The Great Panjandrum
Encounter
3
Seated at his desk some hours later, Baxter’s pen scratched at a sheet of stationery, and he made a mental note to replace it soon.
“… but were I to allow myself that luxury even in my dreams, Susan, I would say that sometimes I think I detect a hint of impatience in R’s manner towards the little proprieties of this life. Certainly, it would have shaken anyone’s mental fortitude to withstand the rabbling hordes of Vilificent; however, he very nearly declined to wear the proper tie at the funeral. I have never seen him with a less than immaculate jacket and collared shirt, but I have, though you may find it difficult to believe, occasionally had the impression that he was lingering in the neighborhood of some of the baser types of apparel shops. He has a drawer which he keeps locked, and I have a suspicion that there is a selection of denim and knit street clothing in there. I will not abuse our relationship by prying further than I am invited, but if anything along that front should develop, I shall of course keep you informed.
“As to other matters, I was pleased to receive your account of Jeffrey’s success in the way of paper airplane construction. Please inform him that when I next visit, I intend to reveal to him my own method of creating a Grumman F4F Wildcat at an accurate scale.”
Baxter carefully sealed up the envelope containing his latest missive to his sister. Susan was one of the few people who knew of Mr. Reynold’s hobby. Indeed, she had been distinctly in the forefront during one of the first escapades Baxter had participated in. Since that time she had married and settled down in a cottage which had been constructed over the site of Maliguel’s Cavern. Root cellars are not cheap, as Susan very well knew.
Putting the envelope aside for tomorrow’s post, Baxter glanced at his gold pocket watch. As Mr. Reynold was out with friends this evening, Baxter felt himself free to peruse a few incunabulae that he had previously marked in the library. Mr. Reynold had an extensive library in his mansion, and greatly enjoyed both the reading of these books and the prestige of owning many of the collectors items which he had purchased over the years. Baxter’s personal knowledge of Mr. Reynold’s finances was limited to the budgets he was responsible for, but he estimated his employer’s annual revenue to be somewhere above the gross national income of a small country, for Mr. Reynold to afford as many rarities as he did.
Baxter had been nicely settled with an ancient illuminated text and a cautious cup of tea for nearly half an hour when he heard the faint sound of music playing at a distance, and felt the subtle pressure of an active subwoofer. His watch chimed a single, clear tone. He sighed, and carefully replaced the book on the shelf. Carrying his tea, he walked back to the kitchen area and past the pantry to his nook. He raised the shade covering the back wall to reveal a screen on the wall. It was lit up with a kaleidoscope of color and an icon was blinking in the lower right hand corner. Baxter touched the icon and spoke to the computer.
“Yes, sir? How may I assist you?”
“Abacot, I need seven cocktails and a tray of various … Oh, you know. I’m entertaining some friends down in the Plangentarium.”
“Yes, sir. I shall be down shortly.”
5
Seven minutes and some odd seconds later, Abacot descended in the secret lift, his mask securely attached, with a large tray containing a selection of small sandwiches and finger foods, drinks and their various components, and a bucket of ice. He maneuvered it through the silently sliding doors and out onto a parapet. The deck-like structure had no visible exit aside from the elevator, and contained four bistro tables, an array of patio chairs, and six people. The view from the railing, which was approximately 20 feet from the wall where the lift extruded, was dim, and yet somehow spectacular. Although there was moderate lighting over the tables, the only lights currently illuminating the rest of the cavern were several rows of pinpoint small lights that extended outward from the deck, coming to a point in the distance and seeming to disappear into the void beyond. This gave the impression of a never-ending horizontal abyss, and The Panjandrum was quite proud of it.
Three ladies in fancy evening dress and two other gentlemen in tuxedos were scattered in various chairs, their identities all hidden behind masks, and in one extravagant case a feathered green concoction which showed only the eyes. They turned towards Abacot as he extended the legs of the tray he held and placed it in the center of the circle of tables. There were six cocktails already prepared, which he distributed around the guests and master, and then he stepped back to stand nearly against the wall. His clothing was impeccably black, and except for the bright white of cuffs and half-mask, he would have been practically invisible against the ebony rock which made up the walls of the cavern. Unfortunately, Baxter’s red-blonde hair did not lend itself to innocuous lurking against black backgrounds. Irish ancestry was a mixed blessing at times.
