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"Cartwheels"Written By: Kaeru Shisho Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Yaoi, AU Pairings: 3+4 Summary: For my 2015 April fool's story, a romantic
mystery in three parts. Quatre gets a letter which might be from fan
or a stalker, so he takes it to the investigative firm of Chang and
Yuy to get answers " Cartwheels" Part One - Mysterious Letters Letter 1 Dear Man of the Aviator Glasses, You are very wise to recommend a letter of introduction before agreeing to see me. And I think one is not nearly enough. One each day this week, I believe, it will take to catch and hold your interest in me, enough to gain me an introduction in person. It is of myself that I must write, I know. I will not, then, tell you what is on my mind, the picture of you I carry. Many L4 gallants, no doubt, have told you the same while the moon was bright above you and breeze was softly whispering through the branches of- But I don't know! I have never been to L4 where I've heard you call home. I hope soon to correct this failing. All day I intend to look up L4 on the internet and learn everything about it so that I will feel as if I have been there. But all day I have dwelt in the clouds, avoiding all internet sites in the clouds. Now, I am in my quiet study. Pen and ink and paper before me. I prefer the personal touch of pen in hand, the application of ink to paper, over typing you an e-mail message. I must prove myself a person worth knowing. My furnished room is in a building called the Delphi Terrace. A peaceful place with a courtyard on which my balcony looks own. You should see the courtyard! Neat and beautiful beyond a magic gate that locks out the surrounding city noise. It was the court that led me to sublet the room. While sitting here I looked up your biography-your family is a very famous one, you know- and have learned that we share an interest. You love a mystery. Since you do, I'm going to relate to you the odd chain of circumstances that brought me here. Have you been to L2? Quite possibly you have with your job. A month ago I was on L2 researching an old story-I'm a journalist, you see, or should like to be one. I sell bits and drabbles but would like to achieve a position of some note. One evening after dinner I strolled along the main street, where all the hotels and shops are located. In front of one of the shops I saw a collection of self-guided, walking-tour maps. I decided I could use one and paused to look them over. I was at this only a moment when a young man about my age stepped up and also looked over the maps. I had made a selection from the lot and was looking to find the shopkeeper, when the other man spoke. He was lean, nice-looking, with remarkably expressive eyes and a smile trying to turn up the corners of his mouth. "Er-'cuse me, but not that map. It was put together by committee, if you get my drift. I'd suggest-" I was astonished. I'd heard of the colonists of L2- and from his accent this was a native- that it is not their habit to address strangers. Yet here was one interfering in my selection of map. I ended by buying the one he preferred, and he strolled along with me in the direction of my hotel, chatting easily. We stopped at a bar for drinks, listened to music, and devoured some food. After that he came with me to the lobby of my hotel. From there he took his leave. You might be surprised that in that short amount of time he regarded me in the light of an old friend. He said he would call on me the next morning. We could do some exploring of the colony together, if I liked. I made up my mind that Max Church, for that, he told me, was his name, was an adventurer down on his luck. I expected him to touch me for money the next day. My prediction failed. Church seemed to have plenty of money. We walked and talked. I may not have collected anything but background material for a story, but the fellowship was enjoyable. As the time approached for me to leave L2 for the Sanc Kingdom on Earth, he suggested I meet some of his friends. "I know people on all the colonies and Earth, too." He was a very surprising L2 character setting a new precedent of openness, I think. When I said goodbye at the shuttle port, he pressed into my hand a letter of introduction to his cousin, Zechs Merquise, who he said would be glad to make me a home in Sanc. He was a captain on furlough, or would be when I reached there. "Zechs is a bit stuffy and drinks too much, but he's likeable enough," Said Max. "He'll want to show you the town. Let him and give him my best!" Of course I took the letter, but I puzzled greatly over the sudden warm attachment that Max had formed for me. I wasn't convinced that this cousin of his, just back from his tour of duty, would want a stranger in his house. I made up my mind to first visit the man, test the waters, and not to present the letter, even