[PG-13] The following is a mostly true parable of bad things happening to awful, ill-mannered people. By the close of this story, a priceless painting will be burned to a crisp, a nun will become shamelessly inebriated, the Paris vice squad will be summoned, the country of Spain will be hideously slandered, temporal logic will be viciously insulted, and an innocent cat will be frozen solid and then desecrated. Regrettably, I do not endorse these sordid events, I merely report them. Such is my fate. How these vulgar circumstances came to pass is perhaps the most utterly disturbing chapter in the life of one of our intrepid heroes, and thus should be ignored completely. Please. -- The "Author" * * * * * * * "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you was?" -- Satchel Paige ********************* The Peculiar Case of the Countess Maria Contessa Alexia Anastasia von Hautkopft of Ulm and Her Birthday Present by +Gradient ********************* "Your name, madame?" Maybe if I just get drunk enough I'll forget about it all. I mean, it all started innocently enough . . . . ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ The opponents stared at each other across the wide green battlefield with effort, as the wartime smoke greatly obstructed their respective views. As the seasoned warrior looked down and rapidly formulated tactics, she now knew that there was no further room for running. The keys to final victory over her hated enemy lie in her hands and she would not squander the opportunity to finally vanquish the foe who, although bathed by the wartime haze, was sure to be sneering at her this very moment. She took a final breath before she began her last-ditch offensive. "Full house -- jacks high. Beat that." [Paris, France -- 1901] Her gambit having been played, she confidently peered round to the other participants at the poker table who had already folded, nodding subtly as to solicit approval of her coup de grace. She then gazed toward her opponent with a scornful scowl, challenging her in her Spanish-accented French: "Your luck just ran out, Countess!" The Countess, a lean, almost slyly carnivorous figure, seductively spread her cards on the felt surface beneath her before turning them over. Deuce. Deuce. Queen. Queen. She paused on the last one before wryly looking upward: "I suppose we're about to see who is having a good day, Senorita." That the Countess did not break eye contact as she flipped over her last remaining card was perhaps the greatest insult. Queen. The Countess raised the cigarette to her lips and inhaled victoriously. She then reclined backward in her seat with a snide smile, still looking deep into her opponent's obviously shaken form as she exhaled a cloud of smoke that itself seemed to sneer at her defeated enemy. "Full House, Queens high! The Countess wins again! Remarkable!" a somewhat shrill Irish voice chirped from the side. "Blessings rain upon you, my dear." "So it would seem, Sister Francis," the Countess began. "Although I can modestly say some modicum of skill was involved as well." "A deal with the devil is more likely," her broken opponent mouthed as she angrily refilled her drink. "Senorita Grandis, to properly fit in our genteel society, you will have to learn to lose more gracefully," the Countess began. "You should know these things as a flower of Spain, albeit an aging one." "Why you----" {BZZZZZZZ} "What in heavens is that?" the participant in the black habit looked upward toward the source of the strange sound. "Oh nothing, Sister Francis," the Countess laughed. "Just one of the new electrical doorbells that are the rage in America. You know, electrify this, electrify that. In any event, the last member of our little group has just arrived and I had best escort him in. If you will excuse me for a moment . . ." The Countess gracefully rose and proceeded through an exitway toward the main entrance. * * * * * The Countess reemerged into the parlour moments later with a portly gentleman wearing a long, dark coat and a tall hat of matching hue. "Everyone, I am pleased to welcome to our little game Inspector Maurice Chavineux, who, as you might have deduced from his garb, is a member of the local constabulary." The aforementioned man raised an eyebrow. "Just joking, Inspector," the Countess continued. "The Inspector is on special assignment from the metropolitan police force to the Louvre, in charge of the Art Crimes and Theft department. Under his administration, art thefts throughout Paris have been reduced by almost two-thirds." "You do me honor, Countess von Hautkopft," he gave a jovial smile. "As well as through your generous patronage of our department." "And you honor me by your presence, Inspector." She bowed her head slightly. Now, as for introductions," she motioned toward the poker table, "Clockwise from the far end, first we have Sister Francis McGillicutty from Dublin." The nun, in full habit, rose and gave a half-bow to the Inspector. "Sister Francis is here visiting the convent in Issy-les-Moulineaux while on her way to Rome." "The young lady beside her is 'Helene,' whom by her complexion and dress, you might have already deduced is from a far land." As the Countess motioned toward her, the lady, whose rich skin color roughly matched the Countess's, nodded. The small metallic charms and trinkets on her black shawl, which covered most of her face, jingled as she did so. "I'm afraid Helene speaks very little, as she apparently knows no European languages. In fact, we know little about her beyond her name. Sister Francis picked Helene up in Brussels, where she found her with just a handwritten map with her itinerary and name on it. Apparently Helene is going to Rome as well, and then on to Greece, and my best guess is Damascus after that. Sister Francis has been traveling with her since. Wherever she is from, they must teach poker skills rather well there, for she has been very successful this evening indeed." The Inspector at this point noted the relative heights of the respective winnings piles. The Countess and Helene had apparently won nine-tenths of the evening's stakes between them, with Helene having a decided advantage. "Next, beside Helene, is Senorita Grandis Granva, a Spanish aristocrat of some note," the Countess intoned as the red-haired beauty in question looked upward with a cold stare aimed at the Countess. "Around a decade ago, she became involved in some strange adventure with a local inventor . . . what was his name? . . . ah, yes, Jean Roque Raltique, and his soon-to-be wife, who was working as an acrobat in the circus at the time. What precisely was that all about again, Senorita?" "You know that I can't talk about that," she spat back to the Countess. She then looked toward Inspector Chavineux as to explain. "Government gag order." "Yes, of course. Whatever you say, my dear," the Countess slid out. "She currently lives in the mansion just across the street and is also currently looking for a husband in a most desperate manner." "Watch your tongue, Countess!" Grandis suddenly hissed. "If it were not for your esteemed company, I would not have graced this sundry hall with my presence!" "Ahem," the Countess chuckled, "as you can see, the Senorita and myself are not the most cordial of neighbors. She believes I am responsible for the unexplained disappearance of some of her feline companions." "I can't prove it yet, Countess," her eyes narrowed, "but you did away with my cats, and I swear that I won't lose any more to your cold clutches!" "Well, right now, Senorita, the only thing you need to worry about losing is your money. A few more hands, and I might *own* your precious pets." Grandis huffed at the Countess's threat. The focus then shifted to a somewhat absentminded looking middle aged man seated next to the Spaniard. His small round glasses and increasingly gray beard belied a somewhat humorous aire. "Next in succession is Professor Sigmund Freud from Vienna. He is in Paris visiting one of his old teachers, Jean Martin Charcot. Professor Freud currently has a volume about to be published, on dreams and their interpretation, correct Professor?" "Yes, dreams. Dreams are ze key to ze inside." "Fascinating, Profes---" "But mostly sehks." "Ah, yes." The Countess half-whispered over to the side, "the Professor is quite opinionated sometimes." "Undt ze sehks." "Riiiiight. And, of course, myself," the Countess gave a small curtsey as she continued, "the Sixth Countess Maria Contessa Alexia Anastasia von Hautkopft of Ulm, direct descendant of Frederick II, and current resident of Passy, your humble host and servant." "Humble . . ," Grandis grumbled under her breath. "Humble enough to allow you to deal, Senorita Grandis," the Countess smiled, not yet risen from her curtsey. "Shall we proceed?" * * * * * The Inspector looked at his cards, but his attention was increasingly drawn away by the ticking of dozens of clocks that surrounded him along the Countess's walls. "That is quite a collection of timepieces you have amassed, Countess," he began as he noticed that each was perfectly synchronized with the rest. "You seem to be rather fond of keeping accurate time." "Ah, yes, thank you for noticing, Inspector," the Countess began. "I suppose I've always had an affinity for the passing of time. It's a wondrous thing, really. Such an infinitely powerful, yet invisible force. Never willing to bear its head, to be seen as itself, but only as its savage effects upon other objects." She glanced over to Grandis, who was studying her own cards. "And people." "Ah-choo!" Grandis sneezed unexpectedly. "Bless you, my dear," the nun offered. "Thank you, Sister," Grandis replied. "Perhaps someone is talking about me somewhere," she laughed. "Perhaps . . ," the Countess sighed as she slid a small stack of silver coins to raise her wager. "Countess," the Inspector continued, still looking about the room at the impressive artifacts that ringed the periphery, "your antiquity collection on display here is stunning for a private estate. How did someone as young as yourself acquire such a taste?" "It was actually traveling in the Far East that I first obtained my interest in rare antiquities. My traveling party and I came ashore on the eastern reaches of Formosa. The Bunum tribe, who received us as we disembarked, informed me that I was the exact image of their benevolent goddess of time, and proceeded to give me one of their ancient relics honoring that goddess, the Bigaz Key." "Excuse me? Did you say the Big A--" "*No*, I most certainly did not. 'Bigaz' is Bunum for 'woman', for they thought that all time was held under lock and key, so to speak, to a woman with beauty above time." "Dirty savages," Grandis threw down a card. "I note that you've been in Paris for over ten years now, Countess. Would it be impolite for me to ask why?" the Inspector asked as he signaled to be dealt another card. "Yes it would, but I'll tell you anyway, although you won't believe me. It's quite the unique set of circumstances, Inspector." "Oh, everyone in Paris has a story, Countess. Surely yours is not much different, even if you are Prussian nobility." "Nobility," Grandis snorted before quietening herself again. Her insult did not faze the Countess, who continued: "Well, I suppose you do have a point there. To distill it down to its barest essence: I am looking for somebody. Actually, several somebodies." "I see, and I take it that, to this point you have been unsuccessful." "An astute observation as ever, Inspector. I have, it seems, searched every nook and cranny of this godforsaken city and all I have to show for it is wasted time and a network of . . ." she looked at Grandis again, "acquaintances." "Perhaps we could help, Countess," the Inspector mused, "but we do not even know the nature of these people you speak of. Could you elaborate somewhat?" "Girls," the Countess said matter-of-factly. "Girls?" Sister Francis suddenly moved forward in her seat. "Yes. The ones I'm looking for would probably appear to be around thirteen or fourteen years old." "Oh, the horror!" the nun looked genuinely concerned. "Such young girls missing in the den of iniquity that is modern Paris!" "Yes, Sister, it does concern me, but I do not believe they are in imminent danger. It is more likely they are tucked away in their beds right now. I presume they do not even know that I am looking for them." "A long lost relative?" the Inspector asked. "In a manner of speaking, yes." "We would be most honored to assist you, Countess, but we would need something of a description of their appearance. Paris is truly a crossroads of the world." The Inspector raised his hands as if to emphasize his point. "Well, I wish I could give you an adequate recounting of their appearance, but I'm afraid that *I* am not even certain exactly how they will look this time. If it is like last time, there will be two blondes, one brunette, one with black