Teagan's Books

Saturday, July 5, 2025

Yesterday was “Independence Day” in the USA.  Considering the setting of this serial, it seems like the appropriate moment to conclude the story — even though that timing was simply serendipity.  Yes, we’ve reached the end of this dance.  Thank you for being part of the story.

---

This time there aren’t links to previous episodes.  We’re at episode-11 and that would be cumbersome.  However, if you read the ending, and if you notice the twist, you’ll want to go back and confirm that I really have left at least one hint in every chapter.  That will be much easier with a searchable e-book.  So, I’ve made one, and it genuinely is for your convenience — I’m literally making pennies off it.  Of course, if you’d rather go to the blog category I made for “Dance of Discord” and access individual episodes, then you’re also welcome to do that.  Now the answers to any questions you might have about the story are at your fingertips.

$1.25  Universal purchase link:  relinks.me/B0FGF7TK5F

---

Previously, Milo, Quick accompanied by Duchess Felina Gattone, went to the Belgian ambassador Baron Rogier Dessain, where they were greeted by his personal secretary, Enno.  Milo questioned the baron about his connection to Miss Zola Jouret.  The baron was furious and ready to vouch for her.  Then they went to confront the amber-eyed woman herself.  As Milo was grilling her about her involvement in the shooting of the Argentian ambassador, we heard movement behind a curtain.

Dance of Discord: Conclusion

A Leap

In that instant, all movement seemed to freeze.  I stared at the heavy draperies that covered the doorway to an adjoining room.  Milo Quick’s animated features had held an indecipherable mix of determination and… disappointment.  His countenance was motionless, but I saw a flicker in his eyes.  I wasn’t the only one who heard that slight sound — Milo heard it too.

---

Did Zola Jouret hear it as well?  She also held perfectly still.  However, her amber eyes were firmly fixed on Milo, holding his gaze.  It reminded me of a snake willing its prey to not look away.

---

Is she the python Kaa, mentor of the boy Mowgli of Kipling’s The Jungle Book?  Or a serpent with more sinister motives, like the one in the book of Genisis? the fleeting thought crossed my mind.

“Isn’t it a curious situation, Mr. Quick?” Miss Jouret remarked after a moment as she sat back down in her chair.  “You, Mr. Quick being with the Secret Service of the United States… and I, Zola Jouret being a secret agent of Belgium, together here — one accusing the other of a crime,” she paused briefly, tauntingly.  “And perhaps with good reason.”

---

“Miss Jouret, where is the handgun?” Milo repeated undeterred, his lips tightening into a line.  “If you were anyone else but you!  I couldn’t be upfront with someone else—  If you had been anybody else, I would have placed you under arrest the minute I entered this room.”

---

Did some emotion dance in her strangely colored eyes?  If so, then I wasn’t certain that I was familiar with the feeling.  Then that infinitesimal flash in her eyes glided away.  Perhaps it was the hypnotism of the snake I had considered an instant earlier?  Whatever the case, she smiled and inclined her head.

---

“Je comprends,” she murmured pleasantly.  “For the reason that you are Mr. Quick of the Secret Service, I will tell you the truth.  Yes, I did take the revolver.  I took it because I knew who had fired the shot.  Please believe me when I say that person did not act with my knowledge or consent.  Do you believe me?” she asked, sounding eager to convince him, and it seemed like a long moment indeed before Milo nodded.

---

“Also, Mr. Quick, the gun is beyond your reach and so it will remain.  I assume that according to your laws I am an unwitting accomplice to this unfortunate crime.  I accept that as my own misfortune.  However, that does not change the fact that I will keep silent.  If I am to be arrested then, Lo que será, será, as my friend Señorita Silva says when she loses money at Bridge,” she stated with a little flutter of her hand, although she studied his face with hopeful expression.  “Tell me… Am I to be arrested, Mr. Quick?”

---

Milo swallowed, but if I could have heard the beating of his heart, I was sure it would have been steady.  Oddly, despite Miss Jouret’s pleading eyes, I suspected that her heartrate also maintained an even rhythm.

“Did you take the document?” he asked, shifting his stance when she glanced away.  “Where is the paper that was taken from Señor Gómez when he was shot?”

---

“I don’t know,” she replied seeming innocent, and sounding matter-of-fact.  “Am I to understand then, that the motive for shooting the Argentine was to obtain that document?” she asked and received a barely perceptible nod.  “Then yes.  The one who shot Señor Gómez did obtain the document.  Now, please, am I to be arrested?”

---

Milo’s chest expanded with a silent breath.  A touch of his dandified pretense returned to his posture.  His tone became nonchalant.

---

“Might I inquire, Miss Jouret, just what was the purpose of the message you sent with your fan in the ballroom?”

---

“You understood the code?” she exclaimed in mock astonishment.  “You read that?”

---

“What about the man who read your unique code?” Milo started, and I immediately thought of the American lawyer to the Germans, Adam Adler, who had assisted in her supposed faint.  “Perhaps he shot the Argentinian diplomat?”

---

“Tsk-tsk, Mr. Quick…  Perhaps,” she taunted, then rose, and calmly faced him.  “Am I to be arrested?” she asked again taking a step closer.

---

“You are forcing me to arrest you.  Why?” Milo asked in the lackadaisical manner that I knew he used when he was in fact at his most serious.

---

“I hoped to get his assistance on behalf of a foolish young friend, a young lady with too much fondness for the game of Bridge, and too little sense about gambling,” was all she said.

