Chapter thirteen: Harald Kiepel

Trigger warnings for those who need them

No trigger warnings.

As I’m translating my notes I notice a lead that I completely missed.
A name mentioned multiple times and completely glossed over.
I’m sure Menfrey wouldn’t mind his notes a little later if it means more information right?

It’s early in the morning as I head towards the artists entrance once more and knock on the door.
I really hope someone takes pity on me and opens up.
“Who’s there?” I don’t recognize the voice on the other side of the door but I could hug them nonetheless.
“Hi, it’s Alice Castella, detective, I’ve been here a couple times before but now theater is closed and I really need to talk to someone so-“
“Wait here.” the voice tells me.
“Oh okay.”
I can hear the footsteps reseeding.
Well…
Guess I’ll wait.

The door rattles and to my relief it’s a familiar face opening the door.
“Good morning, Melanie.”
“Morning, Misa told me you were out here asking to be let in. We have a policy not to let in anyone in we don’t know so it’s a good thing you introduced yourself when you did.” she explains while putting the key back on her chatelaine “So who are you talking to today?”
“Harald Kiepel.”
She stops dead in her tracks “Why?”
“I wanna know about the role of the snake and who in this theater would be able to perform the choreography.”
Her eyes narrow “Do you think he’s the murderer?”
“I think I need to talk to him to find that out.”
“He didn’t do it.” Melanie states resolutely while crossing her arms.
“Well, how do you know?”
“When the snake stabbed Donna, Harald was with me in my dressing room.”
“I see. So are the two of you friends or something more?”
Melanie shudders at the thought “He’s old enough to be my dad Alice.”
“Oh, right, sorry.”
“It’s okay, just, know he’s innocent okay. He’s one of the kindest men I know.”
“I’m sure if he’s innocent I’ll find the evidence for that very quickly, right?”
“I guess.”
“So where can I find him?”
She bites her lip, seemingly thinking about whether to tell me the truth or not. “He’s on stage with the pupils. But they’re training so I don’t think he’d have time for you.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to ask, thank you.”
“Yeah…”
I smile politely and head on my way.