hair, and another one with blue hair." "Excuse me," the Inspector coughed, "did you say *blue* hair?" "Odd, isn't it?" the Countess continued. "You would think that if they *were* here in Paris, I would be able to find such a motley crew. To be honest, the only reason I suspected they might be here in the first place was that a friend visiting Paris ten years ago told me of a traveling gypsy circus that she saw -- and within it was a knife thrower who used roses instead of knives in his act, which sounds like someone who used to associate with them. So I moved here in hopes of finding them. Rather impulsive and irrational, to be sure, but then again, without that rumor, I would have never had the opportunity to grace Senorita Grandis's life." "Curse that gypsy knife thrower," the Spaniard spat, arms crossed, seemingly impervious to the tale of woe. "Uff kourse you realize zat ze knife iss actually symbolic uff ze---" "THANK YOU, professor," the Countess interrupted very timely. "Yes, I believe you told us as much earlier this evening." "Chust pointingkt out ze obfious." "Perhaps they had a distinctive style of dress, Countess. If they were from Ulm, such as yourself, then this might assist in their location," the Inspector suggested, trying to be helpful. "Again, frankly, I don't know if this would help. Honestly, it is likely they are each in different parts and strata of society, so their dress would be different. One might be dressed as a peasant while another might appear to be an aristocrat. However, if they *were* wearing the garb of their . . ," the Countess thought for a moment, "homeland, their appearance would be quite distinctive indeed. The general style would be somewhat reminiscent of what the current American sailors wear, yet adorned with butterfly bows and long ribbons, along with a skirt that some might consider high-cut." "Surely you don't mean that it comes above the ankles? Scandalous!!! Purely scandalous!!!" Sister Francis's right arm began to shake in fear of divine retribution. "Actually higher, to be honest." "Above the knees?!? Blasphemy!!! Pure blasphemy!!!" She began to clutch her rapidly failing heart in agony. "Oh, zis iss gettingkt fery interestingk!" the Professor began to scribble in a newly-produced notepad. "Actually, more like . . ," the Countess arose to visually demonstrate the hemline in question, placing a hand on her thigh, ten inches above her knee, and then after slight consideration, up yet two more inches: "Here. And one of them should be wearing two-inch red heels, if you've seen her." By the time the now-limp form of Sister Frances hit the poker table in analeptic shock, the Countess had already retaken her seat. "Now . . . whose deal was it?" * * * * * "Wh . . . wh . . . wh . . . whiiiiiskeeeeey." "She's alive! Praise God! It's a miracle! Quick, someone get her a drink!" The concerned group huddled over the nun breathed a collective sigh of relief "Hmmm . . ," the Countess reclined in her seat enjoying an unusually long cigarette, motioning the Inspector toward her upstairs liqueur cabinet, "It looks like she was saved by the prospect of seeing Our Blessed Lady of St. Ferment Á Tion once again." "No thanks to you!" Grandis snarled. "You almost gave her a heart attack! With me sitting not more than three feet away from her, no less!" "Well, I suppose my aim was a little off then," the Countess devilishly smiled as she slowly exhaled and let forth a wisp of smoke that seemed to bend to its master's will. "Here, drink up Sister," the Inspector raised her head as he assisted the contents of a darkened bottle into her mouth. "This will ease the pain." "I apologize for all of the excitement," the Countess began. I sincerely wished for this to be a peaceful evening, full of cheer, mirth, joviality, and good will." She continued as Grandis's eyes rolled backwards. "Perhaps it would be best if we cut the evening short at this point. I hope you will all give me the opportunity to---" "Tell them . . . tell them . . ," the nun gurgled from her rest. Everyone gathered in a circle around her, save for the Countess, who remained in her chair. "Tell them what, Sister Francis? We can't understand what you're saying." "Tell them to stop singing! They're singing Verdi at the top of their voices!" The Inspector looked around, confused. "Who is, Sister? The only ones here are the Countess, Senorita Grandis, the Professor, Helene, and myself." "THE WALLS! THE WALLS ARE SINGING!!!" The Inspector backed off, befuddled. The Countess turned in the large, spacious chair, somewhat urgently: "Inspector, what was the vintage of the wine you gave to her?" "It was labeled '1877' from a vineyard I had never heard of. I think its name was something like 'Peyoki' or 'Peyoba' or----" "Was it 'Peyote'?" "That's it!" "Oh, damn," the Countess sunk back into her seat and covered her eyes rather dramatically. "And I was saving that for a special occasion." "THE MUSIC -- I CAN SEE IT! IT'S YELLOW WITH SILVER POLKA DOTS!" The nun's voice began to know new octaves. "Look, it's probably best right now if we just take all of the sharp objects out of the room and lock her up for a while. That was an extra special blend that I got in America a while back. I'll keep her for the night, the hallucinations should stop in a couple of hours, and she'll be fine in the morning. I'll send her on her way then." "How could you dare to keep something so dangerous lying about?!?" Grandis exploded. "And to corrupt a Lady of God, no less!" "Cut the histrionics, you imbecilic Iberian!" the Countess returned the sentiment. "I didn't know the Inspector was going to give her that particular bottle. Just look at it this way -- maybe in the middle of one of her hallucinations you'll actually appear to be less than middle-aged!" "You insolent, filthy . . ." "Ladies is there perhaps nothing that could be done in this situation to help Sister Francis?" The Inspector looked rather pathetic as he looked up to earnestly break up the erupting battle. The Countess shook her head in disgust. "Come on Senorita. I've got a bottle of Cognac down in the basement that will ease her hallucinations somewhat. Let's go get it . . . ." * * * * * "Rather amazing isn't it? Refrigeration technology. Wave of the future, or so I've been told. I brought this unit in from London just to keep my wine chilled to just the right temperature. Makes a lot of noise, but well worth it to preserve my collection." Grandis tried