her
arms around herself and shuddered.

"Oh, him. He's an associate. He's not one of us. He's more here to see than do.
That's all I can say."
Willis Foucault

Foucault was another rich young man, nose perpetually stuck up in the air. He
seemed incapable of looking at me like anything but an insect. It was very
tempting to punch him.

Detective: "I've spoken to your friend Ms. Garrity, and I am getting very curious
about the man who was at the scene of the museum robbery. Perhaps you've
seen him; gray coat, stands in the shadows?"
Willis Foucault: Much to my surprise, Foucault answered.

"Yes. I believe that you're referring to the Divine Executioner. He has been sent by
the brotherhood to observe the activities of the Red Queen Society. I will tell you
this largely because if he has seen us at work, we are as good as made and the
brotherhood's shadow will protect us."

Detective: "And why would the Dies Arcanum Brotherhood be interested in your
little group?"
Willis Foucault: Mr. Foucault sneered. I'd obviously hit a nerve.

"What do you mean by "little"? We are far greater and more ambitious than you
know. No one knows and even the greatest mystic in the city could not peek
beneath the veil of our Society."
St James’ Park

The park was crowded at that hour: vagrants, thieves and prostitutes rubbed
shoulders with the office denizens, enroute between work and the pubs.

Nobody took any notice of my passing, which was fine by me. The only person I
wanted to talk to was Xandra Pew, the Fortune Teller.

Detective: "Xandra, I need a hand. I'm looking for a man, specifically an assassin
for the Arcanum. He's somewhere in the city. Can your psychic talents help me
any?"
Xandra Pew (Fortune Teller): "Not with my talents, but it does occur to me that
the Dies Arcanum Brotherhood has no church in this city. He therefore must be
staying in temporary housing."
The Oasis

I went to the Oasis, an Egyptian themed hotel, that catered to a dubious clientele.

Word around town was that a group known as the Green Hand had set up shop in
one of the top floor suites.

I needed to see Pierre Bagot, the Concierge.

Detective: "Hello. I'm here to inquire about one of your-"

Pierre Bagot (Concierge): "I cannot help you. I know who you are looking for and I
cannot help. Now please leave."
Shaun McCarthy

I went to see Inspector Shaun McCarthy, Scotland Yard.

Detective: "I have reason to believe that the concierge at The Oasis knows
something, but he won't spill it. Any suggestions?"
Shaun McCarthy: "Yes. Tell Pierre that if he doesn't cooperate, I'll start looking
into illegal activities that I know are going on at and around that hotel of his. In
fact, I'll tell him myself."
The Oasis

I went to the Oasis, an Egyptian themed hotel, that catered to a dubious clientele.

Word around town was that a group known as the Green Hand had set up shop in
one of the top floor suites.

I needed to see Pierre Bagot, the Concierge.

Detective: "Let’s try this again. I’m looking for a man. He’s probably staying
here.”
Pierre Bagot (Concierge): The moment I gave the physical description I'd heard,
Pierre's hands started shaking. "His name is Ignatius Krupp, but you did not hear
that name from me, detective. He is staying in room 309."
Ignatius Krupp

Ignatius Krupp was a man in his mid-thirties, tall and lean in the cold, calculating
manner of a true assassin. Around his neck he bore the sword/cross symbol of the
Dies Arcanum Brotherhood, a symbol larger and sharper in presence on the hilt of
his blades. It was difficult to imagine a man like him working for a church. But
there was a glimmer of something odd in his eyes, something human and
compassionate. I got the impression that he was a man who simply accepted his
work as necessary, contradictions or not.