though Max was very persistent that I should. I put the matter of the letter out of my mind and settled in for the long shuttle ride through the vastness of space, falling, it seemed, to Earthside. It was then that I came for the first time to this house on Delphi Terrace, for it was the address Max had given me. It was a large home with rooms to rent. The captain had not yet arrived from the outlands, but all was ready for his soon-to-be expected arrival. The doorman offered to show me around and let me choose a room, should I decide to stay. We strolled to the rear of the main hall and through an open window I saw that courtyard which is my great love in Sanc-the old ivy-covered walls of brick, the neat paths between the blooming flower bed, the rustic seat, the magic gate. To me it was incredible that just outside lay the kingdom's biggest city, with all its poverty and wealth, its sorrows and joys, its rattles and roars. Here was a garden to dream in, to adore and to cherish. I told the man that I would take a room based on the courtyard's beauty. That made him like me, I think. He insisted that I choose a room on the second floor so I could have a view into it, so I trailed after him. I've told you about the room's view. That's how it became mine. Three days after I arrived I heard above me, for the first time, the tread of the captain's military boots. He'd arrived at last. Now my courage began to fail. I should have left Max's letter lying in my travel bag and known the captain only by his tread above me. I felt it was presumptuous of me to come live in the same house with him. I had, however, mentioned to the doorman that I was an acquaintance of the captain's, and the man had lost no time in announcing my presence in his home. So, one night, I got up my nerve and went to call on the captain in his room above mine. I knocked. "Enter." And there I stood in his study, facing him. He was tall, half a head taller than I, very handsome, with fine features and three feet of platinum hair worn loose and free-flowing down his back. His manner was not cordial. "Captain Merquise," I began, "I am very sorry to intrude-" It wasn't the thing to say, of course, but I was flustered. Did I say he was a very good-looking man? Stunning, actually. But on reflection, a dull penny compared to my memory of you. "However, I happen to be a neighbor of yours and I have here a letter of introduction from your cousin, Max Church. I met him on a visit to L2 and we became very good friends." "Indeed," said the captain. He held out his hand for the letter, as though it were evidence of a court-martial. I passed it over, wishing I hadn't come. He read it through. It was a long letter, considering its nature. While I waited, standing by his desk-he hadn't asked me to sit-I looked about the room. It was much like the one in my room, only dustier and larger and more elegantly furnished. The captain turned back and began to read the letter again. This was embarrassing. Glancing down, I happened to see on his desk an odd knife, which I fancy he had brought from the outlands. The blade was steel, dangerously sharp, the hilt gold, carved to represent some heathen figure. I noticed the captain move. He looked up from Max's letter and his cold gaze fell full upon me. "To the best of my knowledge," he said, "I have no cousin named Max Church." A pleasant situation, you must admit! Coming to his room, boldly flaunting in his face a letter of commendation from a non-existent cousin! "I owe you an apology," I said. I wished I could sound as haughty as he, but fell short by several miles. "I brought the letter in good faith." "No doubt of that," he answered. "Evidently it was given me by some adventurer for purposes of his own," I went on, "though I am at a loss to guess what they could have been. I'm sorry." I said this and know it sounded like, "I'm nothing of the sort," because I wasn't especially sorry at the time. I was both hurt and angry at Max to have put me in this situation. A painful pause followed. I felt he ought to give me back the letter, but he made no move to do so, and, of course, I didn't ask for it. "Ah, um... good night then." And with that, our meeting came to its ignoble end and I scurried to the door. "Good night," he answered, and I fled the room, leaving him holding Max's accursed letter. That is the story of how I came to this house in Delphi Terrace in the kingdom of Sanc. There is mystery in it, you must admit, my heartsong. Yes, you make my heart sing your praises with every beat. Once or twice since that uncomfortable call I have passed the captain on the stairs, but the halls are poorly lit, for which I am grateful, and our faces remain in shadow. I hear him above me, pacing. In fact, as I write this I can hear him. I wonder who was Max Church of L2 and what was his motive, setting me up that way? At least I have my garden. I have opened