Misfortune (and Gouda) Read online

  “I need a gin and tonic and a Bloody Mary for table six, a Black Russian and a strawberry daiquiri for table nine, two bottles of stout for table 15, and two straight-up scotches for table 10 … or is it table 12? No, I think maybe it was nine.”

  Elsie tossed London an eye-rolling glance of annoyance, then said to Amy, “You just told me you needed a Black Russian and a strawberry daiquiri at table nine.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Amy said, beginning to sound flustered. “Now I remember. The scotches are for table 10.”

  “Are you sure of that?” Elsie asked skeptically.

  “Positive,” Amy said in a shaky voice that sounded anything but positive.

  As London and Amy stood waiting for their drinks to be poured, the steward came rushing back toward her.

  “Ms. Rose, I’m awfully sorry to bother you again, but Herr Waldmüller still hasn’t shown up for his lecture.”

  London’s jaw dropped with surprise.

  She looked at Amy and asked, “Do you know where Emil is?”

  Amy frowned and replied grouchily.

  “How would I know? Why are you asking me?”

  London felt another wave of surprise at Amy’s tone.

  She almost said, Well, you two were an item, the last I heard. Yesterday.

  Back when the Nachtmusik had been leaving Bamberg, London had caught the normally straightlaced Amy and Emil making out like teenagers in the ship’s library. They’d been trying to keep their little romance a secret, but they hadn’t done a very good job of it.

  What’s going on with them now? she wondered.

  Meanwhile, the steward fidgeted anxiously.

  “We’re sailing within sight of the Mäuseturm right now,” he said. “And the group is really looking forward to hearing Herr Waldmüller tell them all about it.”

  He leaned forward and tried to keep his voice low.

  “I … I can’t do the lecture … They all keep staring at me … Don’t make me go back up there …”

  “Don’t you worry,” Amy told the panicky man. “London will take care of it for you.”

  London’s mouth dropped open with surprise.

  I’ll take care of it? she thought.

  CHAPTER TWO

  London’s head swam with confusion. She hadn’t had a chance to decide where she was most needed—right here serving drinks, or up on the Rondo deck filling in for Emil. And now Amy had taken the liberty of volunteering for her.

  London stopped herself from snapping at Amy about that. She had to admit, it was a perfectly sensible solution because, next to Emil, she knew more about the places they were visiting than anyone else in the crew.

  But she felt far from secure about her ability to entertain the passengers about the more than dozen castles they would be passing. She hadn’t visited this area before in person—and besides, it was a choice she’d rather have made for herself.

  “I suppose I could,” London said. Then she asked Elsie, “But don’t you need me here?”

  “I think my guys and I are getting things under control now. Go ahead, it sounds like you’re needed more up there.”

  “Oh, thank you,” the anxious steward sputtered. “I’ll go tell them you’re on the way.”

  As the man hurried off, Elsie said to Amy, “You can go help London.”

  London’s mouth dropped open again.

  “How is Amy supposed to help me?” she wanted to ask.

  She couldn’t think of anything useful Amy could do to help her cover for Emil’s absence.

  Then she caught the mischievous expression on Elsie’s ruddy face. Elsie was just looking for an excuse to get rid of Amy, whose efforts at helping in the lounge were proving to be a lot more trouble than they were worth.

  “Are you sure you don’t need me?” Amy asked Elsie.

  London saw that Elsie could barely keep from laughing.

  “Oh, we’ll get by somehow, Amy,” Elsie said.

  “OK, then,” Amy said, sounding relieved to be released from her current duties. “Let’s go, London.”

  As they headed away, they passed the door of the ship’s library that was situated at one end of the lounge. Since that was Emil’s usual post, London stopped to see if the historian might be there.

  Trotting past London, Amy turned to call back to her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for Emil,” London said.

  “Why?”

  “Well, I just thought maybe—”

  “If he were in the library, the steward would surely have found him. Come, we’ve got to hurry!”

  London saw at a glance that Amy was right. Emil was not in the library. The book-filled room was empty, as was the large table where Emil sometimes worked or seated passengers gathered for his lectures.

  As they continued out of the lounge, through the reception area, and toward the stairs, Amy added, “Honestly, I don’t know how Emil ever got this job. You just can’t depend on him for anything.”

  London felt a bit jarred again. It seemed a peculiar thing for Amy to say. London hadn’t always gotten along with Emil. In fact, they’d been pretty seriously at odds more than once. But he did have one quality that London always respected. He was absolutely dependable.

  Or at least he has been until now, she thought.

  She wondered—had something happened to him? Ought she to be worried about him? She could have him paged, but she thought that might make matters worse. She was sure that the historian hadn’t forgotten his lecture and would be horribly embarrassed if his absence was announced over the PA system. Something was wrong, and she would just have to sort it all out later.

  And by now, the steward would have announced that she was taking over the job.

  But why she did get the distinct feeling that Amy was anxious not to find Emil?

  She and Amy were trotting up the spiral stairs when they ran into Sir Reggie, London’s little Yorkshire Terrier, coming down. The dog yapped at London anxiously, as if to say, “Come quick! We’ve got a problem up there!”