Detective: "Let's skip to the point, Mr. Krupp. What is your connection to these
crimes? I know that you were at the scene of the museum robbery. Why?"
Ignatius Krupp: "The Brotherhood has been looking for something out in the
desert. The Red Queen Society thought that they would enamor themselves
towards us by stealing a critical piece of our investigation from the British
Museum. I was sent to be their witness. All I have witnessed, though, is carnal
butchery and base avarice. The truck carried the three Red Queen buffoons, while
the other car sat nearby, idling. There was no interaction and after the truck left,
they moved off in another direction. I pursued the truck."
Felicia Maretti

I returned to Felicia Maretti's home and once more held court with the mob's
master assassin.

Detective: "Where were you at the time of the murder?"

Felicia Maretti: "Hah...well, let's get on down to it. At the time of the murder, I
was talking with a good friend of mine who neglected to mention my presence
when you first asked her. Her name's Laurel Penchant. We went to school
together once upon a time.”
Laurel Penchant

I returned to "Snicker-Snack Knickknacks" to speak to Laurel Penchant, witness to

the crime.

Detective: "Felicia Maretti told me that she was here when the crime took
place?"
Laurel Penchant: Ms. Penchant reluctantly nodded.

"Yes. Felicia stopped by to say hello. We hadn't seen each other in years."

Detective: "Doesn't it seem odd to you that Ms. Maretti would show up after
such a long absence at the precise time that a crime occurred?"
Laurel Penchant: "It did seem rather odd, but I decided that it was just a chance
encounter. Do you think there was more to it?"

Detective: "What did you and Ms. Maretti talk about?"

Laurel Penchant: "Nothing important, really. She mentioned that she was making
good money working for a family business. I showed her around the shop. It's not
much, but it's mine."
Felicia Maretti

I returned to Felicia Maretti's home and once more held court with the mob's
master assassin.

Detective: "You showed up rather unexpectedly at Ms. Penchant's shop. Quite a

coincidence, really. Mind telling me what's going on here?"
Felicia Maretti: Felicia smiled. In the short time we'd known each other, her
directness and helpfulness could've almost made you forget what she did for a
living. But that smile didn't leave any doubts.

"I wanted you to know. You see, they told me that they were going to do it
without us, out of spite really. So I wanted to show them how easy it was to have
a witness nearby and have all their plans go up in smoke. Now they have an
eyewitness, a detective hot on their trail, and a precious artifact they have to hide.
Nobody makes a play at the House and gets away with it."
Alice Masters

"Why must you insist on disturbing me, detective?"

Detective: “You’ve made some serious enemies in La Cosa Nostra, Alice. You
know that, don’t you?”
Alice Masters: "The mob doesn't scare me, detective. The Society of the Red
Queen will protect its members, even unto death. Our secrets are great and
hidden. You will never know our true nature."
Imperial Library

I went to the Imperial Library. Somber eyes stared out from countless works of
priceless art, following my progress across the warm wooden floors.

In addition to enough paintings and sculptures to fill a good sized museum, the
Imperial Library boasted the world's largest collection of mystery and detective
novels. That is, they had once boasted it.

Recently, an epidemic of overdue and lost books had taken its toll, and the
librarians had decided that drastic measures were necessary. A bounty of $1000
had been issued for the return of any of the missing books.

I wanted to talk to Samantha Brown, the Librarian.

Detective: “I need to see everything you have on the Red Queen Society.”
Samantha Brown (Librarian): Samantha smiled. "The fiction section is that way."

I glared at her. “I'm serious, Sam.”

"Very well. Go check the personal records. Something might turn up in there."
Research #2
After hours of research on the known members of the Red Queen Society, I was
able to reliably log three facts:

1. It didn't exist outside of London.

2. The reason for this was, there were only a few members.

3. The members were heirs and heiresses with bad spending habits and a
history of boredom.

And there you had it...dangerous children. I hated the predictability of it all, that
an old man was dead now because he'd been hired by a bunch of rich kids to
research an obscure relic. How could anyone value human life so little? In my line
of work, I'd learned not to ask that question. The answer was invariably
depressing.
Willis Foucault

I once again stifled the urge to break Willis Foucault's nose and paid him a visit.