---

“You mean the Colombian diplomat’s daughter, Señorita Olivia Silva?” he asked, earning a surprised look from the lady.  “But that doesn’t explain the shooting.  Where is the revolver?”

---

Milo stared at her silent face for a moment longer.  Then with reluctance that surprised me, he took her by the arm and formally stated that he was arresting her for the attempted murder of Señor Alejandro Gómez, ambassador to the United States, for the country of Argentina.

---

As Milo spoke, the heavy draperies covering the doorway behind him rustled and then parted.  Milo Quick stood motionless, with his hand on Miss Jouret’s arm.

“You asked about a revolver,” a man said.  “Here it is!”

---

“Nom de Dieu!  Don’t!” Miss Jouret shouted.

---

Milo found himself “finding” the revolver from the barrel end.  The hand holding it wore a gold ring that was intricately engraved with a Belgian crest.  Nonchalantly, his eyes lifted to the heated gaze of the man who held the gun.  He was young, younger than Milo, and he was fastidiously dressed.  He was familiar, but his dire expression altered his features so much that at first, I didn’t recognize him.

---

Enno, the Baron’s personal secretary! I thought.

---

“Yes, I made some inquiries about a certain revolver,” Milo cut in before the Belgian could work himself into even more of a lather.  “Is this the weapon?” he added, casually raising his hand.

---

Noticing a single bead of sweat on Enno’s forehead, I chose my moment.  Leaping from my chair, I pounced onto the table, using it to increase my momentum.  Claws extended, I flew into Enno’s face.

Quick as his name, Milo’s fingers closed around the weapon.  Enno fell backward, with me still attached to his face.

---

Zola Jouret exclaimed in concern amid the man’s wails of mostly fear, because I had not scratched him.  Well, at least not too badly…

---

“You must let Miss Jouret go free,” Enno said in a surprisingly courteous manner after Milo extracted me from him.  “I am the one who shot Señor Gómez.  I am also an agent of the Belgian government, and I am better able to defend myself than Miss Jouret.  She is telling the truth that she had nothing to do with the shooting.  She took the weapon and escaped because it belongs to me,” he explained.  “Just please keep that animal away from me,” he plead, prompting me to add an angry hiss as a warning.

---

The Belgian agent took a sealed envelope from his jacket.  I smelled the dry blood on it and recognized it.

---

“This is the document that was taken from the Argentine.  It is the original compact, with signatures from half of the representatives of the bloc.  Señor Gómez… shall we say, needed additional persuasion,” Enno continued.  “I would not have shot him, you understand.  As I was about to… to persuade him, he attempted to take my revolver.  Ultimately the gun fired.  I am unsure whose finger was on the trigger.  You may take the document with my compliments.”

---

Enno gingerly touched the scratch that I had landed half an inch away from his eye.  He glared at me.  In return I gave him a fierce stare, and wrapped my tail to hug it protectively against Milo’s head.

---

When I gave a low growl in reply to Enno’s stare of challenge, Milo put a steadying hand against me.  He twined his fingers into the sturdy gold chain on the back of my Bolero jacket.  When Lord Elgin had it made for me, he had said that an ordinary harness simply would not be good enough.  He had the most sought-after dressmaker in town create a harness to look remarkably like a little sleeveless Bolero.

---

Slowly, Milo released his grip on Zola Jouret’s arm.  He shifted me up onto his shoulder, where I took my place guarding him.

---

“The members of the bloc began leaving the city within moments of the revolver being shot.  Most of them are already on ships leaving the country,” Enno said with a smirk.  “You’ve won the day, Mr. Quick.  The compact will not be signed today, but this dance is not yet finished.”

♣ ♣ ♣

The sun broke through the clouds, after an interminable week of rain.  I was curled up in my favorite wingback chair, basking in the golden rays as Milo Quick gave his report to Chief Drummond.  When Milo came to my part in rescuing him, I stretched and then sat up straight, in order to better view Stuart Drummond’s reaction.  His thick white moustache began to vibrate with what I thought must be pleasure.  Then a loud “Ha!” burst from his lips.

---

“Your main objective in the unlikely task of dissolving the bloc, had been to at least make sure their compact wasn’t signed in the United States,” Milo was saying and the chief nodded, but continued to watch me with a bemused expression.

---

“We haven’t gotten any further reports on Miss Jouret?” Milo asked of the amber-eyed woman who had seemed to disappear like mist after Enno was apprehended.

---

Shaking his head, Stuart Drummond stood.  He moved across the room and bent down to scratch my cheek.

---

“I wish I had seen you in action, Dutchess.  The Secret Service will give your home back to you now, take away all the strange furniture, and the noisome comings and goings of strange agents,” he told me, and I leaned into the scratching.  “Try to keep Milo Quick out of trouble.”

---

I gave my tail one thump against the chair in agreement.

♣ ♣ ♣

The End

♣ ♣ ♣

 So, there’s the twist.  I hope it surprised at least a few of you. Although… perhaps some hints were very subtle if one has not had a “Duchess Felina Gattone” in their life.  Heartfelt thanks to everyone who gave me “random reader things.” I’m sorry that I didn’t get to all of them, but I came pretty close.  I appreciate everyone who followed this serial.  Thanks for coming to the dance.

 Friendly comments are welcome.  Hugs!

♣ ♣ ♣

Of course, here’s the obligatory shameless self-promotion.

Speak Chuckaboo: Slang of the Victorian & Steam Eras

Kindle:  relinks.me/B0B9W38LDJ

Paperback:  relinks.me/B0B9T8MP1K

♣ ♣ ♣

This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2025 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved. 

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.