bout de papier, Vol. 14, No. 4 (1997) — Winter 1997 // Hiver 1997, pp. 46–48
Following the kidnapped Dryan Tweedie from Japan to Brunei, LDC Liebnitz and Mabel Stanley found that Rialto Sleazewagon and Papa Jack Paridy had decamped with the archivist, and were last seen heading for the remote mountain kingdom of Su Wa Ni, deep in the Indolaysian jungle. The two logicians phoned the Centre’s contacts there and booked the next flight out.
Now they gripped their armrests tightly as the plane winged over the small runway of Su Wa Ni airport. They had been only mildly unnerved by the antique appearance of the aircraft — there hadn’t been many triplanes better than the 1917 Fokker, although Liebnitz had seen few with a log cabin for passengers nailed to the fuselage behind the machine-guns. The outside toilet was a surprise, but the food served on the flight was inedible anyway. And the knife fight that broke out between the pilot and co-pilot when they locked themselves out of the cockpit provided a welcome diversion from the fires that kept breaking out in the galley.
Eventually, the plane landed and taxied to the terminal. Staggering from the aircraft and edging carefully around the many passengers kissing the ground, Liebnitz and Mabel made their way to the terminal, where they were collected by their contact, Inspector Wa Diddi. As they rushed off in the Inspector’s unmarked jitney, he hurried to explain the situation. “We’ve been trying to locate Sleazewagon and your friend Tweedie, but with little luck. The place is in total chaos anyway, with the White Rajah about to die and no heir apparent. About all we do know is that Sleazewagon is somewhere in the Werzwaldo historical district by the river.”
They pulled up at their hotel. As Liebnitz stepped from the car, something suddenly shot through the air directly at his head. Standing behind the ace logician, Mabel could only glimpse the shaft of the missile standing out from his face as he turned toward her. Her relief was great when she saw the suction-cupped mylar arrow stuck to his forehead. “Very funny, Sleazewagon,” muttered Liebnitz as he unrolled the message taped to the arrow. He turned to Mabel and said, “It says to wait beside the statue of the Unknown Tourist in Werzwaldo, if we ever want to see Dryan alive again. And he explicitly forbids us to bring anyone else along. Since we have to get there in 10 minutes, I don’t see that we have many options. Do you agree, Inspector?”
The Inspector thought a moment. “We can’t jeopardize Mr Tweedie’s life by ignoring the message. And I can’t get a surveillance team organized in 10 minutes. But I can give you this little device.” So saying, he handed Mabel a small brass pipe in a fragrant pouch. “When the pipe is empty like this, it sends out a signal telling us where you are. When you’ve actually found Tweedie, just toke up with this dried frangipani root and we’ll know to storm the place.” Mabel raised an eyebrow, but took the pouch.
Ten minutes later, beside the bewildered-looking statue, Liebnitz and Mabel were greeted by Papa Jack Paridy, cleverly disguised in a hockey uniform and mukluks. Smiling avuncularly, he urged them into the enclosed back of a passing rickshaw, where they promptly passed out from the gas he pumped in. When they came to, they were in a large bare room with locked doors and no windows.
“Welcome,” Sleazewagon sneered from a television set in one corner of the room. “Liebnitz, you’ve given me far too much trouble, and I’m delighted to have the opportunity to settle scores. Mabel, I’m overjoyed that you’ve come to me at last, after all these years. I’m told that you have someone else just now, but I’m sure we can handle that little problem.” The camera pulled back to reveal Dryan Iweedie bound and gagged over a roiling pool, while liquid dripped fuming from a glass bottle onto the rope holding him up.
“Standard procedure, you’ll note — I’ve always been a traditionalist,” Sleazewagon continued. “Piranhas in the pool, acid eating away the rope — by my calculation, he has about 23 minutes to dinnertime. Now that he has served my purpose by bringing you here, it’s ta-ta Tweedie.” Enraged, Mabel launched herself at the TV, but Liebnitz stopped her, whispering “He’s about to tell us how to save him. These crackpots can never resist.”
“I’m a fair man, so I will give you a chance to save him,” said Sleazewagon right on cue. “If you look on the wall behind Tweedie, you’ll see a grid like a chess board. eight squares by eight. Each row of squares has a word beside it. Each column has a number above it. If someone presses the right square before it’s too late, then Tweedie goes free. To choose the right square, you need the right word and the right number. How do you get them? Through the green door by the TV is the way to this room. Between us are a series of clues to the word and the number. If you think you’ve got them right, you can come in and take one try at the board.”
Papa Jack appeared at his side, leering through his moustache. “By the way, don’t expect to come in with guns blazing. Mr Paridy here removed yours while you slept. He also took this little drug kit of yours, my dear. You’ll learn in time that I keep a drug-free environment. Well, see you in a few minutes. Perhaps.”
With that, the TV screen went blank and the green door’s electronic lock buzzed open. Liebnitz and Mabel went cautiously through and found themselves in a raised area at one end of a long, wide room. Just inside the door was a modern-looking table. Examining it closely, they found a brass plaque with the inscription “D.I. Mendeleyev, 1869”. Liebnitz frowned. The two whispered together, then nodded their heads and moved down the stairs to the main room.