  Sometimes Sir Reggie seemed to understand whatever was going on aboard the Nachtmusik better than most people did.

  She and Amy and Sir Reggie continued up the stairs together. When they burst out onto the open upper deck, London let out a gasp of awe at their surroundings. The staggeringly majestic Rhine Gorge was even more spectacular than she’d expected.

  The river swelled wide and far, shining as blue as the vast, late afternoon sky with its columns of heavenly white clouds. On either side of the river towered steep, mountainous banks dotted with villages, vineyards, and castles. The other boats on the river looked tiny in the midst of such grandeur. Even the Nachtmusik seemed like some kind of toy, and its passengers like tiny little dolls.

  London had stop for a moment to catch her breath. It was an especially staggering sight after having spent the last couple of hours on the deck below, working in the crowded Amadeus Lounge. It suddenly seemed a shame that so many passengers were missing this spectacle in order to enjoy half-priced drinks.

  She felt an urge to rush back down to the lounge and tell everybody to come right up here and not miss another moment of this view. But, of course, she couldn’t do that. And anyway, there were quite a few other passengers already up here enjoying the spectacle—including the group up ahead of her near the prow who were waiting to hear Emil’s lecture.

  A wave of anxiety hit London as she strode toward the group of a dozen or so passengers who were looking expectantly toward her.

  What am I going to tell them? she wondered.

  She’d read quite a bit about the Mäuseturm, so she had plenty of information to share with them. But she knew that passengers had come to expect more from Emil’s lectures than bare facts. He was always ready to put on something of a performance.

  And that’s what I’ve got to do, London realized.

  As a clever storytelling tactic took shape in her head, a voice called out from the group.

&nbs
p; “London, is Herr Waldmüller ill?”

  Another passenger said, “We were expecting him to tell us about the tower.”

  “He’s fine,” she replied. “Um, something just came up.”

  Following her newly developed plan, she strode through the group toward the prow, followed by Amy and Sir Reggie. Sure enough, standing along the river up ahead was one of the quaintest castles she had ever seen. Crowned with bright red battlements, the building was narrow and perpendicular and fronted by a single cigarette-shaped tower. It was built upon a slender, rocky little island in the middle of the Rhine.

  She looked down at Sir Reggie and said, “What do you see up ahead, boy?”

  Playing his part perfectly, the dog ran up to the rail and barked at the sight of the tower.

  “Oh, no!” London said. “Do you think we’re in trouble, boy?”

  Sir Reggie just kept barking, which was exactly what London wanted. People in the group chuckled expectantly at whatever London might be up to. She glanced around at the familiar faces.

  Standing right next to her were Gus and Honey Jarrett, a middle-aged couple London had gotten to know well during the last few days. Gus had a pair of binoculars hanging from his neck.

  “Gus, could I borrow your binoculars?” London asked.

  “Uh …” Gus said with surprise.

  “Of course you can, London,” Honey said with a snap of her chewing gum. “Gus, be a good hubby and lend London your binoculars.”

  With an obedient shrug, Gus handed London his binoculars.

  As London looked through them, the castle appeared even more picturesque than before, with its off-white stone walls, its coat-of-arms, and its Gothic windows.

  London breathed a mock sigh of relief.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” she said, still looking through the binoculars. “I don’t see any soldiers or archers or crossbowmen over there in the Mouse Tower. I was afraid we were going to be attacked with spears and arrows. But I forgot, the evil archbishop who used to cause that kind of trouble has been dead for more than a thousand years—since 970 AD, I believe.”

  London smiled and handed the binoculars back to Gus Jarrett.

  “Sorry for the false alarm, everybody,” she said. “Keep on enjoying the view.”

  As she pretended to start walking away, she heard exclamations of eager protest.

  “Hey, aren’t you going to tell us about the castle?”

  “What about the spears and arrows?”

  “Who was the evil archbishop?”

  “Why do they call it the Mouse Tower?”

  London’s smile turned mischievous.

  “Well, if you’re really interested …”

  “Of course we’re interested!” Honey said as she nudged Gus into letting other people take turns looking at the tower through the binoculars.

  “OK, then,” London said. “But keep in mind, this is a legend. How much of it is true is up to you to decide.”

  London leaned on the railing overlooking the river.

  “Way back in the tenth century, this whole countryside was ruled by Hatto II, the evil Archbishop of Mainz. Hatto made river traffic along this part of the Rhine very dangerous. He stationed archers and crossbowmen over in that tower to rain down spears and arrows on any boats that didn’t pay a hefty fee to pass by. He got rich that way. He was very greedy.”

  “It sounds like he was also very mean,” Honey said.

  “Oh, meaner than you can imagine,” London said. “He treated his subjects very cruelly. When a famine came and all the peasants were starving, Hatto’s own barns were filled up with enough grain to feed everybody. But he refused to share it. Instead, he played a heartless, vicious trick. He told the peasants to wait inside an empty barn for him to bring them all the food they needed. Then he locked them inside and set the barn on fire.”