The stage is looking very different than the last time I saw it.
The larger-than-life set pieces and trees have been put away to who-knows-where and replaced with black-painted panels stood in a sort of box formation. One set just wide enough from its neighbor to let a person through.
It feels both massive and oddly claustrophobic at the same time. But the jolly fiddle music coming from within and the occasional flash of colour passing by the openings gives me the courage to step up and look inside.
Mirrors.
The panels are mirrors on the inside.
I watch with awe as the boys and girls flash by together with their countless copies as they jump and twirl throughout the room.
A bar on a stand is set up by the side where a group of five are tapping their toes in perfect synchronization to the rhythm of the fiddle.
Among all that walks a tall, lank man with short white hair and a face marked with many years. Yet his back is straight as a board, his steps assured.
He still has the gait of a young man despite the folds around his eyes.
Then the music stops.
All the dancers come to a halt-
and look at me.
“Hello?” The man asks politely.
“Good morning, uh, you must be mister Kiepel right?”
Around us the students exchange looks and whispers but the man remains unperturbed.
“I am indeed, now who wishes to know?”
“I’m Alice Castella and I’m a detective.”
His considerable eyebrows furrow. He looks at the group and then addresses them. “Continue with your exercises, I’ll be back in just a minute.” he then looks at me and gestures out of the box.
I follow.
We walk back onto the stage and then I walk behind him down into the seats where the audience sits.
Halfway through the rows of seats he sits down on the lilac plush and gestures me to do the same.
“Are they out of earshot now?” I ask, only partially meant as a joke.
“Only if they’re doing their exercises like I told them to. Do you mean to tell me bad news?” The man asks carrying a gentle mile on his face.
“Not at all, I just have questions.”
“In that case go ahead.”
I nod, pull out my notebook and flip to the ribbon where I wrote down my questions. “Firstly I was wondering about your role in the theater?”
“Oh, that’s easy, I’m the dance instructor. I help the dancers with studying in new choreographies and give them feedback on their form and presentations.” he says gesturing at the stage.
“Do you know all the choreographies that are played?”
“Heavens no, I think no one person could, especially since we change it up all the time.”
I hum and write, following with, “What about the snake? Do you know that one?”
“That one I do know. It’s a classic, we perform it every year around winter time.”
“I heard that the role of snake usually goes to a man called Valentine Garcia, is that correct?”
The man stays silent for a moment, then says “He performed the snake four of five times, I believe. All consecutively with this year being the exception.”
“Why didn’t he play the snake this year?”
“Because he no longer works here.”
“Since when?”
“About three months”
I underline ‘three months’ “I see, thank you. And where were you on the night of the tragedy?”
“I was in the theater. Next to being the instructor I occasionally need to understudy, so while the play takes place it’s my job to be around.”
“And when the murder on stage took place?”
“By that time I was in the dressing room.”
“Which one?”
He chuckles. “Good question.” He then leans back in his seat and gazes up to the rigging and lights hanging above our heads “I was in miss Pilkee’s dressing room.”
That’s Melanie all right, so that checks out at least, “Why hers?”
“Because she was upset over something and I was trying to comfort her.”
“Upset over what?”
“You might wanna ask her that-”
“I’m asking you. And by evading the question you make it sound like something improper took place.”
“Not in a million years.” He lets out dismissively as he turns his attention to me again “If you must know she had a lover’s spat with mister Johnasson and needed a shoulder to cry on. But I can hardly see how that’s relevant to the case.”
“Considering mister Johnasson is dead now I can.” I respond dryly as I write down the details
“She and Darren were a couple then?”
“You must understand that you’re asking me to share very personal details about the life of a colleague. Details that are not mine to give.”
“Mister Kiepel I’m trying to solve two murders-“
“Yes, yes I understand. I would just like to ask upon your discretion before I continue.”
“Naturally.”
The man sucks his teeth, then scratches his nose and continues “Yes, miss Pilkee and mister Johnasson were together. However, for some reason Darren had decided to spend the day ignoring her and she was having a hard time because of it.”
I hum, read back my notes and summarize, “So after the intermission she went to her dressing room and remained there?”
“Not quite. You see, the show must go on and you might remember her being on stage to play the queen in scene five.”
“While upset?”
“You didn’t notice?”
I try to think back to the play. The queen on stage. “Not at all.”
Mister Kiepel’s mouth pulls into a grin “That’s because she’s a professional. But she’s not in the scene where the gardener and the snake fight and after that it’s interlude again so she figured she has a moment to bawl her eyes out.”
“And you came in…?”
“I followed her as she rushed off stage, she may not have looked upset to you, but to me it was quite obvious that something was wrong.”
I push my pencil to my lips for a moment.“So are you just everyone’s father figure in this place?”
He blinks, seemingly thrown off by the question. “If by that you mean I care for the performers? Then yes.”
“What did you think of Donna and Darren?”
“Donna was a caring and kind young lady. Working hard for other people’s happiness. My heart goes out for her brother George. As for Darren, his poise lacked subtlety. He’s a strong man and a very forceful dancer, but ballet is a balance between both strength and poise. He often lacked in the latter.”
“And as a person? You’ve only described his abilities thus far.”
“Oh, he’s fine. Outspoken, social, bit full of himself but they all are at that age.”
“Mister Kiepel! Livia pulled a muscle!” a face pokes out from between the mirrors.
“I’m coming! Do you have any other questions for me detective?”
“Uhhh…”
“Then I think I should get back to work. Good luck finding your killer.”
“…thanks?”
The man gets up from the chair, walks back to stage.
Well…
There goes my suspect.
Now what?

A small hour later I’m back in the Griffin hunched over my notes.
Timothy Blanque was on stage when the murder happened, Otto Zelious was in Barlymoore, Sebastain Gerris is dead and Harald Kiepel was in Melanie’s dressing room.
Surely, I must be overlooking something…
“Alice, I’m about to pipe rag, can you tag along so I can show you how it’s done?” Dana calls into the parlour from the corridor.
I jump up and let out an excited “Sure.” Then look over to her I find she’s wearing the leather apron again. The universal sign she’s about to head down.
“So…what’s pipe ragging exactly?”
“You need to clean out the chimney pipes as part of the ship’s maintenance routine.”
“Oh!” Well, I guess since my investigation isn’t going anywhere I might as well. And it’s a good excuse to spend time together with Dana.
I mark the page with a lace book marker, close the notebook, get up and immediately get reminded by my neck why I’m supposed to sit straight up instead.
Maybe I should wrap a corset around my neck rather than my waist? A silly notion.
I lay down my pencil and then follow Dana down to the bowels of the ship.