my window and let in a breeze smelling faintly of stock blossoms and roses. It whispers over the green grass, in the creeping ivy, in the soft murky folds of my curtains. Whispers of dreams that go with this first letter to you. Dreams that even I dare not whisper yet. And so, good night. -The Quiet Man. (o) Heero Yuy's journal: Entries for Winner case. Unknown man sending letters to QRW (yes, that Winner). Writer is a little cheesy, laying on the romance with a heavy hand. The name Max Church (underlined twice) is a shock. It is similar to another that had been a "tense" case not that long ago. Chang, you bastard, you read this and chose me to pursue this case because of this name! Further reading unveils details to investigate: Delphi Terrace, Sanc-locate Writer likely lives on the 2nd floor room L2- shuttle records, map shop nearby? Low tech writer- hand written letters, no GPS on phone, if a phone, but he has access to computer Journalist? educated, literate Captain Zechs Merquise of Sanc- look up Reading letter number two immediately... (o) Letter 2 Dear Man of the Aviator Glasses, I am writing this at three in the morning, with Sanc quiet as a grave, beyond our garden. That I am so late in getting to it is not because I did not think of you all day yesterday; not because I did not sit down at my desk at seven last evening to address you. Believe me, only the most startling- the most appalling- accident could have held me up. The most startling, most appalling accident has happened. I am tempted to give you the news at once in one striking and terrible sentence, and I could write that sentence. A tragedy, wrapped in mystery as impenetrable as a Sanc fog, has befallen our quiet little house in Delphi Terrace. Even now at this early, or late, hour I hear at intervals the tramp of men on unhappy mission-but no! I must go back to the beginning. Last night I had an early dinner at Cyclops Cyder Chop, so early that I was practically alone in the restaurant. The letter I was about to write to you was uppermost in my mind so I quickly dined and hurried back to my room. I stopped to fumble for my keys, waiting for the doorman. The chime of a bell rang out in the peaceful thoroughfare like a loud and friendly greeting. I remember clearly that I heard seven chimes for the hour from the church across the street. Gaining my room, I sat at my desk at once to write. Over my head I could hear Captain Merquise moving about. Wouldn't he be horrified to discover that the common man rooming below him could hear his every move? I was musing this over when I heard coming from the room above me some stranger talking in a harsh determined tone. Then came the captain's answering voice, calmer, more dignified. This conversation went along for some time, growing each moment more excited. Though I could not distinguish a word of it, I had the uncomfortable feeling that there was a controversy on. I remember feeling annoyed that the noise interfered with my composition of your letter, which I regarded as most important, you may be sure. At the end of five minutes of argument there came the heavy thump-thump of men struggling above me. I know you've been to college, so you might relate to the sounds of young men throwing each other about in an excess of youth and high spirits. This seemed grimmer, the thrashing more determined. I did not like it, but it was none of my business, and no one had called out for help. I concentrated on starting my letter. The struggle suddenly ended with a particularly heavy thud that shook our ancient house to its foundations. I sat listening, somehow very much depressed. There was no sound until there was a creak. Somebody was coming down the stairs very quietly. I waited for him to pass through the shaft of light that poured from the door open at my back. At that moment the Fates intervened in the shape of a breeze through my windows, the door banged shut, and a heavy man rushed by me in the darkness and ran down the stairs the rest of the way. I knew he was heavy, because the passageway was average-size yet he had to push me aside to get by. I heard him swear under his breath. Quickly I went to a hall window at the far end that looked out on the street, but the front door was not open. No one came out. That could only mean the man had flown through the courtyard. From my balcony I just caught sight of a dim figure running through the rear of the garden. He did not try to open the gate, the magic one; he climbed it, and so disappeared from sight into the alley. For a moment I considered. These were odd actions, surely, but should I interfere? I couldn't forget the cold stare form the Captain while holding my letter of introduction, as amiable as a statue. Would he welcome my intrusion now? Finally I made up my mind to forgive and forget the cold behavior and look up the doorman to start. I persuaded him to go with me to