The Great The Panjandrum smiled at his guests, ivory teeth flashing behind his sepia-toned skin, and gestured towards the edibles. “Can I offer you any other refreshment?” He wore a blood red tuxedo jacket over black shirt and pants, with a satiny black pocket square and red domino mask. Subtle red embroidery teased the eyes of his guests, flickering in and out of visibility as the light shimmered over his large frame. Flexible matte black dancing shoes completed his ensemble, lending a cast of athleticism for anyone who failed to note the wiry muscles underneath his clothing.
The tall woman with the peacock-feathered mask and a brilliant blue and aquamarine dress which flowed in waves to the floor held her glass delicately at the stem, raising it in a toasting gesture. Abacot recognized her as a frequent visitor to The Panjandrum’s estate. Her long gloves, full mask, and high-collared dress prevented any sliver of skin from showing past the costume, leaving only her distinctive blue-green eyes and riotously curling black hair as clues to her identity.
“I should like to propose a toast, O Great The Panjandrum. To Friendship! May it always be paramount among us, and nothing divide these comrades in arms.”
The Panjandrum gave a nod of his head in appreciation, and downed the glass. “Shall I ask whether you are speaking to an ideal, Marine? Or do you anticipate a sudden spasm of confidence to cause us to all unmask?”
Marine sipped at her drink, slightly raising the draped veil covering the lower half of her face in order to bring it to her hidden lips. She chuckled in response to The Panjandrum’s comment, filmy fabric shifting with each breath. “My toast refers to the ongoing health of our relationships, rather than any push to guilt anyone into revelations beyond their current comfort level. I should no more expect you to unmask than I would expect Abacot here to start clucking like a chicken or suddenly throw a pastry in one of your guests’ faces.”
The Panjandrum laughed aloud. “And yet, madam, although my good Abacot here has never done nor shall ever, I trust, think of doing the latter, he has performed the former function for me. And admirably. There is no one whose creature impersonations I should sooner trust.”
“Then perhaps, my dear The Panjandrum, there is hope for an unmasking yet.” Marine turned to one of the other gentlemen in the room. “How about you, Beau, can we hope to learn your true identity? Or by which face will you greet us tonight?”
The fair-haired young man in the denim jeans and plaid button-down shirt grinned back below his golden half-mask and cowboy hat. His belt held a holster with a ’51 Navy Colt at his hip. “I don’t think I’m ready for that, yet. I’m having too much fun to throw aside all pretense at pretense.” Belle, the silver-bewigged and silver-masked girl sitting next to him, giggled slightly. “I have to agree with Beau, of course. Although I don’t do barnyard noises, I’m still a side-kick.” Her bare feet and hands showed the callouses of a gymnast, silver leggings and a securely fastened wrap-around top completing her monochrome outfit.
The other two members of the group, a black-haired girl in black dress and black mask with cherry red lipstick and a gentleman in a navy blue suit with a simple brown leather mask nodded in agreement. “We have nothing to gain by being precipitate.” The bass voice of Azrael resounded deeply through the echoing cavern after the giggles of the silver Belle. Scarlet said nothing, merely taking a seat in one of the deck chairs and crossing her legs underneath the black slit skirt, her red patent leather pumps gleaming sullenly in the shadows.
Throughout the conversation Baxter had stood quietly with his back to the wall, his breathing barely noticeable. He had allowed neither his curiosity at the new tack Marine was taking nor his amusement at the recollection of the chicken incident to crack his exterior stolid demeanor. Complete innocuity was his goal, and he knew he was near to accomplishing it when Scarlet leaned over towards Azrael. She whispered what was meant for his ears alone, not realizing Abacot was near enough to hear her. While The Panjandrum began to show Belle how to operate the searchlights in the cavern, illuminating in turn his various vehicles and special containment and operations quarters below, the conversation between these two taciturn guests was crystal clear to Baxter.
