Lt Aleks Więcek - Murder Mo(i)st Foul
Travis
(( Midnight Express Dining Car, Holodeck 4 – USS Artemis-A ))
Aleks was wedged into a booth in a posh, upper-class dining car of an early 20th-century (he assumed) steam train. Across from him sat Roy Bancroft, the mustachioed and enbearded Acting Chief Medical Officer of the Artemis.
They'd just begun examining the rather interesting cast of characters the holo-adventure had provided for them.
Więcek: Mister Morel. ::He paused.:: Tell me, who is that charming lady over there?
Aleks gestured in the direction of the grumpy German. Mister Morel leaned closer.
Morel: Ah, that is Fräulein Sauer. Superintendent of the Bitte-Nein Academy! ::He smiled broadly.:: I told you there would be great company tonight!
Bancroft: Bitte-Nein Academy. ::after a beat:: Well, the name does rather give away the curriculum. Who funds it?
An uncomfortable expression crossed Morel's face like a shadow, then it was gone. His cordial tone was dampened only slightly as he replied.
Morel: Lord Percival Vale, sir. Owner of this railway and principal benefactor of the academy for nearly twenty years. Though I understand the arrangement may be–
Vale: Ending?
A voice from behind Mr. Morel interrupted.
Leaning a little to peer around Morel, Aleks saw a man who could only be Lord Percival Vale himself. He stood in the aisle, leaning on an ornate ebony cane. An older man with hair that was fully grey, Vale was well dressed and clearly a man of status.
His gaze settled on Morel with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Vale: Gossip is such a delicate art, André. One really ought to know whether the subject is within earshot.
Morel: Lord Vale. I was merely informing Detective Bancroft of the other distinguished passengers.
With Morel on the backfoot, Vale's eyes shifted to the placecard on the table, before directing his attention at Roy.
Vale: A detective. How providential.
Then it was Aleks who was under scrutiny. Vale scanned his hat and dress, before settling on the gold band with the large rock on his left ring finger.
Vale: And Mrs. Bancroft, I presume.
Aleks flashed an especially disingenuous smile at Vale as he replied, noticing the attention the ring was drawing. Committing to the bit, Aleks played his character as best he could.
Więcek: In the flesh. ::He held out his hand, letting the ring glitter in the light.:: See something you like, Mister Vale?
Vale inclined his head, taking Aleks’ ring-hand in his own.
Vale: A magnificent stone. Though I once saw a rather more convincing imitation in Antwerp.
With an offended expression that he hardly had to fake, Aleks withdrew his hand, holding it close to his chest, defensively. His eyes flitted to Roy, then back to Vale.
Więcek::Sarcastically.:: How charming. ::He scowled.:: I'd hate for my husband to have to defend my honor...
Seemingly unfazed, Vale moved on to the next set booth.
Vale: Fräulein Sauer. How trusting of you to leave your girls unattended for the evening.
Sauer: ::icily:: My pupils are young ladies of character, Lord Vale.
Vale: They may soon require that character. ::faux-joyfully:: It is so... useful when funding becomes uncertain.
The woman’s mouth tightened as Vale proceeded to General Taffington’s table.
Vale: General. I had imagined the War Office might prefer to keep you close until the Ashcombe papers were recovered.
The general’s flushed face darkened by another shade.
Taffington: ::darkly:: Careful, Vale.
Vale: ::low whisper:: Oh, I have been. That is precisely why the papers remain missing.
Vale turned next to Taffington’s dining companion.
Vale: Lady Margerie. Or are we using Miss Bell this evening? These informal arrangements do become difficult to catalogue.
Margerie: ::acidly:: You always did confuse cruelty with wit.
Vale: ::fake laugh:: Only among friends, I assure you my dear.
As the general's consort rose angrily, she brushed against Aleks’ ridiculous hat, snagging some of her jewelry on the gaudy ostrich plume.
Margerie: Oh, damn this ridiculous thing.
Aleks' head was yanked around a bit as she freed the bracelet, leaving the hat off kilter and forcing him to reset it on his head with a perturbed expression.
Margerie: My apologies, sir– pardon, ma’am.
He made a show of rubbing his neck after she manhandled his headwear. His planned aggravated retort was disarmed a little by a suggestive look from the sultry blonde in the low-cut dress.
Maybe he wasn't that committed to the character...
He waved a dismissive hand.
Więcek: No harm done.
Lady Margerie stormed toward the rear of the car without a glance back at Vale or the General.
Seemingly satisfied with himself, Vale redirected his ire on Morel.
Vale: André, the dining-car clock is nearly two minutes slow.
Morel: I’ll see to it immediately, sir.
Vale: You said much the same thing at Ashcombe House. Before you were dismissed, of course.
For a moment, Morel's mask of professionalism and protocol cracked, and his disdain for Vale flashed across his face. Then it was gone, as quickly as it had come.
Vale continued to the front of the car, tapping his cane dramatically before settling into an impossibly ornate, high-backed leather chair at the finest table available. An expensive-looking crystal decanter full of freshly poured champagne bubbled next to a single champagne flute.
Roy and Aleks exchanged knowing glances as they processed all that had happened in the past couple of minutes. It seemed all the players had been added to the board; now they just had to wait for someone to make a move.
Seeing Roy tuck into his sherry, Aleks lifted his whiskey and took a sip. He managed to wince only slightly at the burning brown liquid, which he was proud of.
The train chugged along in the darkness, and Aleks could barely make out the mountainous terrain through the snow flurries that streaked by the windows. A conductor entered the car, stopping to speak to Morel as he made his rounds.