the captain's quarters. The captain's door was open, an inauspicious beginning, so I let the doorman go first. He stepped into the room and turned on a lamp. "Oh my God!" the doorman called out. The lamp shed light on the situation. At last I write that sentence: Captain Zechs Merquise of the Sanc Army lay dead on the floor. The horror or it is strung with me now as I sit in the silent morning in this room of mine which is so like the one in which the captain died. He had been stabbed just over the heart, and my first thought was of that odd outlander knife I'd seen lying on his study table. I turned quickly to seek it, but it was gone. As I looked over the table top it came to me that the room was in good order, despite those sounds of struggle, which made one or two strange items stand out. One was a florist's box containing a number of white lilies. Beside that lay a garish women's scarf pin with an emerald scarab. Not far from the captain's body lay what I guessed was a type of helmet with a mask portion which would cover the eyes and nose. "Nothing should be touched," I told the doorman, who nodded with a face white as the paper upon which I am writing this. "We must leave things just as they are until the police arrive." "Yes, of course. I'll notify the police." I agreed. If Preventers were required, let the police make that call. I went back to my room to wait for a detective to arrive. Imagine how I felt! Before this mystery could be solved, I foresaw that I might be involved to a degree that was unpleasant if not dangerous. The doorman would remember that I first came here as one acquainted with the captain. I am sure he noted the lack of any real interaction, even friendship between us. He would no doubt testify that I had been eager to obtain lodgings in his house. Then there was the matter of my letter from Max. I would keep that secret, unless the captain still had it in his room! Who knows what false information the letter contained! Lastly, there was not a living soul to back me up in my story of the quarrel that preceded the captain's death, of the man who escaped by way of the garden. Even the most stupid policeman cannot fail to look upon me with the eye of suspicion! In about twenty minutes, three men arrived from the local police station. By that time I had worked myself up into a state of absurd nervousness. I heard the doorman let them in, heard them climb the stairs, and walk around in the room overhead. In a short time the doorman knocked at my door and told me that the detective in charge desired to speak to me. A I preceded the servant up the stairs I felt toward him as an accused murderer must feel toward the witness who has it in his power to swear his life away. The detective spoke succinctly. I tried to act as unconcerned as an innocent man should, but failing miserably, I fear. I related to him my story of the voices, the struggle, and the heavy man who had pushed by me in the hall and later climbed the gate. He listened without comment. At the end he said, "You were acquainted with the captain?" "Slightly," I told him. Max's letter kept popping into my mind, frightening me. I had just met him- that was all-through a friend... a cousin of his, Max Church." "Is Church in Sanc to vouch for you?" "No. I last saw him on L2." "I see. How did you happen to take rooms in this house?" "The first time I called to see the captain he hadn't arrived on furlough. I was looking for lodging and liked the garden here." It sounded silly, put like that. I wasn't surprised that the detective eyed me with scorn, but I wished he hadn't. He began to walk about the room, ignoring me. "White lilies, scarab pin, OZ helmet," he detailed, pausing before the table where those strange exhibit lay. A policeman came forward carrying a news-vid clip. "What is it?" the detective asked. "Daily news videos, sir. Found scattered at the base of the stairwell." The detective looked at them briefly, snarled, and tossed them into a trash bin. "I have my own copies." There was a knock on the door. The detective called, "Come in." and a slender young lady, pretty, trim, honey blond, entered the room. I could hear the doorman huffing up the stairs on the way. "I received a call to come to my brother's home immediately-Oh!" She stopped suddenly as her eyes fell upon the divan where Zechs Merquise lay. In an instant, she was at the dead man's side. "Zechs! Oh, Zechs!" she cried in anguish. "You are the deceased sister, I am to understand?" asked the detective. I thought he was insensitive, considering. There fell a silence and then the door man spoke up, "It is Miss Relena Darlian, come to see her... the captain." I have rarely seen any one so overcome as Miss Relena Darlian. Watching her, it seemed to me that the affection existing between them must have been a beautiful thing. She turned away for her brother at last, and the door man thought