One Shoe Tale

By Jeremy Green

Who was the mysterious girl that danced with the Angevin Crown Prince at the Buda Castle ball, then dashed off leaving behind nothing but a high-heeled shoe? Down the mean streets of Eighteenth-Century Budapest walks Ferenc Marlowe, failed revolutionary and pioneer private detective. Hired by the Prince to find the missing girl, Marlowe finds himself caught up in a tangled web of court intrigue, dynastic conspiracies and low morals in high places. There are others in the city just as keen that the girl is never found, and Marlowe soon learns that a fairy-tale romance may not always have a happy ending.Set in an alternative-history Hungary full of religious ferment, political oppression and pre-industrial grime, One Shoe Tale breaks new ground in mashing up hard-boiled detective noire, fairy-tale pastiche, uchronic fiction and just a bit of kinky sex.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sea Lion Press
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223723943

Book preview

This book is a work of fiction. While ‘real-world’ characters may appear, the nature of the divergent story means any depictions herein are fictionalised and in no way an indication of real events. Above all, characterisations have been developed with the primary aim of telling a compelling story.

Published by Sea Lion Press, 2022. All rights reserved.

CHAPTER ONE: THE MAN IN THE CHEAP OVERCOAT

It was a rainy Thursday afternoon. The streets were as quiet as the Castle District morgue. I was sitting in my office, finishing off the dregs of a bottle of slivovitz I’d been keeping for just such an occasion.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. It figures, I thought. After all, where else should there be a knock? Through the frosted glass I could see the outline of a tall man, wearing a tricorn hat. I didn’t answer, but he opened the door and came in anyway.

He was wearing a cheap overcoat, which didn’t belong to him. It was too tight under the armpits, for a start. I guessed he’d put it on to make himself look a normal guy, which he clearly wasn’t. Apart from the overcoat, his clothes were fancy. The tricorn was the latest model, and he had silver buckles on his shoes.

You’re Mahler, the detector, he began. It wasn’t really a question.

It's Marlowe, not Mahler, I said. English, not Austrian. I had an English grandfather. And I prefer 'detective'. It's a new profession, and the nomenclature's not really settled, but I think 'detective' is preferable.

He nodded assent, and looked about nervously, like he didn’t want anyone to see him there. He kept the tricorn well pulled down too, trying to cover his face.

I want you to help me find someone. That’s what you do, isn’t it?

I took another swig from the slivovitz. Depends, I replied. "Depends on who the broad is. It is a broad, isn’t it?" He was a little taken aback.

Y-y-yes, he stammered. It is a broad... a woman, I mean. How could you tell?

I leaned well back in my chair. For a start, there’s the high-heeled shoe sticking out of your pocket. Now it might be yours, but I don’t place you for that kind of guy. In any case, I’d say it’s not bigger than a size four. You must be at least a size nine, so it’s not yours. So it’s a broad’s shoe.

He looked more uncomfortable than ever. He pulled the shoe from his pocket and dumped it on my desk like he couldn’t get rid of it quick enough. It was a nice little number too, stiletto with a fancy bow in the front, and it shone like glass.

I’m... a shoemaker. That’s right, a shoemaker. I made a pair of these for a customer, but she only picked up one. I need you to find her, so that I can give her the other shoe. I can pay well – real well – but you have to keep your mouth shut about this. With that he hauled a purse out of his other pocket, and slid it across the desk. It jingled nicely, and it didn’t sound like brass.

I’ll help you find her all right, I said. And I can keep my mouth shut as well as any man – better than some, I’d say. I swung the chair over, and leaned forward across the desk so that our faces were almost touching. But first you’ve got to level with me. You’re no shoemaker, and the crap-ass story about finding a customer doesn’t wash either. Your hands say you’ve never made a shoe in your life, and from your finger furniture, which is gold with nice jewels, I’d say you were a noble... or even a royal. He started, and I knew I’d struck paydirt.

So, Prince – you don’t mind if I call you Prince, do you? What do you say you tell me the whole story? And then I’ll help you find your broad.

A cloud seemed to lift from him. He grinned, an easy boyish grin, and slipped out of the overcoat. It fell to the floor, revealing a bright red jacket crusted with gold brocade. The disguise wasn’t too good, was it?

Not particularly, I replied, wanting to smile along with him. The story?

Well, you guessed right, he began. I’m a prince – the Prince really, the Crown Prince, that is. A week ago my parents held a ball up at the castle. Nothing unusual in that, they’re always throwing balls. But this time something strange and wonderful happened. His eyes went misty for a moment. I danced with a girl that I’d never met.

That’s strange and wonderful? I interrupted.

I can see you don’t get to too many castle balls, he snapped back. I threw back my head and laughed, and he joined in. Yeah, well, sorry. But see, for me, the balls are all the same. The same dull noble girls, my dance card filled up even before I get there, endless introductions to the Countess This and the Duchess of That. Even if I liked one of them – which, by the way, I don’t – I couldn’t spend too much time with her. The chamberlains watch my every move, making sure that I spread myself around and don’t favour one aristocratic family too much. Dynastic policy, it’s called. For a moment his cute grin disappeared, replaced by an angry scowl.

But this time it was different... I drew him back to his story.

That’s right. It was one of the pauses between dances. The musicians had stopped, and everyone was checking their dance cards to see who they were on with next. And then the crowd sort of parted, like an avenue opened up, and there she was. His eyes were back on misty.

"Everything seemed to go quiet for a moment. If I say the moment was magical, you’ll think I’m full of it, but it was. It was like time was standing still. We were just looking at each other. She was wearing a beautiful dress that seemed to be made out of spun silver, and her hair was long and golden. And I didn’t know who she was... that was the truly amazing, wonderful thing. I’d really never seen her before.

Then the band struck up another waltz, and before the chamberlains could stop me I’d walked over and begun to dance with her. The flunkeys were furious, but they couldn’t very well butt in while we were dancing, and we just carried on waltzing. I don’t know what happened, but the musicians didn’t seem to stop; they just carried on playing and playing. They couldn’t seem to understand it themselves – once in a while I glanced up at the band, and they were all giving the conductor strange looks, like what was happening? His voice trailed off. Misty was getting the better of him.

And then? I brought him back.

Then suddenly she was gone. One minute we were dancing, and the next she was running from the ballroom like somebody was after her. By the time I realised what was happening she had a good fifty paces lead over me. I followed her, but she was too fast. I lost her in the corridors heading towards the castle gates. By the time I reached the gates there was no sign of her. Except that I found this shoe, on the ramp down from the gate. He looked crumpled again.

"And now you want me to find