Roy and Aleks were close enough to overhear the conversation.
Conductor: The signalman reports heavy accumulation above Sable Pass. We may be held at the eastern switch.
Morel: For how long?
The conductor, seemingly unconcerned, simply shrugged and moved on toward the next car.
At the front of the car, Vale removed a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat and examined it. The dining-car clock showed four minutes to midnight. Based on his expression, the watch disagreed.
Vale set it open beside his champagne glass, then struck the rim twice with a spoon. The conversations around the car faded reluctantly.
Vale: Ladies and gentlemen. As we approach midnight, I find myself reflecting upon friendship, loyalty, and… the settlement of old accounts.
Around the car, there was an epidemic of uncomfortable movement from all of Vale's associates. Aleks slugged away another sip of whiskey in an unladylike fashion as he listened.
Vale lifted the champagne.
Vale: Before this train reaches Veymont, several longstanding arrangements will come to an end. Financial, professional... and otherwise.
The old record player-thing skipped again and a section of exuberant brass band music repeated several times.
Vale: I’m sure those concerned will find the experience clarifying.
Then the train dove headlong into a tunnel.
What little lighting there was flickered and dimmed as the old steam engine strained against the steep incline that caused the dining car to lean to one side.
There was a flurry of movement in the near darkness as guests hurried to stabilize their drinks, their dinner, or themselves against the gradual tilt of the world around them.
Lord Vale however, remained perfectly still, staring out at the rest with his signature expression of condescension.
Aleks' head was on a swivel, trying to take in all the little things as Roy scrambled up and out of the booth, his sherry knocked onto its side in the scuffle, staining the pristine tablecloth. Aleks retreated from the spreading spill, wiggling free of the booth just in time to see Roy by Vale's side.
Now he could see the problem. Something about the way Vale's head lolled to the side was all wrong. The thin smoke trail of his cigarette that had burned down to the butt, threatened to burn the man's fingers. Concerned voices began to rise from the passengers behind them as Vale began to slump sideways out of his seat, only to be caught by Roy.
The Doctor checked for a pulse before stabilizing the old man in his chair. His cigarette finally tumbled from his singed fingers, and Roy managed to sweep it away before it could do any damage. Aleks gathered his skirts and maneuvered his tall frame down the aisle toward his scene partner.
Just when they thought the scene couldn't get more dramatic, there was a jolt, followed by the metal-on-metal screech of the brakes being applied.
Aleks turned to Roy.
Bancroft: ::his fingers still against Vale’s throat:: Well. That answers your question.
Aleks smirked grimly.
Więcek: They really like to get started with a bang... ::He paused.:: Oh, right, hold on...
Remembering his role, he turned to the others, placing his lace-gloved hands to his cheeks in shock.
Więcek: ::Loudly, in a dramatic falsetto.:: Someone has murdered Lord Percival Vale!!
Before Roy could answer, the dining car erupted into a chorus of gasps, outraged murmurs, and frantic exclamations. General Taffington was on his feet, his thick mustache twitching angrily, while Fräulein Sauer clutched her collar, muttering hushed German condemnation about the wicked nature of the voyage. Mr. Morel looked as pale as a ghost, clutching his tray to his chest like a shield.
Bancroft: Response
Aleks leaned over the expired railroad baron, careful to angle his head so that his absurd ostrich plume didn't drop particles all over the corpse. He lowered his voice so that only the doctor could hear as he dropped back into the mindset of the former Intelligence Analyst that he was.
Więcek: It was fast-acting, whatever it was. No twitching or spasms; he was gone in the few seconds it took us to get through the tunnel...
Bancroft: Response
The grumbling of the crowd was growing louder. Straightening to his full height plus heels, Aleks turned to face the rapidly deteriorating cabin. He smoothed down the midnight-blue silk taffeta of his dress with dramatic precision, stepping into the aisle to block the exit like an overgrown, immaculately dressed bouncer at a very exclusive nightclub.
Więcek: Everyone stay put! ::He gestured grandly toward Roy.:: My husband, Detective Bancroft of the... the police, is taking control of this dining car. No one goes in or out!
He glanced back at Bancroft with a shrug at his lack of a better organization to assign him to. This wasn’t a period of history that he’d studied with any kind of enthusiasm.
Bancroft: Response
Aleks pointed an accusing lace-gloved finger straight at Mr. Morel, whose eyes darted frantically between Vale's body and the train door. The tray in his hands rattled against the brass name tag on his chest.
Więcek: Mr. Morel, your hands are shaking worse than the locomotive! ::His eyes narrowed:: Guilty conscience, maybe?
Morel: ::sputtering:: Madam! I assure you, I was merely setting the table!-
The General waddled to his feet, his great belly straining against the confines of his uniform, threatening to send a brass button into orbit at any moment.
Taffington: ::booming:: Absolute madness! I am a representative of the War Office, and I demand-
Aleks was really getting into it now. Raising a finger in the air, he interrupted the General.
Więcek: ::interrupting, coldly sharp:: You demand what, General? To explain why Lord Vale was holding the Ashcombe papers over your head five minutes before he dropped dead? Suspicious to say the least. Sit down before I throw my hat at you!
Aleks cast a sardonic sideways glance down at Bancroft, subtly adjusting the gaudy pearl necklace around his neck.
Więcek: All yours, darling. ::He took an awkward sidestep.:: But let's get on with it, because my knickers are quite literally in a twist.
TAG/TBC
Lt. Aleks Więcek
USS Artemis
O238811CD0