to give her some explanation of what had happened. She held up well, under the circumstances, then said, "You will pardon me, gentlemen, this has been a terrible shock! I didn't dream... I just dropped in for a word with him... just back... and now-?" We said nothing, her stunned audience, for several moments. "I am sorry," the detective said meaningfully, at last, though I caught his eyes still shifting about the room, "especially as Sanc may have need of men like the captain. Now, I want to say this: I am head of the police department investigative branch. This is no ordinary murder. For reasons I cannot disclose, and for the best interest of the kingdom, news of the captain's tragic death must be kept for the present out of the news. The manner of death, I mean. A simple death notice, you understand, inferring that he died of natural causes would be appropriate." "I-I understand," agreed the young lady. She seemed older than her years and I guessed she knew more than she was telling. "Thank you," said the detective. "I shall leave you to attend to the matter, as far as your family is concerned. You will take charge of the body." "Yes, yes, I want to do that," she said, holding tears at bay. "As for the rest of you, I forbid you to mention this matter outside." The detective stood looking, puzzled, at me. "You're a colonist?" he asked, and I judge he did not care for us non-Earthsiders. "I am," I told him. "Know anyone at your consulate?" he demanded. My luck, I actually did. "Yes, the secretary to Treize Khushrenada, in fact." "Very good," said the detective. "In that case, you are free to go, but you must understand that you are an important witness in this case and if you attempt to leave Sanc you will be locked up." So, I came back to my room, horribly entangled in a mystery that is little to my liking. I have been sitting here in my study for some time, going over I again and again. There have been many footsteps on the stairs and voice in the hall. Waiting here for the dawn, I have come to be very sorry for the cold, handsome captain. After all, he was a man with hopes and dreams of his own. His tread on the floor above I would never hear again. Who was the stranger he had argued with, who had struck so surely with that exotic knife? Where had the knife gone? What was the import-since not only I but the detective too thought the items were notable-of the white lilies, the emerald scarab pin, and the (what had the detective called it? OZ, yes!) the OZ helmet? Interesting man from L4 who wore his aviators on the top of his head, you wanted mystery. When I wrote that first letter to you, little did I dream that I should soon have it to give you in overwhelming measure. And through all this you face has been constantly before me. Yes, your face as I saw it that bright morning in the hotel breakfast room. I had seen your eyes and the temptation to kiss you had been great, very great. It is dawn in the garden now and Sanc is beginning to stir. And so, this time, good morning. -The Quiet Man. (o) Heero Yuy's journal: This second letter must have given my client, Quatre, a shock. He complained that he hadn't been able to pay attention at the theater after reading it and complains that he thinks of nothing but the possible contents of the next letter. Obviously the man is a writer- he sets up suspense purposely Cyclops Cyder Chop in Sanc? I do not think so, nor does my exhaustive internet search. Church clock tower across the street from Delphi Terrance- locate Writer is a myth geek. For example: Delphi... Cyclops... Fates... Check with court or Preventers for record of death Relena Darlian? Is this Relena Peacecraft? Call into her secretary. ID consulate secretary to Treize Khushrenada- Gone. Current is Lucrezia Noin. Make appointment. Ask Quatre about any meetings in a hotel breakfast room. Should be able to locate this "quiet man" who is not trying to hide names or locations, but if he's making them up? What can I do? There is a new letter which reads as follows: (o) Letter 3 Dear Man of the Aviator Glasses, I am writing this late in the afternoon. The sun is casting long black shadows on the garden lawn, and the whole world is so bright and matter of fact I have to argue with myself to be convinced that the events of that tragic night through which I passed really happened. The news-vid this morning helped to make it all seem a dream-not a line about it that I could find. Had this occurred in the colonies I've visited, reporters would have been swarming over everything. Other lands, other methods, possibly. As far as the affair at Delphi Terrace is concerned, one sequel of the tragedy, adding to the mystery of it all, has occurred, and I was responsible for its discovery. But to go back: I returned from mailing your letter at dawn this morning, very tired from the tension of the night. I went to bed, but could not sleep. More