Detective: "Willis, I did a bit of reading on your group. You know what I found?
You've never done anything...any of you. You're a bunch of rich kids who read
too many pulp novels. Now let me tell you what I see: a bunch of bored rich kids
playing with fire."
Willis Foucault: Willis was not Garrity's equal at the stone face. I knew there had
to be at least one. He looked like he was about to wet himself with fear.

"It was all Alice's idea. Honest. Her dad's a Catholic and she wanted the Dies
Arcanum to come to London. I just helped out, really. I didn't know that they killed
someone!"
Alice Masters

"Why must you insist on disturbing me, detective?"

Detective: "Your buddy Willis spilled the beans. He fingered you as the
mastermind behind the museum robbery. Now why don't you tell me about the
murder and maybe, just maybe, you'll get out of prison while you still have
teeth."
Alice Masters: "Willis is lying. He and I were the ones carting the stone out.
Donald drove. But our...other member set it all up. We never met that one. They
were careful about that."

Detective: “Where is the damned tablet?”

Alice Masters: "I don't know! Donald sent us out to remove suspicions and drove
off with it. Only he knows. It was supposed to be safer that way. How was I
supposed to know he'd disappear?"
Twist #3
Willis was gone, no doubt retreating to the security of the Hyperion Club,
wherever that was.
Twist #4
Alice Masters, like her compatriot, had vanished.

Likely they were all returning to their secret little clubhouse, hiding from little old
me.
Ignatius Krupp

I returned to share some more time with Mr. Ignatius Krupp. I was amazed, if
nothing else, by his sincerity. I'm not used to such helpful killers.

Detective: “Can you help me find the Hyperion Club? The Red Queen Society has
gone into hiding.”
Ignatius Krupp: "Fortunately, I can. Just be careful. The Society itself may be
harmless, but I cannot help thinking that there are other factors at work here."
Twist #5
"This is Detective Michael Bagen, open up!"

They didn't listen and I, much to my secret glee, kicked the door to the Hyperion
Club so hard it flew off its hinges. But my joy was short lived for what I found
inside.

The lounge was small, but comfortable. The Red Queen Society never had more
than a few members, I'd gathered from my research. But the small, expensively
furnished room was a surprise. It was a shrine to the idle rich playing in the
influence game. There were charts, graphs, and dozens of files on various criminal
activities throughout London. And around the table sat the three known (and
possibly only real) members of the Red Queen Society: Donald Garrity, Alice
Masters, and Willis Foucault. All three were dead.

I took a long look at the bodies. They were fresh dead with their foreheads against
the table. No wounds. No bruises. My only clue was found under the table, with a
trio of wine glasses, all spilt into the rug. Poison had killed them, and judging from
their rictus it was strychnine. But who would do this.

A barely audible breeze coasted through the room and I shut my eyes.

"Ignatius?"

The voice of the Dies Arcanum's enforcer confirmed my suspicions. "I am here."

"Did you do this?"

"It is not my preferred method. I am a bladesman, as your acquaintance Ms.

Maretti is by all accounts a shootist."

"Damned straight," came a familiar voice from the doorway. Felicia was standing
in the doorway, Tommy Gun leaning against her hip. She surveyed the room. "You
know. This really cheeses me off. I feel cheated."

I grunted and rose. "You'll get over it." Killers don't like being looked at, especially
in the way I was looking at the pair in the room with me. They were assassins,
cold-blooded, but definitely professionals. Contrary to popular myth, the ol'
strychnine in the wine glass trick doesn't usually work very well. You practically
have to fill the bottle with it to get the necessary concentration, and try doing that
to people who're used to seeing the bottle opened in front of them.

"This was an inside job," I said bleakly, and looked at Felicia. "Are there any more
of them?"

She shrugged. "Obviously, but I couldn't tell you who they are. There's a fourth
chair, so maybe one more."

I held my gaze on Felicia a moment longer than she would've liked. "What is your
stake in this," I asked her.