  “Oh, my!” one of the passengers gasped.

  London continued, “He laughed with glee as the peasants were burned alive. ‘Listen to those mice squeal!’ he gloated aloud to his servants. But as he headed away from the fire, a whole army of mice started to follow him. Soon they climbed all over him and began to bite him. He climbed into his boat and tried to get away to his tower on the island. But thousands upon thousands of the mice just kept swimming after him.”

  “What happened then?” another passenger said in a breathless voice.

  “He ran to his tower and locked himself inside. But the mice ate right through the wooden doors and chased Archbishop Hatto all the way to the roof, where they ate him alive. And ever since then, it’s been called Mäuseturm—the ‘Mouse Tower.’”

  A murmur of appreciative wonder passed through the group.

  “A tale well told,” one of the passengers said.

  London’s smile widened as a small round of applause broke out. Even Sir Reggie barked with approval.

  London knew that Emil would have told the same story if he’d been here. Although Emil was quite a storyteller, London couldn’t help wondering if he’d have told it with quite the same style.

  The only person in the group who didn’t seem to have been paying rapt attention was Amy Blassingame, who was now in possession of the binoculars. She’d been idly looking around through the binoculars and was now amusing herself by aiming them at people’s faces, which of course must have looked enormous.

  Suddenly Amy gasped with alarm and hastily shoved the binoculars back into Gus Jarrett’s hands. Without a word, the short, sturdy concierge whirled and dashed away from the group.

  What’s wrong now? London wondered.

  CHAPTER THREE

  London struggled to keep her mind—and the attention of her audience—on the intriguing Mäuseturm as their riverboat moved on past the tower. She didn’t want the passengers to take notice of Amy’s odd behavior. But even as London managed to keep talking, she couldn’t help but see that the suddenly erratic concierge was ducking behind a magazine rack near a row of deck chairs.

  Is she hiding or something? London wondered.

  She didn’t pause to try to figure it out.

  “Anyway, that’s how the legend goes,” she told the group of listeners. “Whether it’s true or not, the tower you’re looking at is different from the one that stood there in the tenth century. It’s been built and rebuilt many times and put to all kinds of different uses. But the story has been told over and over again by all kinds of writers and poets, for example …”

  London was interrupted by a German-accented voice.

  They have whetted their teeth against the stones,

  And now they pick the bishop’s bones;

  They gnawed the flesh from every limb,

  For they were sent to punish him!

  It was Emil, of course. He came strolling out of the cubicle that housed the elevator and stairs, smiling as though he wasn’t even late for what was supposed to be his own lecture.

  London breathed a sigh of relief. She’d never been happier to see the tall, intelligent historian than she was right now. Wherever Emil had been when she had come up here to substitute for him, at least he was here now and could take over. There would be a lot more to talk about as the Nachtmusik moved through the scenic gorge, and she wasn’t at all sure she was up to the task. Besides, she was worried about how things might be going back down in the crowded lounge.

  In his most charming professorial manner, Emil added, “Those lines are from a poem by the Romantic-era poet Robert Southey—‘God’s Judgment on a Wicked Bishop,’ the poem is called. So the legend of how the evil archbishop was devoured by thousands of mice even found its way to England, and into English poetry.”

  London stepped aside, expecting Emil to take her place and resume the lecture.

  Instead, Emil glanced around nervously for a moment.

  Then his smile stiffened.

  “Carry on, Fräulein Rose,” he said, with a nod. “You are doing very well.

  With that, he turned and marched back toward the stairs.


  What on earth … ? London wondered.

  She glimpsed Amy’s dark helmet of hair poking out from behind the magazine rack and then disappearing out of sight again.

  What’s going on with those two?

  Was Emil hiding from Amy?

  Or was Amy hiding from Emil?

  Or were they both hiding from somebody else altogether?

  And why?

  All London knew was that she didn’t have time to worry about any of that right now. Emil had again left her with the task of describing the sights along the Rhine Gorge. She had to get back to work.

  It now seemed that Emil was going to skip his scheduled lecture altogether, which of course was completely unlike him.

  But it was happening.

  She turned to the group of passengers and began describing the next castle that was coming into view high on a hillside above the river. As she talked, she wondered how soon she would be able to bring this lecture to an end.

  *

  Dusk began to fall, and tiny lights blinked on in homes, castles, and villages along the banks of the Rhine. Even brighter lights gleamed from boats passing upstream and downstream, casting shimmering reflections on the water.

  London was exhausted from describing the castles and vineyards and settlements along the Rhine Gorge. She didn’t have Emil’s vast historical knowledge, so her task wasn’t easy. From time to time, she did a quick search on her cellphone for information to fill in whatever details she didn’t happen to know off the top of her head. But Emil hadn’t returned, and she had seen Amy slip away long ago. Sir Reggie had climbed up on a nearby canvas desk chair and gone to sleep.

  But the Nachtmusik had still been passing by remarkable sights, Emil had not returned, and London had managed to keep talking. She was bringing up an article about the next feature along the river when the buxom Honey Garrett called out.