and more it was preying on my mind that I was in a most unhappy position. I had not liked the looks cast at me by the detective, or his voice when he asked how I came to live in this house. I told myself I should not be safe until the real murderer of the poor captain was found; and so I began to puzzle over the few clues in the case-especially the white lilies, scarab pin, and OZ helmet. It was then I remembered the four news-vid clips that the detective had casually thrown into the trash bin as of no interest. I had glanced over his shoulder and noted the dates, and committed them to memory. Now, I had copies of my own, compliments of the doorman's crossword puzzle hobby. I began to read, scanning for anything alluding to exotic places, knives, and when I found it on one clip, I hurriedly read the next and then the next. I had made the astounding discovery. For a time, I was dumb with amazement, so that no course of action came to mind. In the end I decided that the thing for me to do was to wait for the detective's return and then point out his error ignoring them. He came in about eight o'clock in the morning and a few minutes later I heard another man ascend the stairs. I was shaving at the time but I quickly completed the operation and slipping on a bathrobe, hurried up to the captain's rooms. The younger sister had seen to the removal of the unfortunate man's body in the night. Only the detective and the stranger who had arrived almost simultaneously with him were present in the room. The detective's greeting was grouchy. The stranger was tall and bronzed from too many years in the hot sun. He made himself known to me as Duke Dermail, a close friend of Captain Merquise's late father. He was unutterably shocked and grieved yet had come to inquire whether there was anything he might do. I took the detective aside and pointed out that he should find those discarded new-vid clips and look them over. I told him the pages in particular. My directness must have awoken something in the man, because he did as I suggested, emptying the trash on the floor in his hurry. With some little trouble, he borrowed the doorman's laptop and slipped in the first clip. I pointed to an item half-way down the column of personal notices and read it out loud. It ran as follows: "Outlander: The lilies are in full bloom at the Sanc central fountain. They are very beautiful, especially the white ones." The detective grunted and opened his little eyes to take up the clip of the following day. I read aloud: "Outlander: We have been forced to sell father's stick pin, the emerald scarab from L4." I had the detective's undivided attention now. He leaned heavily toward me, puffing. Greatly excited, I held before his eyes the next installment. "May I?" I asked. At his nod, I let him read: "Outlander: Helmet gone forever, lost in the river." "And finally," I said to the detective, "the last message of all, issued only twelve hours before the captain was murdered:" "Outlander: Tonight at ten. Regent Street. - Y.O.G." The detective was silent. Duke Dermail had been listening to the lines I'd read aloud and commented, "I take it you are aware that for the past two years Captain Merquise was stationed in the Outlands?" Still the detective said nothing, just focusing a keen look at me that I was coming to detest. At last he spoke sharply, "Just how did you happen to discover those messages? You were not in this room last night after I left?" He turned angrily to the poor policeman whose job it had been to guard the room all night. "I gave orders-!" "No," I put in, "I was not in this room. The doorman does crossword puzzles and keeps a month's worth of back copies at a time. It was by the merest chance-" I saw that I had blundered. Undoubtedly my discovery of those messages was too pat, and once again suspicion looked my way. "Thank you very much," said the detective. "I'll keep this in mind." I hoped he meant the clues and not my possible entanglement. "Have you communicated with my contact at the consulate?" I asked. "Yes. That's all. Good morning." I had been given my answer and dismissed, so I went. I had been back in my room some twenty minutes when there came a knock on the door and Duke Dermail entered. He was a genial man, compared to the detective and to the dead captain, in his late sixties, I guessed, by the gray streaks. The sun-damaged skin gave him deep lines aging him further. "Dear God, this is a most appalling business!" he said without preamble. "Yes," I agreed. "Will you sit down?" "Thank you." He sat and stared frankly into my eyes. "Policemen," he added meaningfully, "are a most suspicious tribe, often without reason. I am sorry you happen to be involved in this affair, for I may say that I fancy you to be exactly what you seem. May I add that, if you should ever need a friend, I am at your service?" I was touched. I thanked him. His tone was so sympathetic and all. Before I realized it, I was telling him the entire story-of Max and his letter, of my falling in love with a garden, of the startling discovery that the captain had never heard of his cousin, and of my subsequent unpleasant situation. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "I suppose," he said, "that no man ever carries an unsealed letter of introduction without opening it to read just what praises have been lavished upon him. It is human nature-I have done it often. May I make so bold as to inquire-?" "Yes," I admitted freely. "It was unsealed and I did read it, long as it was, and didn't give the contents another thought, except that it struck me as maybe too long. There were many warm words for me, again, maybe too many for the length of time I'd actually know Max. I also recall that he mentioned how long he had been on L2 and that he said he expected to reach Sanc..." I paused to think about the date. "Tomorrow, as it turns out." "I see, I see. Would you be so kind as to tell me just what happened last night?" Again, I ran over the events of that tragic evening: the quarrel: the heavy set figure in the hall; the escape by way of the seldom-used gate. "My boy," said Duke Dermail, rising to go, "The threads of this tragedy stretch far. Some to the outlands and some to colonies far away. I may say frankly that I have other and greater interest in the matter than just a murder investigation. For the present that is in strict confidence between us. The police are well-meaning, but sometimes blunder. Did I understand you to say that you have copies of the vid mail with the hidden messages?" "I still do, in my desk." "If I may... have them for a short time?" "Go ahead and return them to the doorman. They are his." "Thank you. You will, of course, not mention this little visit of mine. We shall meet again. Good morning." And he left, carrying the clips containing strange communications of unknown significance from the outlands. Somehow I feel wonderfully cheered by his call. For the first time since seven last evening I begin to breathe freely again. And so, my interesting acquaintance who likes mystery, the matter stands. I shall mail you this letter tonight. It is my third to you and it carries with it three times the dreams that went with the first, for they are dreams that live not only at night when the moon is on the courtyard, but also in the bright light of day. -The Quiet Man. (o) Heero Yuy's journal: I have been sitting at my at my desk for a long time puzzling over the mystery of the Delphi Terrace house, which, so far, I have been unable to locate. No wonder Quatre has been so distressed for the sake of the letter writer and pressed for his identity as well as for the arrest of the guilty man, the heavy man who could nimbly climb magic gates. Find those news vid clips! Duke Dermail! He's on the Board of Directors for Preventers and is a difficult man to get an appointment to see. It pisses me off. Unable to locate Delphi Terrace or restaurant referred to. Good news: I downloaded copies of the news clips without much trouble. Not that I actually expected to find the noted passages. I believe the entire thing to be a hoax of some sort. Gasp! From the column in the first clip, staring back at me are the cryptic words to Outlander concerning white lilies. In the other issues as well, I find the identical messages Quatre's admirer had quoted. This requires some deep thought. So far the Sanc police have kept the murder under wraps, if there actually has been one. No obituary announcement has appeared, but that could take another day. There is a Relena Peacecraft with an older brother, Milliardo Peacecraft, whose family go way back in the archives of the kingdom's history, and are both titled! Important people I cannot just push around to get answers. I can't even secure a meeting or a return call! Wufei can, but he's been out on other business and not returning my calls. Where is he when I need him? Treize Khushrenada was the ambassador from L3, but has recently transferred, at his bequest, to Bratislava, his birthplace. His secretary traveled with him, but the current one at the L3 embassy is Lucrezia Noin, as yet to be interviewed, but I do have an appointment-next week. I should be able to find the Delphi Terrace house. I have guessed the general area, possibly the street on which it resides from the descriptions, but have not located a precise address. No such place exists, I swear! I have the sudden urge to drive around. As I passed through the silent streets, I wondered which of the grim-fronted houses hid a courtyard garden so lovely it enticed Quatre's admirer to stay-rooted in romantic mystery. I saw no police or the presence of Preventers. Before one of them a taxi waited, but that was all. I returned home to think some more. TBC...
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