"Curiosity," she answered, half-smiling.

I looked to Krupp. "And you?"

"Closure." The tall man opened his coat and let me have a look at the ten inch
blade he had stowed away. "I was sent here to evaluate the Red Queen Society
and what threat was posed by its bungling. My mission is clear: exterminate."

"I can't allow that."

"I did not ask for your approval. What of your motives, detective? Surely the death
you are investigating was committed by those dead before us. And they were thus
betrayed. Case closed.”

"No. I still have a killer to find...other than the two I'm currently speaking to, of
course. You two are assassins, so I'm sure you'll understand. It's the head that
does the thinking. The hand just slaps."

Felicia growled. "You've got quite a lip, gumshoe. Let me fatten it for--"

Ignatius held a hand between us. "Not now, Ms. Maretti. We work towards a
common purpose. And I believe I see the detective's point." He looked to me. "If
I'm not mistaken, we have accounted for the evidence thusly: There was a car and
a truck, the truck containing the three known members of the now late Red
Queen Society. The other car, which you and Ms. Maretti found later, was the one
used in the murder."

I nodded. "And that probably was driven by our friend who killed Mr. Stone."

There it was, the final arrangement that brought it all full circle. The murderer was
a...no, something still didn't sit right with me, but that was to be resolved. Time to
hit the streets.
Ignatius Krupp

I returned to share some more time with Mr. Ignatius Krupp. I was amazed, if
nothing else, by his sincerity. I'm not used to such helpful killers.

Detective: "I'm willing to believe that you didn't kill the Red Queen Society, and
that you weren't driving that car that killed Horace Stone. So who did? Any
idea?"
Ignatius Krupp: “Not as of yet. But I was pondering the nature of the beast, so to
speak. A man or woman who is capable of such subterfuge and deception is
clearly not going to be easy to find. We should perhaps begin with how the three
were acquainted. A common fourth may be revealed. The other clue may lie in the
name of the society itself, which I must confess has confused me since the
beginning. Is it a reference to literature, or perhaps to the dress of their leader? So
many questions."
Eye of the Needle

I headed over to the Eye of the Needle, the finest tailor shop in town.

I was there to talk to Penelope Pins, the Tailor.

Detective: “Penelope, do you have many wealthy clients? In particular, I’m

looking into deep red gowns of the regal sort?”
Penelope Pins (Tailor): "No, I haven't gotten any jobs like that. But I do a bit of
work for people with money, mostly the young ones. I don't get to make the work,
but they hire me for repairs because I work fast and can keep a secret. It's the
irony of the rich, I suppose. They buy prestigious gowns from famous dressmakers,
and keep me in business resewing the shoddy stitches they bought. They were
party dresses, mostly, the sort of thing that you wear once and discard."
British Museum

The British Museum was almost deserted, at that time of day. The ancient
treasures almost seemed to resent my intrusion on their solitude.

Shrugging off the feeling, I headed for the basement. I wanted to speak with Harry
Kumar, the Curator.

Detective: "You mentioned Donald Garrity to me once. I've since found two
people that he often associated with, a Willis Foucault and Alice Masters. I was
wondering, do you recall any other friends of theirs that they often appeared
with at art openings?"
Harry Kumar (Curator): "I'm afraid not, detective. They usually were here and
there, talking but never listening. I do recall that they had on occasion some
strange charms sewn into the dress of Ms. Masters, who was wearing a white
gown."
Eye of the Needle

I headed over to the Eye of the Needle, the finest tailor shop in town.

I was there to talk to Penelope Pins, the Tailor.

Detective: “Do you recall doing any work sewing an emblem into a dress for
Alice Masters?”
Penelope Pins (Tailor): "Oh God, that thing! She wanted me to sew a red crown
charm into a silk dress. She said that a friend of hers suggested it. Then she went
on for ever and ever about how it had to be from this little shop that sells useless
trinkets. The only reason I found the place is because it's so close to the Owl and
Walnut! And it's appropriate. Only a drunk would buy the useless tripe sold
there."
Laurel Penchant

I returned to "Snicker-Snack Knickknacks" to speak to Laurel Penchant, witness to

the crime.

