Opening scenes – the Search for the Crimson Lady

THE DAY WAS TOO NICE to be inside. A band of towering cumulus clouds had gathered on the horizon, looking like piles of cotton wool. Waves rode gently to shore, each a perfect repetition of the one in front, like oversized ripples. Tara brought her skimmer down in front of the house listed in the local news, joining half a dozen other early arrivals for the clearance sale. Some she recognized from previous sales she’d attended. Sigmar Sutton, the antiques dealer, sat in his skimmer and Borg Jansen stood under a tree on the verge. He would be trying to persuade the vendors to sell him the lot at a bargain basement price. She hoped the vendors wouldn’t be so silly.

The sale was supposed to start at nine, but with people waiting outside, the door would probably be opened earlier.

Tara leaned against her skimmer enjoying the warmth. It was too hot for this time of year and those clouds would probably turn into thunderheads. But by the time that happened she would be back on the island.

The two-story house stood on a large block in one of Hedron’s better, beachside suburbs, so the land would be worth a small fortune. The house itself was constructed in the old colonial style, with wide verandas on both floors. Somebody had spent money on the garden. It was beautifully designed, with swathes of carefully color-matched plantings, in keeping with the beachside setting.

She wondered if it had some sort of exciting history. Had it been the home of a politician? Or a notorious pirate? But probably not. It would have been mentioned in the ad. Even so, maybe she could pick up some nice items, perhaps an antique, if Sutton didn’t nab it first.

The front door opened. Tara waited until everyone else had filed in, then followed into the foyer. She smiled at a middle-aged woman who she guessed was the vendor. “You’re Miz Jepson?”

“That’s right.”

“A deceased estate. Your mother? Father?”

“No. My brother. You might have seen the article in the local news. He drowned a few weeks ago.”

Yes, of course. Leif Web. She’d forgotten all about it until now. He’d gone fishing in his boat out around the islands and never came back. There’d been a full-scale search for a couple of days. They found his overturned boat and then a day later his body, washed up on a beach at one of the tiny islands in the archipelago. That had been a few weeks ago.

“I remember hearing about it. Condolences.”

The woman lifted a shoulder. “That’s life. Sad, really. He’d not long come back to live here. The items for sale are in the two front rooms if you’d like to go through.”

Tara could take a hint.

The room oozed elegance in a show home sort of way. Muted colors, grey sofas, cushions adding a splash of brightness. No real individuality, no sense of the man who had lived here. Not much work had gone into displaying his worldly goods. Items were stacked anywhere there was space. Serviceable dinner ware and cutlery were on a sideboard. A few vases and ornaments stood on a large dining table. That was for sale, too, as was the sideboard. Borg Jansen browsed amongst the furniture offerings. Sutton had already left the room.

Tara spied a model spaceship tucked away on a side table. She picked it up. It was chunky, the kind of vessel primarily used to carry freight. The inscription on the base read ‘Stella Mae’. Grandfather might be interested in adding it to his collection. They weren’t asking much for it. She carried it over to the woman and paid.

“Do you know anything about the ship?”

“No,” Jepson said, checking her comm for the credit transfer. “My brother worked on freighters, though, so this might be one he served on.”

“My grandfather is interested in old ships, especially those that used to work from here.”

“As far as I know, Leif worked out of Ord Lorman. He left years ago and we didn’t keep in touch.”

Ord Lorman was a planet in another system. Oh well. She’d bought the model now.

“Was he the ship’s captain?”

“Oh no. Leif was involved in the freight part, I think. We weren’t close.” She smirked. “To be honest, I was surprised that he came back and even more surprised he could afford a house here.” She turned away, smiling at a young couple approaching her with some of the tableware.

Tara drifted away, into the second room. This appeared to be where the woman had placed what she figured were the least valuable items. More crockery, a few tasteful modern ornaments, some reasonable furniture, and a few boxes of this and that sitting on the floor. Sutton was there, examining an inscribed trophy, which he took out to Miz Jepson. Tara glanced inside one of the boxes and caught a hint of red. She picked up a cracked mug with a picture of a woman in a flowing red dress wrapped around the outside.

Tara’s hands trembled. She knew that design. This was the Crimson Lady, mascot of the famous ship. Just as well Sutton had his hands full. It was good quality porcelain, with a fine texture, basically white, with a red and gold rim. The handle had broken off and it was cracked, the line running down through the woman’s head almost to the base but even so, if it was genuine, if it came from the legendary Crimson Lady, it would be worth… she sucked in a breath… thousands. She turned it over, reading the words on the base. ‘Beecher Designs, Kendon.’ She didn’t know what the symbols meant, but Archimedes, Grandfather’s house IS, would be able to find out.

Tara took a couple of deep breaths and tried to look blasé, then went back to Miz Jepson and held up the mug. “How much do you want for this?”

She stared at Tara. “You know it’s broken?”