to hide her astonishment at the vastness of the Countess's basement wine cellar. The cellar itself seemed to be larger than the floor area of the house above. The Spaniard wrote off the oddity to the uncommon arrangement of light and shadows in the cavernous room. "Now, let's see," the Countess looked around, "where did I put that Cognac? On this row?" She began to point toward one particular section while still scanning. "Countess, it is no secret you have friends in the highest social circles of Paris, but regardless I *will* expose you for the fraud you are. From your abduction of my dear pet, to your sordid activities here." "Senorita Grandis, I know not whether to write off your erratic theories to drink or your inadequate education. I'm leaning toward the latter, but I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I assure you, I'm guilty of none of the acts of which you accuse me." The Countess raised her finger to the end of one of the rows of bottles nearest the door and began thumbing through the labels, reading them lowly to herself, trying to find the remedy. "Honestly, Senorita, I just don't understand what you have against me. I'm not only one of the most upstanding citizens of the City, I'm also a philanthropist. Certainly you have heard of my donations to the Louvre, specifically those which have strengthened its security." "I *will* expose you to the world." The Countess continued thumbing, through the bottles: "I think you underestimate your own blatant inefficacy, Senorita Grandis. Now, where was I? Pomeral, '76. Chardonnay, '89. Burgundy, '77. Cat. Pomeral, '81. Ah, yes, here it is, soothing '97 Cognac all for Sister Francis?" "What did you say?" the Senorita slowly approached. "I said, 'soothing '97 Cognac all--'." "No, before that." "I don't know, I was listing the vintages." "I thought I heard 'cat'." The Countess rolled her eyes condescendingly. "'Cat' is not a vintage, Senorita, at least not here in France. Perhaps where you are from." "That's what you said." "Look, I know your senses are getting dulled by old age, but -- Bah, I'll just go back to where I started." The countess annoyedly retraced her steps to the top shelf. "Pomeral, '76. Chardonnay, '89. Burgundy, '77. Cat. Oh dear." She backed up as a sad set of feline eyes looked back at her with a vacant stare indicative of having been hard frozen for several weeks. "Ahhh!" the Spaniard whelped. "You froze a cat in that fiendish contraption of yours!" "Oh dear. The poor thing parked itself between the Burgundy and Pomeral and just lost the will to live," the Countess noted. "Lost the will to live?! You froze it!" "Let's not argue over semantics," the Countess shrugged. "Hmmm . . . appears to have been in here a few weeks, by the looks of it." "Well that doesn't make any real differ---" Grandis began in a huff, before making a realization. "Hold it. A few weeks . . . that's the same time . . ," she ran over and shoved the Countess out of her way to get an unobstructed view of this victim of the modern age. "Oh my God! This is my cat! My cat!" "Psssft. Getting worked up like that for just a cat!" the Countess shook her head in disbelief. "She was not *just a cat*! She was personally given to me by the Madame Adelaide Bonfamille! She had a name! Her name was Isis!" "Isis?" The countess pulled out the catsicle by its extended rigid, frozen tail and examined it lightly with a snicker. "Don't you mean Ice-us?" "AHHHH! - - - YOU -- YOU -- MONSTER!!!" "Look you," she began to wave the ex-cat at its ex-master in a manner resembling a taunting finger, "*I'm* not the one who let the poor feline roam aimlessly like some half-witted Swiss sailor." Her waving and gesturing became more intense and animated, placing a considerable bit of torque upon the tail, which now served as a handle. "In fact, if anyone is going to take the fall for this---" < SNAP > As always happens in cases such as this, time seemed to slow as the frozen cat --- or more precisely, the *majority* of the frozen cat fell to the floor, leaving its owner to only scream in shock. "IIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!" < THUD > "Well, that was . . . odd. Odd, yet strangely enough, not unprecedented." The Countess daydreamed to herself for a moment. "Three times in one millennium, what are the odds?" The Countess rolled the frozen tail between her fingers for a few seconds as she would a cigarette, contemplating events, until she realized what she was doing and threw the stub over her shoulder in disgust: "Ew." She was in the process of dusting her hands off when she noticed the volcano in the corner. "Oh. Now look, Senorita -- heh heh -- I know you're a little upset . . ." "I'M GOING TO RIP YOUR LUNGS OUT AND THROW THEM IN THE SEINE!!!" "Heh, heh -- you're just full of colorful metaphors today, Senorita Grandis!" The Countess slowly backed away while smiling, strategically placing herself behind a floor cabinet. "Now if you can just settle down for a moment, I'm sure we can work out something that is mutually benefi---" "Oh, it *will* be mutually beneficial, BECAUSE I'M GOING TO THROW THEM BOTH IN AT THE SAME TIME!!!" "Look, Senorita, you've got me all wrong." The Countess's laughing became more artificial as the Spaniard advanced. "I like cats! No, I love cats! In fact, before I became a Countess, two of my most dear acquaintances were cats, a little black one and a little white one! The black one was named after the moon and the white one was named after the Greek Goddess of the Hunt. See? Named after a goddess, just like your Isis! See? We're like kindred spirits!" "And just where are these beloved felines now?" Grandis spat. The Countess snapped out her answer without even considering to whom it was being spoken: "Well, the last time I heard, they were in frozen cryonic suspension. Hah! If they think I'm going to go scouring the globe just to thaw them out, they'd better think tw---- oh, hell." The Countess abruptly returned to reality to find Grandis' eyes growing ever larger in disbelief. "Uh, why don't you pretend you didn't hear that last part?" "Fr-fr-fr-frozen?!?" "Uh, a figure of speech!" "Th-th-th-thaw?!?" "Uh, uh ---- Dogs! Yeah, dogs! Look, Grandis, just forget what I was saying about cats --- I'm really a dog person! And you know what my favorite dog is? A Spaniel! From Spain!" "AHHHHHHH!" Grandis picked up a corkscrew lying beside her and began the process of chasing the Countess around her residence