The Scarlet Band
Harry Turtledove
Some people seek Truth over all else. But in dealing with human beings, facts may matter less than beliefs--though not always in the way they think.
A stormy November on the North Atlantic. Even a great liner like the Victoria Augusta rolled and pitched in the swells sweeping down from the direction of Iceland. The motion of her deck was not dissimilar to that of a restive horse, though the most restive horse rested at last, while the Victoria Augusta seemed likely to go on jouncing on the sea forever.
Most of the big ship's passengers stayed in their cabins. Nor was that sure proof against seasickness; the sharp stink of vomit filled the passageways, and was liable to nauseate even passengers who might have withstood the motion alone.
A pair of men, though, paced the promenade deck as if it were July on the Mediterranean. Passing sailors sent them curious looks. "'Ere, now," one of the men in blue said, touching a deferential forefinger to his cap. "Shouldn't you toffs go below? It'll be easier to take, like, if you do."
"I find the weather salubrious enough, thank you," the taller and leaner of the pair replied. "I am glad to discern that we shall soon come into port."
"Good heavens, Helms--how can you know that?" his companion ejaculated in surprise.
Athelstan Helms puffed on his pipe. "Nothing simpler, Doctor. Have you not noted that the waves discommoding our motion are sharper and more closely spaced than they were when we sailed the broad bosom of the Atlantic? That can only mean a shallow bottom beneath us, and a shallow bottom surely presages the coastline of Atlantis."
"Right you are, sir. Sure as can be, you've got your sea legs under you, to feel something like that." The sailor's voice held real respect now. "Wasn't more than fifteen minutes ago I 'eard the chief engineer say we was two, maybe three, hours out of 'Anover."
"Upon my soul," Dr. James Walton murmured. "It all seems plain enough when you set it out, Helms."
"I'm glad you think so," Helms replied. "You do commonly seem to."
Walton chuckled, a little self-consciously. "By now I ought not to be surprised at your constantly surprising me, what?" He laughed again, louder this time. "A bit of a paradox, that, don't you think?"
"A bit," Athelstan Helms agreed, an unaccustomed note of indulgence in his voice.
The sailor stared at him, then aimed a stubby forefinger in the general direction of his sternum. "I know who you are, sir," he said. "You're that detective feller!"
"Only an amateur," Helms replied.
He might as well have left the words unsaid. As if he had, the sailor rounded on Dr. Walton. "And you must be the bloke 'oo writes up 'is adventures. I've read a great plenty of 'em, I 'ave."
"You're far too kind, my good man." Walton, delighted to trumpet Athelstan Helms' achievements to the skies, was modest about his own.
"But what brings the two of you to Atlantis?" the sailor asked. "I thought you stayed in England, where it's civilized, like."
"As a matter of fact--" Dr. Walton began.
Helms smoothly cut in: "As a matter of fact, that is a matter we really should not discuss before conferring with the authorities in Hanover."
"I get you, sir." The sailor winked and laid a finger by the side of his nose. "Mum's the word. Not a soul will hear from me." Away he went, almost bursting with self-importance.
"It will be all over the ship before we dock," Dr. Walton said dolefully.
Athelstan Helms nodded. "Of course it will. But it can't get off the ship before we dock, so that is a matter of small consequence."
"Why didn't you want me to mention the House of Universal Devotion, then?" Dr. Walton asked. "For I saw that you prevented my doing so."
"Indeed." Helms nodded. "I believe the sailor may well be a member of that curious sect."
"Him? Good heavens, Helms! He's as English as Yorkshire pudding."
"No doubt. And yet the House, though Atlantean in origin, has its devotees in our land as well, and in the Terranovan republics and principalities. If the case with which we shall be concerned in the United States of Atlantis did not have ties to our England, you may rest assured I should not have embarked on the Victoria Augusta, excellent though she may be." Helms paused as another sailor walked past. When the man was out of earshot, the detective continued, "Did you note nothing unusual about the manner in which our recent acquaintance expressed himself?"
"Unusual? Not really." Dr. Walton shook his head. "A Londoner from the East End, I make him out to be. Not an educated man, even if he has his letters. Has scant respect for his aitches, but not quite a Cockney."
Although Helms' pinched features seemed to have little room for a smile, when one did find a home it illuminated his whole face. "Capital, Walton!" he said, and made as if to clap his hands. "I agree completely. You analysis is impeccable--well, nearly so, anyhow."
"'Nearly'? How have I gone astray?" By the way Walton said it, he did not believe he'd strayed at all.
"As you are such a cunning linguist, Doctor, I am confident the answer will suggest itself to you in a matter of moments." Athelstan Helms waited. When Walton shook his head, Helms shrugged and said, "Did you not hear the intrusive 'like' he used twice? Most un-English, but a common enough Atlantean locution. Begun by an actor--one of the Succot brothers, I believe--a generation ago, and adopted by the generality. I conjecture this fellow may have acquired it in meetings with his fellow worshipers."
"It could be." Dr. Walton stroked his salt-and-pepper chin whiskers. "Yes, it could be. But not all Atlanteans belong to the House of Universal Devotion. Far from it, in fact. He could have learned that interjection innocently enough."
"Certainly. That is why I said no more than that he might well be a member of the sect," Helms replied. "But I do find it likely, as the close and continuous intercourse amongst members of the House while engaged in worship seems calculated to foster such accretions. And he knew who we were. Members of the House, familiar with the difficulties the Atlantean constabulary is having with this case, may also be on the lookout for assistance from a foreign clime."
"Hmm," Walton said, and then, "Hmm," again. "How could they know the chief inspector in Hanover--"
"Chief of police, they call him," Helms noted.
"Chief of police, then," Walton said impatiently. "How could they know he sought your aid and not that of, say, Scotland Yard?"
"The easiest way to effect that would be to secret someone belonging to the House of Universal Devotion within the Hanoverian police department, something which strikes me as not implausible," Athelstan Helms said. "Other possible methodologies are bound to suggest themselves upon reflection."
By the unhappy expression spreading over Dr. Walton's fleshy countenance, such methodologies did indeed suggest themselves. But before he could mention any of them, a shout from the bow drew his attention, and Athelstan Helms' as welclass="underline" "Hanover Light! Hanover Light ahead!"
Helms all but quivered with anticipation. "Before long, Doctor, we shall see what we shall see."
"So we shall." Walton seemed less enthusiastic.
Hanover Light was one of the engineering marvels of the age. Situated on a wave-washed rock several miles east of the Atlantean coast, the lighthouse reached more than 300 feet into the air. The lamps in the upper story guided ships in from far out to sea.
Hanover itself cupped a small enclosed bay that formed the finest harbor on the east coast of Atlantis--a better harbor, even, than Avalon in the more lightly settled Atlantean west. Steam tugs with heavy rope fenders nudged the Victoria Augusta to her berth. Sailors tossed lines to waiting longshoremen, who made the ship fast to the pier. The liner's engines sighed into silence.