Dana likes to call this place the heart of the ship instead of the bowels. Which makes it sound very romantic but doesn’t explain the smell of fire, oil and grease that grows stronger with every step I take.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my airship just like a parent will love their baby, I presume. Both are precious and both are pretty gross at times.
We stop just shy of the furnace where Dana pulls a massive bristle from the little nook behind it.
Was that always there?
“Okay so most systems have been off lately but the furnace has been happily blazing along to keep everyone warm through the winter months. Meaning a lot of dust and soot has built up in the pipes that we need to clean out. We use a pipe rag for it which is this long brush and it takes some fenagling to get it in there and know when you made it to the end, so I’ll demonstrate on this one and then you can tackle the other one.”
“Sounds good.”
“Now step one is turning off the furnace, which I already did, make sure the fireplace has cooled down as well. This task can get a bit messy and you wouldn’t want small flammable somethings dropping on the plate and catching fire.”
“Makes sense.”
She nods approvingly, then pushes the bristly stick through the pipe and a flood of black smoke drops down into the room.
I take a step back on reflex to not get my pants dirty.
If I’m expected to do this by myself I should get an apron as well.
But I don’t really want to do this by myself. I want Dana to be here with me, to help me take care of the ship. But she’d have to give up her shop back in Choumuri to do it. I want to be selfish, I want her to think I’m more important. But I know that’s not fair.
“Now pay attention as there’s a sound that goes pop when the brush makes it out the pipe but it’s very soft so you have to actively listen for it or you’ll miss it and you’ll be stabbing for hour trying to find it.”
I nod, try to pay attention and just like she said, a small ‘pop’ rings back down through the pipe.
Dana brushes the stick up and down a couple times releasing even more detritus.
And then she pulls it back in a smooth, even motion and hands it to me.
“Your turn.” she says while untying her apron and flinging it around my neck. She steps behind me and ties back the ends “To protect your clothes.” she explains as my heart flutters in my chest.
It’s warm with her body heat.
It smells like her, and grease, mostly grease and and undertone of old leather.
But it still feels special!
“Now it helps if you hold the stick near the brush at first then move your hands back along the stick as you push it in.”
“Like this?”
“Very good.”
I jam the brush into the pipe and once again black dust clouds drop straight from it.
I try to press on but it’s surprisingly difficult. There’s a bunch of resistance and I’m not sure if it’s there because the pipes are just that constipated or because I’m doing something wrong.
It looked a lot easier when Dana did it.
But then Dana is a lot stronger than me.
“If it’s difficult you can try twisting the stick in your hands.”
“Oh, that works a lot better thanks. What would I do without you?” I try to sound cute but I mostly feel frustrated.
Dana puts a hand on my shoulder “Well, that’s why every ship owner needs to learn basic maintenance skills. You don’t want to have to send your ship for checkups every month. It’d cost a fortune.” Dana explains “Now you’re almost there so listen carefully.”
I hold my tongue and listen carefully twisting the brush while pushing it and then-
pop.
I try to drag it straight up and down like Dana did before but I don’t think the resistance got any better despite making it all the way to the top.
“Just keep twisting, it’s all right. You can pull it back now.”
“But I want to do it properly. I don’t want the ship to break.”
“What you did was more than adequate.”
“If you say so.” I twist the brush out of there and set it aside before untying the apron at the back. “Dana?”
“Yes?”
“Does you teaching me this now mean you want to go back to Choumuri soon?” I ask while returning her apron.
“Not necessarily, it just needs doing roughly once a year and since winter is pretty much done I figured now would be a good time.”
“So how long do you intend to stay?”
“As long as I’m needed I suppose.”
“But what if I need you forever?”
Dana laughs, pats my head “Don’t worry, one day when you know this ship like the back of your hand you’ll want me as far away from the heart of the ship as possible. Just like Xuiyo with his kitchen.”
But I’m not talking about the ship!?
What about me?
I want to tell her.
But I can’t.
Not yet, not until she stops being my teacher.
I nod “I guess.”
“Now you have seen me grease the contact points a thousand times so you won’t need to be around for that part-”
“Can I though?”
“Of course, it’s your ship after all.”