The Iron Man [Serial]

By the Altitude of a Chopine

I suspected Miranda's identity from the moment she entered the drawing room. Firstly, she was clearly neither a tourist nor one who dealt cards or otherwise on the Lido. She approached us dressed in  drab gray Manual Caste regs. She wore no hat or ornaments, but  her brown hair was straight and loose. And secondly, she could walk.

Miranda had a rhythmic hip-forward gait and her skirts billowed just so when she walked. Sina sat straighter as Miranda paused to scan the room. She looked to her left then her right, as Murphy stood from his sofa.

When Miranda strode towards us, I saw the hem of her skirt fell just above the tile and carpets, revealing raised shoes. "Mr. Murphy?"

Murphy offered his hand and when Miranda took it, he began to bow as if to kiss her hand. However, Miranda touched Murphy's arm with her free hand, which gave him pause enough to understand there would be only a handshake between them.

"Miranda Asteréllēs," she introduced herself.

"Are those...?" I asked, looking again at the curiously curved platform soles of her shoes.

Miranda smiled down at me. "Please, do not get up." She glanced to the sofa near Murphy, "May I?"

Murphy looked crossly at me, but then turned to Miranda with a smile, "Of course, have a seat, please." He and Miranda sat beside each other on the sofa. "Don't mind Jade. He's terribly polite most of the time."

Miranda offered her hand to me, which I shook once. "The chopines. They help with the acqua alta...and reaching things."

"Proper?" I whispered.

"Chopines or zoccoli can be necessary, as umbrellas or canes?" Miranda said with a slight inflection of question.

"Do you like them so much, Jade?" Murphy asked, "Remind me to show you my Damascus heels." I had no idea what those were, but was now intrigued.

Sina laughed. I thought perhaps she knew of these heels.

"This is Sina," Murphy introduced her, "my cousin."

Miranda nodded, then extended her hand. "May I offer condolences?" She asked.

"Thank you," Sina said, staying with her widow's cover story. They clasped hands briefly.

"I did come here to talk about something other than shoes."

"It's our wish and Hypatia's that we help you, if we can," Murphy said. "Can you tell us more of what's happened?"

"I have a velvet weaving workshop in Cannaregio," Miranda began. She explained to us how she had learned the trade from her parents. Her father had been well liked in the community and in the trade, she thought, and had handled most sales aspects. Her mother had taken care of the daily business of the workshop with a staff of weavers. They produced-- Miranda said she was not immodest in saying so --the highest quality velvets in Europe for the couturier and decor trades. So, there had been money enough for Miranda to gain a university degree, which she believed useful in taking over the shop since her parents had retired south for their health.

"I automated the shop," Miranda said, "At first I thought maybe the visits were related to labor complaints-- though I dismissed no one --but I am getting ahead of myself perhaps."

"Someone has come to your workplace and made threats?" Murphy asked.

"Several times now. Not always the same individuals, but they represent the same group. However, the term is always 'my investors'," Miranda said. Murphy looked about to ask another question, but Miranda continued, "And, they're not Camorrristi or others from the south with the usual racket, or local Veneziani. They're...French."

"French." Murphy leaned forward in his chair, head bowed. After a few moments, he said, "If it seems good to all of you, I would like Jade and Sina to go to your shop, Miss Asteréllēs."

"Miranda. It seems appropriate."

Murphy nodded. "I have an appointment that cannot be changed tomorrow, but I should like Jade and Sina to be able to have a look at your workshop, speak to yourself and any other witnesses, and try to make a sketch from their descriptions." He glanced at me.

"I was able to get a photo of one of them," Miranda said, "but they broke my camera." She retrieved a square of card from a skirt pocket and passed it to Murphy. "He was called 'morte', but that must have been to frighten us."

"Does that mean the same in Italiano as in Le Français?" I asked.

Miranda nodded. Death. They called the man Death.

"I don't recognize him," Murphy said, "but it seems he has a tattoo. That might make him Mercantile, but we cannot be certain. Tattoos are rather in fashion now."

"I don't understand," I confessed, "If he were with the Mercantile, why would he be making threats? They operate as they do because they are trusted to impartially deliver what is sent."

"In a sense they are delivering a message," Miranda said, "They want my shop to join some guild or union, to give up individual bargaining with buyers. They want it enough to make threats. But if I take the photo to the Gendarmerie and report textile market manipulation, then I have the Fashion Police all through my shop, my business is still interrupted, and my ability to send information to Hypatia is limited."

"I am sorry," Murphy said, "My superiors do appreciate your dilemma. Jade, will you go with Miranda?"

"As you wish."

Murphy looked to Sina. She nodded. "I need to keep my appointment, but I may be able to do some research from here, if I may keep this?" Murphy lifted the photo. He continued before Miranda answered, "You have a wirefax there?"

"Yes, and one of those Deutsch telephon devices, but it is not very reliable."

"Some of London has those." They tended to transmit the background sounds of shop automata more clearly than human voice. "The newest model telly is supposed to be better."

Murphy looked toward me, rolling his eyes. "Send a wirefax."

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Maybe I should have used a Velvet Underground song?