not less than three and one-half times. * * * * * By the time the Countess finally was able run back into her mansion, lock the doors, and check the condition of the social function above, her guests had already arisen to search for their host. "I'm afraid our evening has come to an end, so once again, I apologize for any inconvenience. If you'll just see yourself to the door, I'll wish you a good evening and a safe and uneventful trip home." came the sound from outside, obviously distorted and muffled by the large wooden entrance door. "Vat vast that?" the Professor nervously looked upward. "Sounds like an angry banshee," the Inspector awkwardly laughed. "Astute as always, Inspector," the Countess returned the laugh. "Yes, there are all sorts of fearful creatures prowling tonight. Some more decrepit than others. In the forest, on the streets, on my front porch. So, take care!" She hurriedly began to lead them to a side door. "Where did Senorita Grandis go?" the Inspector noted while making his last mental notes of the residence. "I don't remember her excusing herself." "There it is again," the Inspector mouthed. The Countess quickly picked up a broom positioned nearby and forcefully used it to strike the areas around the door, as if to scare something away. "Damn rats. Even we aristocracy can't get rid of them, haha!" Her face grimaced as she remembered the question. "Uhh . . Grandis. She took an early leave of us tonight. Probably wanted to seal herself in before the sun rose. She extended her deepest apologies to each of you." As the Countess led them to a side exit door conveniently away from her rodent infestation, she made a point to stop at a roadblock along the way: "Oh, and I'll take care of Sister Francis until morning." She looked down at the nun lying asleep on the parlour floor. "She's out. How did that happen?" the Countess asked, befuddled. "She passed out rather quickly after she had a few sips of this whiskey." The Inspector produced a darkened, older bottle before the Countess. The Countess looked closely, and then instinctively her hand went to her waist, almost frantically, where she produced a small silver key on the end of a large, previously hidden key ring. Her eyes then widened as she finally came to a realization. "*Who* gave her the whiskey?" "Helene, I think," the Inspector stroked his chin. "Now that you mention it, I haven't seen Helene since she excused herself upstairs several minutes ago." "Oh, is that right?" the Countess sneered. "I think I need to have a little talk with someone! Good evening, everyone!" She graciously opened the door seconds before storming out of the room. * * * * * The Countess marched down a long, darkly lit hallway to confront a similarly dark figure who was examining herself in a portrait mirror on the wall. The figure in question turned slightly and smiled through her shawl as she noticed the rather furious approach of their hostess. "Well, it seems that someone else has a key to my upstairs liqueur cabinet. My key that is still hanging on my key ring!" The Countess raised the item and jingled it in front of her face. "And since my keys are rather unique, there's only one person that could have it . . ." Helene let forth another mischievous smile before producing an identical key, attached to a ring that Helene twirled on the end of her finger. "Well done, past self. You got me. I was wondering how long the game would have progressed before you realized you were playing yourself across the table." "I should have known! I should have known! It was right in front of me! Helene. Helen! It's even the same style of dress that we used to wear!" the Countess disgustedly pointed toward Helene's shawl. Helene slyly moved forward. "You know that was one of our favorite aliases. Besides, the irony was just too much -- get it? Helen, going to Paris? Get it?" "I don't want the name of that Trojan prettyboy brought up again!" the Countess began to pace. "Damn Greeks. Didn't they know that all I wanted was a vacation? I've been in some pretty happening places, but Sparta was not one of them. No . . . they had to get their fleet together and track me down. Ten years I had to stay holed up in that Trojan castle with that ignoramus and his insufferable family! Ten years!" "Don't forget that I was there too." "All right . . . would you kindly tell me what the hell you're doing here? And give me one reason why I shouldn't kick you out for trying this little trick on me." "What do you mean? You should know better than anybody. You wanted me to come." "What?" "You were sitting there looking at your losing hand thinking 'Oh, if only I could remember next month sometime to travel back to this night and participate, already knowing who has what cards. But the problem, of course, is that if I had shown up at the door dressed as the Countess, then you wouldn't have had that idea, but rather just been presented with it. I had to let you come to the idea yourself. And then, poof, here I was!" Helene removed her shawl to reveal a face indistinguishable from that of the Countess. "Oh very convenient, future self. I frankly didn't think you would have actually been so daring as to come back in time, spreading God-knows-how-many paradoxes left and right." "You know what they say in our business: the best ropes are often full of knots. Besides, we just took ninety-five percent of the night's winnings between us. Not too bad for one little temporal infraction, eh?" "Well . . . I suppose not. But why didn't you take it all? You knew exactly which cards were being dealt." "The peasants *have* to eat, my dear," she laughed aristocratically. "Besides, that would have been a little suspicious, even for that addlebrained Spaniard." "I suppose you're right," the Countess fretted as she tapped the side of her cheek, deep in thought. "Okay, so give me my money." "Excuse me? *Your* money?" "Oh, okay, sorry. *Our* money." "I'm afraid you're mistaken. I'm taking this back with me." "Wha---but, but you cheated! You already knew which cards were going to be dealt before you even sat down at the table!" "Cheated? How obtuse! You well know, my younger self, that people exist who have the natural ability to monitor which cards have been dealt, memorize it, and calculate the probability of future cards being dealt. They're called 'card counters' and they are only using their natural talents of memorization and mathematics. It just so happens that my--our natural