The Wheel of Darkness

“What do you propose we do about it?” he asked.

“Well, sir. There was this . . .” Kemper hesitated. “Thisunusual passenger. A rich guy who styles himself a private investigator. He’s the one first spotted the card-counting operation. He’s offered to help identify the individuals involved.”

“In return for what?”

“Well, you see . . .” Kemper stammered a moment. “It appears he’s on board to track down an artifact he claims was stolen from a client of his. If we give him some information on his suspects, he’ll help us with the card counters . . .” His voice trailed off.

“For all we know,” said LeSeur briskly, “this might be a coincidence and we’ll be up a hundred thousand pounds in Mayfair by the end of the night. Let’s wait a few more hours, see if the losses continue. Whatever you do, please deal with itquietly . No melodrama.”

“Right, sir.”

LeSeur watched Kemper go. He felt sorry for the guy—and sorry for himself. Good Christ, if only he were back in the Royal Navy, where they didn’t have casinos, card counters, and neurotic passengers.

16

YOU MADE THE BATHWATER TOO HOT AGAIN,” THE ELDERLY WOMAN said, her shrill voice far too loud for the cabin. “And you put in too little bath oil.”

Inge Larssen struggled to help the old woman—who weighed twice what she did—into her nightwear. “Sorry, mum,” she murmured.

“And how many times do I have to tell you?” The hectoring voice went on as the ancient skin, wrinkled and flaccid as a rooster’s wattle, mercifully disappeared beneath layers of silk and cotton. “Leaving di

left

!”

“Very well, mum.” Wincing at the tight grip the ancient claw had on her shoulder, Inge handed the old woman her cane. Immediately, she received a painful rap on the knuckles with it. “Stand up straight, girl. Do you want me to take a tumble?”

“No, mum.” Inge looked away as she spoke. Looking at her employer only seemed to incite additional criticism.

“Really, you are the

worst

companion I’ve ever had—and I’ve had more than my share, I can tell you. If you don’t shape up I’ll simply have to let you go.”

“I’m very sorry if I’m not giving satisfaction, mum,” Inge replied.

It was the work of half an hour to get the woman into bed, lift her feet into position and tuck them in, apply lotion to her hands and vanishing cream to her face, comb and pin her hair, and fluff up the pillows just so.

“I don’t want to hear a sound out of you, now,” came the croaking voice. “You know how hard I find it to fall asleep.”

“Very well, mum.”

“And leave the door open. I’m a light sleeper and there’s no telling when I might need you.”

“Very well.” As softly and slowly as she could, Inge crept out of the bedroom and took up her position in a chair just outside, in the living room. It was here that she slept, on the couch. The old woman insisted that her beddings be put away first thing in the morning and not brought out until late at night; it seemed to a

She waited, barely daring to breathe, while the old lady muttered and murmured fretfully. Gradually, the sounds died away and the breathing became more regular. Inge sat listening until the loud snoring began, as it always did: despite what the crone said, she was the heaviest of sleepers and never woke up during the night.

Now, very carefully, Inge rose from her chair and moved stealthily past the open bedroom door. The snoring continued unabated. Moving to the entryway, she passed a mirror, and stopped just a moment to make sure she was presentable. A serious young woman with straight blonde hair and sad, almost frightened eyes looked back. She ran a quick hand over her hair. Then, moving to the front door of the suite, she opened it cautiously and exited out into the hall.

She walked down the elegant carpeted corridor, feeling better almost immediately. It was like a dark mist disappearing in the heat of the sun. Reaching the central stairway, she made her way down to the public levels of the ship. It was so much cheerier here: people chatted, laughed. More than one man smiled at her as she walked past the shops, cafés, and wine bars: although shy and a little awkward, Inge was attractive, and her Swedish heritage was unmistakable.

She had been working for the old woman for two months now, and it was unlike anything she had anticipated. Orphaned at an early age, she had led a sheltered childhood, growing up in convent schools. When it was time to find a job, she had secured a position as a ladies’ companion through an agency that was affiliated with the convent. It seemed perfect. Her spoken English was impeccable, and the school provided her with excellent references. She had no place to live, and being a companion would provide both room and board. And better yet, traveling with a wealthy lady would allow her to see the outside world she had daydreamed about so often.

But the reality could not have been more different. Her employer was critical of her every move; Inge couldn’t think of a single word of praise she had been given. While she was awake, the old woman required constant attendance and demanded that her every whim be carried out instantly. Inge was not allowed to leave her side. It was like being in prison—with a two-year sentence, based on the contract she’d signed. Her only freedom came late at night, when the woman slept. And she always woke at dawn, querulous and demanding.

Inge wandered through the elegant spaces, drinking in the music, the conversation, the sights and smells. She had a rich imagination—her daydreams were her only escape—but theBrita