Two rows of objects reached from where they stood to the double doors at the far end of the room. In front of each row was a small sign on a stand. Mabel took the first row, whose sign said ONE SYMBOL AFTER ANOTHER. The six groups of objects in this row were ordered and lettered as follows:
(a) A toy action figure of the Lone Ranger on horseback, with his faithful Indian companion Tonto.
(b) A sepia picture of a man and a woman in turn-of-the-century European attire, seated next to a table with two Nobel prizes. Written on the back of the picture is the number 1898.
(c) A picture of a uniformed policeman. (d) A first aid kit with a small bottle and bandages on top.
(e) A beaker of microchips and a beaker of sand.
(f) A night scene of Times Square, brilliantly illuminated.
Liebnitz took the second row. The sign said NUMBERS and below that (G x H) – (3 x I) + J – K + (3 x L). The six groups of objects in this row were ordered and lettered as follows:
(g) A book by Guenther Grass, a can of beans and a photo of Jack Haley. (h) A piece of antique needlepoint and a photo of Cary Grant with Edward
Everett Horton.
(i) A woolly yellow sheepskin, a picture of William Jennings Bryan and a fairy-tale book opened to the story
“Rumplestiltskin”
(j) A montage photo of Bismarck and Margaret Thatcher shaking hands, with a German medal on top.
(k) A comic book cover of Superman flying off into space with an exploding planet behind him.
(l) A model of an American spacecraft with “Freedom 7” painted on the side, and a CD by Queen.
Having reached the end of the room, the two logicians consulted and then pushed open the double doors. Before their eyes, Tweedie swung gently and eyed them desperately. Sleazewagon glowered beside him at the edge of the pool, while Papa Jack lounged and smoked something fragrant in the far corner of the room. Ignoring everything but Tweedie’s plight, Liebnitz and Mabel started toward the grid of squares. But Sleazewagon drew a gun and moved to cut them off. “Finished so quickly?” he said in oily tones. “I’m sorry to see that. And Tweedie still has three minutes. Why don’t we discuss this a little further. I would really be upset if he continued to come between us, Mabel.”
“There’s nothing to come between,” she replied. “I wouldn’t have you if you were the last man on earth.” “I can give that a shot, if you’d like,” replied Sleazewagon. Mabel persevered. “You said we could have a try at the board if we worked out the clues,” she said “So I lied,” snarled Sleazewagon. “At this point, I’m not prepared to take chances.”
He glanced down at his watch. Mabel pulled a slim dagger from her boot, where Papa Jack had missed it, and hurled it with all her strength. Alarmed, Sleazewagon lurched aside and brought up his gun. Just as his finger tightened, a small bright object struck him in the nose. Expecting the worst, he looked down to see a suction-tipped mylar arrow tumble into the pool and be savaged by a myopic piranha. “Funny, eh?” asked Liebnitz proudly.
Mabel’s dagger meanwhile flew truly to its target, one of the squares on the board.
With a grinding sound, the boom holding Tweedie’s hanging figure swung away from the pool. On the way, it swayed erratically and nudged Sleazewagon in passing. Already off balance from Liebnitz’ dart, he teetered and fell noisily into the pool, as the rope finally parted and dropped Tweedie onto the floor and into Mabel’s arms. Ungagged, his first words were, “Touché, Sleazewagon. “ When he then tried to explain to Mabel why he was wearing a dress, she shut him up quickly in the best possible way.
Meanwhile, Papa Jack managed to stagger upright. He came over to Liebnitz, brandished what he had been smoking and said, “Boy, that’s really great frangipani she was carrying, and I like the pipe too.’ “ It was just then that the wall blew out and the rajah’s bodyguard came storming in, led by a jubilant Inspector Wa.
Wrapping things up over dinner with the Inspector and his brother Tsun, Liebnitz admitted he was not sure Sleazewagon was gone. “The piranhas may have refused to eat him — professional courtesy, you know.” Tweedie had been recognized (by the usual aged nurse) as the heir to the throne of the White Rajah. He married Mabel and was last seen on a ceremonial barge heading up the Su Wa Ni River, she threatening him with mayhem if the Al Jolsen imitation did not stop NOW. No-one knew what had happened to Papa Jack, although it was rumoured that he flew out of the country without a plane.
As the party broke up, the Inspector’s brother asked Liebnitz what the key to the puzzle had been. Replied the logician, “Elementary, my dear Wa Tsun.”
Can you duplicate Mabel’s and Liebnitz’s feat by marking the square of Sleazewagon’s board (or identifying it by a word and a number) that was the key to releasing Tweedie? It is not necessary to duplicate their feat by actually rescuing him. The first correct answer drawn by bout de papier from those received by February 27, 1998 will win two books on Southeast Asia, including the story of the real White Rajah.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 14, No. 4 (1997) — Winter 1997 // Hiver 1997, pp. 46–48. Read the rest of this issue →