Detective: "I understand that you're a friend of Ms. Alice Masters, Laurel. Could
you tell me what you know about the Red Queen Society, and be honest this
time? I need to find the fourth member, the mastermind."
Laural Penchant: The gentle image of Ms. Penchant dissolved and a slightly
haughtier version emerged. She waved a hand and laughed.

"You make them sound so dramatic, detective. They were foolish children, just
practiced at it with age. And to my knowledge, there were only three of them."
Shaun McCarthy

I went to see Inspector Shaun McCarthy, Scotland Yard.

Detective: “Any leads on your end?”

Shaun McCarthy: "Yes, actually. As you know, the weather in London is almost
perpetually wet this time of year. As such, we were able to discover a few prints
on the shore, just beside the discarded car. We've identified one as yours, of
course, and the other two belonging to slim people's boots. One appears to have
been driving the vehicle, while the other circled the car, probably to douse it with
gasoline."
Bushels of Bunyons Podiatry

I made my way to Bushels of Bunyons Podiatry.

I didn't have an appointment, so I simply walked past the protesting receptionist

and into the exam room. I knew she wouldn't like it, but I had to talk to Dr. Carolyn
Smythe, the Podiatrist.

Detective: "Is there anything you can tell me about the Driver's footprint?"
Carolyn Smythe (Podiatrist): "Well, I can tell you a few things, detective. First of
all, from the weight distribution, I can tell that they're wearing elevated boots, no
doubt to disguise their true height. Also, the boots are worn, but likely expensive."

Detective: "Is there anything you can tell me about the other footprint?"
Carolyn Smythe (Podiatrist): "Oh dear...about that one, I have to say I'm stumped.
It looks like...well, I don't know. I think it's a formal shoe of some kind, perhaps a
slipper. Whoever it is, though, they have very small feet. In all my years as a
doctor, I have never seen a man with a foot this small. It's probably a slim
woman."
Ignatius Krupp

I returned to share some more time with Mr. Ignatius Krupp. I was amazed, if
nothing else, by his sincerity. I'm not used to such helpful killers.

Detective: "Whoever the Red Queen is, I've discovered that her driver seems to
wear elevator shoes. He's a runt."
Ignatius Krupp: "He, or she, detective. This does not bode well, as I noticed that
Ms. Maretti seems to wear height-enhancing footwear. Perhaps her story bears
some further analysis."
Guido Carapace

I returned to the expansive company of Guido Carapace, once more confirming

that he could kill me and hide the evidence (i.e. me) in his gullet without too
much trouble.

Detective: "I need to ask you a few questions about Felicia Maretti. She's helping
me because, as she says, the Red Queen Society was big on manipulating the
factions and this offended her."
Guido Carapace: When Guido heard this, his massive bulk began to shake. Within
a few seconds, his body was erupting in laughter.

"She said that? That little witch actually tried to play it off as loyalty?" Guido
apparently saw this as very funny. "She's the one we had to physically stop from
taking the contract. She's crazy. She'll off anyone, not even for the money. Hah!
Loyalty. That's rich."
Shaun McCarthy

I went to see Inspector Shaun McCarthy, Scotland Yard.

Detective: "I had a look at the evidence you gave me. From the look of it, one of
them was a woman wearing slippers. I think she and the other one were the
ones who killed Horace Stone."
Shaun McCarthy: "She's most likely the Red Queen you've been telling me about.
The other one is the lackey, probably a local enforcer."
Owl and Walnut

Despite the early hour, I headed over to the Owl and Walnut, a once famous pub
that had recently fallen on hard times. The place was crowded with chatting
locals, as always.