talent is temporal manipulation. Am I to be discriminated against because of *that*?" "Oh, what a tragic tale!" the Countess looked upward sarcastically. "Look, if you give me the money, then I can put it in the bank, let it draw interest, and when you go back to the future, you will have increased your fortune!" "What?? Have you forgotten who you're talking to, you damn liar? You've done nothing but lied all evening! Why don't you go back in there and tell them how you *really* got the Bigaz Key eleven centuries ago? How those Bunum *cursed* you with it after they recognized you as the goddess of *wasted* time, *bad* luck, *poor* crop yields, and backstabbers that their ancestors had warned them about? How you were chased back into that boat not more than five minutes after you landed and that Bigaz Key bounced directly off your thick skull after their chief threw it at you while you were making your escape into the South China Sea?" "You know as well as I that was just a misunderstanding!" "A misunderstanding? So you mean going down there and lording over their Bunum ancestors for ten years just because you got bored at the Time Gate was a *misunderstanding*?" "You sticklers for truth always make it sound so unromantic . . ." "You put all that money in the bank? Don't make me laugh. You'll just go and spend it tomorrow anyway. Probably on Enrique, that dashing matador you met last week in Barcelona. Bad news, that Enrique." Helene looked skyward and nodded her head. "Stay out of my affairs! How could you possibly call Enrique 'bad news' after what you let happen tonight? What could you possibly say---" "Enrique's not a man." "HA!!! And how in the world could you know something like tha---" . . . Helene looking down and naughtily smiling didn't help much at this point. "Son of a . . . damn. DAMN! What have you done!?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!?" "I guess you'll find out next week." "THAT ISN'T FUNNY! THAT ISN'T ONE BIT FUNNY!" "Oh, I assure you, from this side of the timeline, it's quite amusing." The so-called Helene waltzed shamelessly to the Countess and defiantly tapped the noblewoman on her chest with every pause of her pronouncement: "And now . . . it's time . . . to settle . . . our debts." She retreated slightly to give the Countess time and room to think. Which unfortunately did not happen: "Oh, is that it? Do you want a piece of me? DO YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME?!? Not that you can do anything about it, future self. You know that if you touch me the universe will be destroyed!" "Oh, really? I'd be willing to put that little theory to the test." Helene advanced menacingly toward the Countess. "Now gimme all *your* money! I'm gonna live like a woman!" The Countess backed off, shocked at such audacious flaunting of their temporal directives: "You'd destroy the universe over 3500 Francs?!?" "3600, you cheat! I saw you slip that chip into your blouse when the nun fainted!" "Shut up! It was due to me! The Rules! You're forgetting the Time Rules! If you touch me, there'll be some sort of rupture in the time-space continuum or something! All life will cease to exist!" "Why you ninny! You know as well as I do that's just something some hack writer made up based on a pathetic understanding of the primitive pseudo-science of the time! They're pulling it out of thin air! It's comparable to some kid in America or somewhere trying to write some big story about children's entertainment characters from Japan or something. It's ridiculous! Nothing's gonna happen, and I can prove it!" "Oh yeah? How?" "See this?" Helene raised her dress to reveal a tiny scar on her right thigh, much as if someone had ferociously scratched her, not unlike an annoyed badger. "Bats' breath! How did that happen?" "Oh, if I remember correctly, a little something like this!" Helene lunged at the Countess's right thigh and proceeded to ferociously scratch her, not unlike an annoyed badger. "You conniving harlot!!!" the Countess screamed in pain. "That's it, future me! If you came all the way back in time just to play dirty, then I'll be happy to oblige you! The scene which followed was, needless to say, not designed to be viewed by the genteel eyes of the era's femininity. However, once the participants noticed they were being watched by a rotund observer taking yet more notes on his pad, they temporarily stopped, and slowly looked upward to see him, a person who they thought had departed several minutes earlier, furiously writing in the shadows. If he saw some significance deep within the mind of a figure animalistically clawing at a copy of themselves, he might have mentioned it in his meticulous notes, but otherwise there was no indication that he saw anything out of the ordinary at all. He didn't even notice the incident had paused for several moments when he finally looked up, almost embarrassedly. "Oh, pay ze no mind to Siggy. Plese kontinue ver scrachfight." And so they did. * * * * * [Elsewhere in Paris, France -- A back alley; 1:14 a.m.] "Hello? Madame, are you there?" the officer struggled to peer through the moderate fog that had formed along the Seine. "Is anyone there?" "Over here." The officer's attention was drawn over to a moist corner where a dark silhouette beckoned. "How may I refer to you, madame?" "You may call me . . . Red Vengeance!" "Uh, is there anything I can call the madame that is less cliché?" Inspector Chavineux didn't particularly want to be in this dark alley at this time of the night, but when the call came in to Metro Headquarters that a source had a tip regarding severe malfeasance in the area, he was required to respond due to his proximity. He had been excused from the Countess's party not more than one hour previously, so he was already quite tired with not all of his usual mental acuity about him. "Just shut up and listen. There is a blight upon this community. A shadow of prurient carnality which poisons our very livelihoods. Unless something is done, our fair corner of the city will slip ever further into the cesspool of moral decay and despair that envelopes the remainder of this metropolis!" "Madame, I assure you that we are doing our best to regulate those moving picture nickelodeons. We know of their devilish and subtle capabilities!" "You buffoon! I'm not talking about motion pictures. I'm talking about the Countess Maria Contessa Alexia Anastasia von Hautkopft of Ulm!" "Do you mean the Countess Maria