“Yes. But I like the design. We might be able to get it fixed.”

She pulled an ‘if you say so’ face. “Take it. You can have it. I was going to throw it out.”

The woman obviously had no idea. Tara smiled, thanked the woman, and forced herself not to hurry out of the house.

She flew the skimmer to the island faster than she should have, juggling a mix of apprehension and excitement. The cloud towers were advancing, creating shadows on a sluggish sea. They were in for a storm, early in the season but weather didn’t seem to care about the niceties of seasons. She got the skimmer into the garage just as the fat drops started to splash down.

Grandfather was in his study watching the rain fall on the house’s central atrium, splatting onto leaves and running down the windows.

“Tara,” he said, smiling. “Just in time.”

She grinned. “I was lucky. Any later and I would have been drenched. I picked this up at a deceased estate sale.” She handed him the ship model, which he set on the desk in front of him.

“Not bad.” He inspected it, then looked up at her. “But I hope you didn’t pay much for it.”

She told him and he laughed. “It’s worth about three times that much.”

The shelves on the wall behind him held ten spaceship models, a fraction of his collection. He changed them out regularly, but the Crimson Lady always held pride of place, the lady in the flowing red dress prominent on her bow. Yes, the design on the mug matched.

“What about this?” Bubbling with excitement, she pushed the ship model aside and put down the mug.

Grandfather’s eyes narrowed and his body tensed. He lifted the mug carefully, turning it in his hands. “Wow.” He stared up at her. “From the same place as the ship?”

She nodded. “A deceased estate. The woman selling doesn’t know anything about the mug, just had it in a box of junk. She gave it to me because it was damaged.”

Grandfather laughed. “I hope you didn’t tell her.”

“Not likely. You’ve taught me better than that.”

“Even in this condition, if it’s genuine, it’s very valuable.” Grandfather frowned, fixing her with his intense dark gaze. “The design appears to be correct. Can you tell me anything, Archimedes?”

The house’s IS responded immediately. “The design matches that of the original ship. Please show me the maker marks on the base.”

Grandfather turned the mug over so the IS could scan it.

“The tableware for the original Crimson Lady was manufactured at the Beecher plant. The company no longer exists, taken over eighty-seven years ago by Chando Corporation. That company has now closed. The new owner is Quanzhou Corporation.”

“So, this mug might be from the original ship?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Butterflies danced down Tara’s spine. She sank into a chair, staring at her grandfather. The old man leaned back, his fingers on his chin, his face serious. “You know, my dear, this is the most tangible link to the Crimson Lady anybody has had since she disappeared. No genuine artifacts have ever been found.” He lifted the mug, turning it in his hand. “If this is genuine then I want to know where it came from.”

“There’s no point in asking at the house. The man who owned it is dead. And the woman at the house, his sister, clearly didn’t know much about him. And cared even less. He’d only lived on the planet for a few months.”

“Every man leaves a trail.” He stared at the mug. “What was his name?”

“Leif Web, the fellow who drowned a few weeks ago.”

“What can you find about him, Archimedes?”

“He was born here in 1480. After an undistinguished education at a local secondary school, Leif got a job with Sembrek Transport, loading the shuttles that took containers up to the space station. After Sembrek was taken over he left Harissa for Ord Lorman in 1505. There is no further record of him until his return this year. He bought the property at North Beach six months ago. He died in a boating accident. Do you wish to hear details of that?”

Grandfather shook his head. “It was all over the news. The idiot went out without a life vest. I don’t know. Some people never learn. Is there anything about his time on Ord Lorman?”

“I can put in a request with the authorities at Ord Lorman. It may take several days to receive a reply.”

“Do that.”

Tara would bet the ‘several days’ was the administrative part of the transaction at Ord Lorman. She still marveled at the fact that almost instantaneous communication was possible over a distance of light years, provided the sender and the recipient both had satellites with shift space capabilities. Still, it made sense. Transferring simple transmissions had been the first breakthrough in the early days of space travel.

In fact, the reply from Ord Lorman arrived several hours later. Being the retired owner of Eldarni Enterprises and very, very rich came with benefits, it seemed.

“Leif Web worked for Consolidated Space Services as cargo master, serving on several freighters on a number of routes. He spent the longest time on the Stella Mae. There is very little on Ord Lorman’s public databases about him. From that we can surmise he was never in trouble with the law. He won first prize in shooting with a local club. His address before he returned home to Harissa was an employee apartment building near the space port.”

That all sounded ordinary with a capital O to Tara. Then he comes back to Harissa and buys and renovates a house at North Beach? “Did he win the lottery or something?” Tara asked.

“I’m sorry, that information is not recorded.”

Grandfather chuckled. “I suppose that’s possible. But freight handlers quite often indulge in a bit of clandestine business on the side. The company accountants have learned to allow for it. A bit like breakages. Still, if we want to know a bit more about Mir Web, we’ll need to visit Ord Lorman.”