“Az, why are we here? I thought we were breaking this off.”
“Well, I was going to talk to you previously, but this whole party was brought together so quickly I didn’t have a chance.” Azrael glanced at Marine, who was indulgently watching Belle and The Panjandrum, and then at Beau, who was engaged in sampling the hors d’oeuvres Abacot had carried in earlier.
“We can’t afford to lose our standing with The Panjandrum. I thought we could talk to him about — ” he stopped, and lowered his voice, “but after last week, we can’t risk it.”
Scarlet frowned, pushing a strand of her loose hair back behind her ears. “I’m not happy with this. You know how dangerous it is to have these free-form meetings, all of us together.” She bit her lip. “I can’t put my finger on it, but he’s up to something.”
Azrael laughed softly. “He’s always up to something, Scarlet. That’s what keeps the job interesting.” He put his hand on her knee. “It’ll be okay. He won’t do anything too crazy. I’ve been working with him for nearly six years now, I know how his mind works.”
“I know.” Scarlet let her mouth relax. “I’m still concerned, though. Let’s please be careful. Don’t get in too deep.”
“I’ll be careful. But you know that reciprocity is what keeps us going around here. Otherwise, there’d be no meeting in the first place.”
“Ha. Well,I trust your intuition.” Scarlet cocked an eyebrow at Azrael. “Just don’t be stupid, okay?”
“Okay. But you really shouldn’t worry so much.” Azrael got up and moved over to the group surrounding the searchlight, leaving Scarlet sitting there with a worried look on her face. She took out her cell phone and began tapping something on the screen, ignoring the rest of the group.
“So, The Panjandrum,” Azrael’s voice boomed across the patio. ”Did you invite us here just to admire your view, or was there another reason?”
The Great The Panjandrum, still leaning close to Belle and gesturing out towards the far walls of the cavern, paused as he heard Azrael’s question.
Stepping back slightly from Belle, he stood upright and grinned.
“I thought no one would ever ask! Of course, I brought you here because I wanted to show off all the fancy equipment I have.” The Panjandrum bowed facetiously. “And to flaunt my complete trust in each of you. Or was it to flush out a … Nah, must be the trust bit.”
Scarlet raised a skeptical eyebrow, looking up from her phone.
Beau chuckled, and swiftly countered, “Oh, of course, and that’s why we just got through explaining why no one was going to remove his or her masks tonight. It’s all perfectly clear, now.” Silver Belle gave another clear giggle, twin to the one which had escaped her lips earlier.
The Panjandrum took the jibe in good humor. “To be honest, the reason I brought you all here tonight is that I have been thinking about something for a while now. And I’m hoping we can brainstorm a bit about how to put my plan into action.”
Abacot stepped forward and handed The Panjandrum a small silvery pointer, reminiscent of an old television remote control. The Panjandrum punched a series of commands into it, and the lighting in the cave changed.
Rows of bright halogen lights began to gleam along the black walls, and over head five large spotlights made popping sounds as they warmed up. The light levels in the cave slowly began to increase, and the rest of the room came into view. Marine gazed appreciatively at the seven vehicles below them, and Beau seemed to be taking a mental inventory of the computer equipment and technological gadgetry pushed against the lower walls.
The balcony they were on jutted out over a portion of the room below, so that some of the contents were hidden, but most of the cavern was spread out beneath their eager gazes. Only Scarlet maintained her frosty attitude in the face of The Panjandrum’s gleeful display.
Abacot activated the button on the elevator as The Panjandrum ushered his guests towards it. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me give you a bit more of a tour. Please descend with me to the actual working environment of The Panjandrum. When he’s at home, anyway. Welcome to the Plangentarium.”
“We all seem to work from home,” Marine smiled. “I guess it’s part of the job.”
When everyone was in the elevator, Abacot pressed the button labeled ‘Fundament.’ Belle squealed. “Finally, to see The Panjandrum’s Lair!” She excitedly clapped her hands.