Contessa Alexia Anastasia von Hautkopft of Ulm who lives just up the avenue? *That* Countess Maria Contessa Alexia Anastasia von Hautkopft of Ulm?" "No, I'm talking about the Countess Maria Contessa Alexia Anastasia von Hautkopft of Ulm who lives on the Right Bank and feeds the pigeons in the park. Of course I'm talking about the one who lives up the street you moron!" "What is it you think she has done?" "Let me put it this way -- I am certain that, beyond being a so-called pillar of the community, she is providing, ahem, certain 'services' from her domicile." "'Services?'" "Yes." "Are you implying that the Madame von Hautkopft is . . ." "Yes." "Operating without a business license?" "NO!!! IMBECILE!!! I said she's offering *services*!" "Surely you're not suggesting . . ." "I am." "You mean to claim that . . ." "Yes I do." "You're saying that the Madame . . . is a *madame*?" "Isn't it painfully obvious? First she lives in that big house all by herself -- *or so she says*! Remember, she said --- er, that is, I've been told, that she spends her days scouring Paris for young girls who meet a specific physical description. The top floor of her mansion is locked to visitors. I've seen her myself on occasion in a disgraceful outfit that defies description! If her lechery is not contained, the City will surely face an apocalypse! The Left Bank will be Sodom and the Right will be Gomorrah!" "Sodom . . ." he contemplated. "And Gomorrah! And she's the center of the tempest!" "Hmmmm . . . I'll report this to my superiors and see what they wish to do. Knowing them, there will be a vice squad on her doorstep tonight. Red Vengeance, is there any further eviden----." He didn't bother finishing his sentence, as the informant was already gone. * * * * * At precisely, the same time, just up the avenue, the welcome of a certain visitor from the future had officially worn out: "You need to loosen up, past self! You know -- have a little fun, do a little dance--" "GET OUT!" The Countess pushed her future counterpart through the hastily-summoned Time Gate with a green hued explosion a sudden whoosh of temporal overlap. "Get down toniiiiiight!" Helene could be heard trailing off as she fell back to her own time. With the Professor already expelled and 'Helene' sent back to next month, the Countess was now alone in her fortress, with the exception of an unconscious nun. The Countess looked down at a small bag about the size of her palm filled with Francs. "At least I didn't come away *entirely* empty-handed," she sighed. "But now the worst is over. Nothing else could possibly compare to this." * * * * * < KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK > "Open up, mademoiselle!" "Who is it?" "Paris Vice Squad." "Go away. I don't want any." "Spee---Speeekfuurr yoursellllf child . . . child." The nun, just awakened, had made her way from the parlour floor to see the hubbub. "Not now, Sister Francis," the Countess whispered to her side whilst peering out the peephole of her front door. "Now go downstairs to the cellar -- I believe I have a bottle of rum down there with your name on it." "Hehehe . . . here comes some rum for the numb nun's tum -- I'm aplumb!" "That's *aplomb*. Now be quiet." The Countess shooed the Sister to the convent that was her wine cellar. "Mademoiselle, I'm afraid we cant do that. We have a warrant to search the premises! We have received a complaint that you are operating a house of ill repute!" "Ill repute? Ill repute! Surely you don't mean -- who would have --" the Countess recoiled, her reputation besmirched. And then, with fist and teeth clenched, the realization whispered: "Grandis." "Mademoiselle, I'm afraid we have to insist entrance at this point. If there is anything illegal or immoral at this address, we are required to intervene!" "Immoral?!? Why don't you look right across the street? You can't miss her -- Spaniard with red hair. She's Machiavelli, Robespierre, Torquemada, Caligula, and half of the Medicis all rolled into one package!" "I'm sorry, but our warrant only specifies this address. Now I'm going to have to ask you to open one last time Countess, or we will be forced to break down the door." "Fine . . . fine . . . just one moment," the Countess fumbled with the door's lock and proceeded to swing it open. She was rather surprised by the face on the other side. "Inspector Chavineux? You're with them? What's the meaning of this?" "I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience, Countess. It's just that we received a complaint of a certain nature, and department policy says that we *must* investigate. No choice. Since I know you, I thought it would be best if I come to make sure as little inconvenience as possible is done. Again, I'm truly sorry. We'll be gone in mere minutes." As she was moved off to the side, their impressive commanding officer emerged into the residence. His very look was a personification of law itself. "I am Chief Inspector Javert." "Javert?" she raised an eyebrow. "I heard you died trying to catch a bread thief!" "Don't believe everything you read. I promise we will be as swift as possible, mademoiselle." Several officers brushed past the Countess and started looking through the room, working their way inward through the house. "Fine," she grunted. "Just try not to knock over anything. A lot of the pieces I have here are irreplaceable." After about fifteen minutes, the party had found themselves upstairs, in front of an unusually large mahogany door. "What is in there?" Javert barked. "It is my boudoir." "Open it." "What? You do not enter the boudoir of a noblewoman without her permission!" "Break it down!" Before the Countess could speak, a rather substantial battering ram had materialized before her. "No! No, don't go in there!" she pleaded to the officer. She feigned a sob -- "to be violated like this . . ." Inspector Chavineux gently guided the Countess to the side, "Let us move over here so that we are not injured." The ram struck the huge structure once, twice, three times with no success. It was only on the fourth that the lock was forced open. The entire troupe rushed in as if a vacuum had pulled them. They, especially Inspector Chavineux, were altogether unprepared for what they saw. They stood dumbfounded in the museum atmosphere. Surrounding them on all sides, the Inspector with his training in art recognized them. Paintings from the masters. Sculpture from Greece, Rome, Persia, Egypt, all in pristine