Lurking near the back, I could make out the shape of one of the bar's regulars. He
was the local fixer, and it seemed like every city had one, if you knew where to
look. An unpleasant person to deal with, but one who was sometimes necessary.

I wanted to talk to Bernie Ells, the Bartender.

Detective: "I have a really odd question, Bernie. Do you know anything about
Ms. Penchant's Shop nearby? Have you ever met her?"
Bernie Ells (Bartender): "Laurel's a hard woman to know, but yes I've met her.
She's a little crazy and a lot bitter. I go to see her sometimes, but I won't say that I
really know her. I doubt anyone does."

Detective: "Did you see her on the night of the murder?"

Bernie Ells (Bartender): "Yes, in fact. I was looking down the street after that man
was killed, looking for the car. It stopped in front of Ms. Penchant's shop, which I
found odd. What was really weird, though, was that Ms. Penchant got out and
went inside!"
Laurel Penchant

I returned to "Snicker-Snack Knickknacks" to speak to Laurel Penchant, witness to

the crime.

Detective: "You lied to me, Laurel. You knew who was in that car...YOU! You
weren't alone, either, were you? Don't bother answering. I've had enough lies.
All I really want to know is...why?"
Laurel Penchant: "Ambition, detective. They were rich and I am poor, but I have
what they do not: drive. I created the Red Queen Society, coerced them into
developing an interest in archeology, and ultimately, played the lot of them. There
never was a Red Queen Society...only the bloody queen herself. Three of London's
finest dead and a priceless artifact lost to the Arcanum. Profit and power achieved
with only the deaths of three useless elitists and a pathetic old man."
Conclusion
The moment the handcuffs were out of my pocket, gunfire tore across the front of
the store. Glass shattered and a voice came clear across the din.

"Can you guess who was driving, detective?"

I knew that voice. Felicia Maretti.

I dashed for cover just as another roar of gunfire tore apart a countertop. There
was a telltale clicking as Maretti reloaded. I looked up and found Penchant
running for the door. I made to run after her, but a cold breeze ghosted past me
and a flash of light glimmered momentarily on Penchant's back. She fell over and I
saw a long knife stuck between her shoulder blades.

Behind me, Ignatius Krupp cleared his throat.

"Ms. Maretti," he announced, "Surrender."

Off in the distance, I could hear the gunning of an engine. Maretti was getting
away. I couldn't believe it. A La Casa Nostra enforcer running out on a fight?

Ignatius Krupp looked down at me. "She's afraid. Her people will know that she
betrayed them. She thinks I need her to tell me where the Tablet of Ordo is. And
thus, she runs."

I rose and looked over Laurel Penchant's killer. I couldn't take him in. He'd kill me
in an instant if I tried. "Why aren't you chasing her, then?"

"Because I already know where the tablet is. I was following Garrity's truck. Her
fate is not my concern. All I have been sent to execute, I have executed. Their
lackey is not my concern."

Krupp retrieved his knife from Penchant's back, then rose. "Amusingly enough, the
efforts of the Red Queen would seem to have been successful. We are impressed
and she has delivered to us the Tablet of Ordo."
"Then why did you kill her?" I asked.

"Because she was a liability. Her type are motivated by the most dangerous of
sins, pride. She could not be trusted."

And with that, he walked away. Every just instinct in my body ordered me to stop
him, to do...something to keep him from fleeing. But it was pointless. The
Arcanum had won and if I wanted to explain any of this, I'd need more than the
corpse of Ignatius Krupp.

It was strange, but there in the shattered remains of a curio shop, a dead woman
at my feet, it all became clear. He'd wanted me to find her, the Red Queen, all
along. He'd met with his son to make their final amends. It had always been about
his work, and finding out the true power behind his employers. What was so
important about that tablet? What had he found when he translated it? Only the
Arcanum knew now. With Penchant dead and Maretti missing, I was left with
more questions than answers. I've hated cases like that.

I had a very bad feeling about this.