condition. On another wall, multiple scrolls which could have been the remnants of the legendary Library of Alexandria. However, there was one piece in particular, hanging in a position of prominence above the central fireplace that prompted everyone but the Countess to drop their respective jaws, so to speak. "It's the . . . it's the . . . it's the . . ." "Yes, Inspector," she suddenly became defiant as children who have their secrets discovered often do, crossing her arms and haughtily looking upward. "It's the 'Mona Lisa'." It was at this point that the irredeemably drunk Sister Francis pushed over an oil lamp in the wine cellar while trying to shoo away a pink elephant. * * * * * As the early morning Paris mob congregated around the smoldering heap that had, only hours before, been the residence of one expatriate Prussian noble, the Inspector chiseled his way through the crowd, looking for one person in particular: "Senorita Grandis! Senorita Grandis! Are you all right? I just heard that you were here only moments ago!" "Inspector Chavineux," the Spaniard spat out disgustedly, "What in God's name has happened?" "It's . . . it's all quite confusing. Earlier tonight, the Vice Squad acted on an anonymous tip that the Countess had been operating a brothel out of her house. When we arrived, we didn't find a brothel, but rather an entire floor full of replicas of some of the most valuable art in the world. Degas, Titian, Rembrandt, an incredible amount of fine sculpture, a wall which looked like the Lost Library of Alexandria, the 'Mona Lisa' -- and that's just what a few of us could identify. By the time our secondary units arrived, the house was already ablaze. The only thing we were able to save was Sister Francis, who we found stumbling around singing 'Auld Lang Syne'. As for the Countess herself, she disappeared in the midst of all of the confusion." "That surreptitious, slimy, underhanded . . . " Grandis muttered to herself. "I'm befuddled," the Inspector placed his index finger to his chin and furrowed his brow in the diminishing light of the quickly dying conflagration. "I still don't understand why she had all of those replicas of famous artworks. She could have seen the real ones anytime just by visiting us at the Louvre." "Don't you get it, you dolt?!?" Grandis threw her hands upward and shook her head. "She's been using you the whole time! She buys those fancy security devices for the museum and walks right past them because she already knows to bypass them! That was the real Mona Lisa! And now it's nothing but cinders! The one in your hallowed galleries is a fake!" "A fa . . . a fa . . ," he couldn't bring himself to verbalize it. "Yes, a fake!" Grandis shouted, frightening away a small group of Parisian street urchins who had come to warm themselves by the fire. "Inconceivable!" "Well, the 'Countess' had best not show her face in France again. Or anywhere in Europe for that matter -- the news of this scandal is going to spread everywhere!" The Inspector placed his hands on his hips as to add weight to his words. "Yes, everywhere!" Grandis clinched her fist in defiance and waved it at the gentle orange embers rising to heaven from the last tongues of flame. "Everywhere! As God as my eternal witness, there will not be one place in all Christendom that will tolerate the mere utterance of the name Countess Maria Contessa Alexia Anastasia von Hautkopft." "Of Ulm." "SHUT UP!!!" ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ "Ahem! Your name, madame?" "Oh, sorry. The name . . . er . . ." A pair of sullen, tired eyes scanned the railroad station looking for inspiration. What they found instead was a funeral procession moving onto the next outgoing train passing below the station clock and an engraved image of the emperor. Dead . . . time . . . ruler . . . "Meiou. Meiou Setsuna." "Ah! Returning home from abroad then? Let me be the first to welcome you to Japan. Now, to complete your records and for later identification purposes, I'll need to know your birthday and we'll file that under your visitation papers." "Well, actually, my birthday is *today* -- in a manner of speaking." "Oh, again let me be the first to give you my regards Meiou-san. Now, the last thing I need to ask you is whether you have anything to declare before you disembark." There comes a point in some people's lives when they realize that growing old is neither noble nor our natural destiny. Those that refuse this truth indeed do grow old and fade away. "Madame?" The remaining few rare souls take their first steps in growing young. "Not a thing," she laughed in a tone so deeply and profoundly amused as to totally befuddle the customs agent. "Not a thing." - - - - x - - - - **************************************************** "It takes one a long time to become young." -- Pablo Picasso Author's Notes: Yes, this was a Sailormoon/Nadia/Aristocats/Les Miserables crossover. "Bigaz" really is the Bunum word for "woman" The remainder is damnable lies. Sailor Moon and associated characters are the intellectual property of Takeuchi Naoko and/or Toei, DiC, Bandai, Kodansha, and a host of other ethereal corporate entities. Thank you for your time. Have a pleasant day. gradient1@thedoghousemail.com | http://gradient.tripod.com "Peculiar" Red-6 +Gradient August 1999 **************************************************** "And *that* is the story of how I came to be in Japan," Setsuna sighed as she reclined backward in her seat at the dinner table, champagne glass in hand. "See, I told you it wasn't very interesting." The remaining senshi simply stared blankly with mouths agape, with the notable exception of one, who obviously had some deep and ponderous philosophy about to spring forth. "Wow, Setsuna, that's really amazing," the blonde noted from across the table, almost wistfully. "It makes you think. We really *are* just tiny little ants floating in a vast sea of time, being spirited along by the wind of eternity." Everyone gasped. "Why, Minako, I'm . . . I'm surprised. That's quite eloquent and deep of you," Setsuna said as she shook her head in disbelief. She, however, didn't have to be Senshi of Time to predict what was going to happen next. "Oh, it wasn't me. It was Bob Dylan. Just like he said in the song ---- 'The ants are my friends, they're blowing in the wind; the ants are just blowing in the wind.'" Artemis just cried. Again. -FIN- ----------------------------------------------------------------------