by Ward Wagher
“What do you have in mind, Margrave?”
“I've noticed you switching people around on the crews and wondered if your resources were a bit stretched.”
“I see what you're saying, and yes, things are a bit stretched.”
“Let's try cutting the rotation crews in half. That'll leave enough firepower on the borders to discourage problems, I think.”
“Fine, Margrave. I appreciate you thinking of us.”
“Five minutes to Woods Crossing, Sir,” the flight engineer called over the intercom.
“Roger,” Boodles replied. “Woods Crossing has their crews out, don’t they, Margrave?”
“Yes, Major. I mainly want to land there first to gather some intel. Plus I need to introduce myself since they were so decent to Mom and Dad.”
Boodles nodded, then turned and called to the troops. “Weapons slung during the egress, people. This should be friendly territory.”
“You’re a trusting soul, Martin,” Nyman said.
“Is there something you should be telling me?” Boodles had a suspicious look on his face.
“Major, I’m surprised at you.”
“I think, Franklin, we need to get Hai Ciera back here to cut you down to size.”
Franklin laughed. “That would do it, Major. The Commander is in a league of his own, where wit is concerned.”
“I saw him light your father’s fuse a time or two.”
“I’d believe it. He managed to keep Daphne in line, which is no small achievement.”
“Well, here we go,” Boodles said as the shuttle eased to smooth landing in a grassy pasture outside of Woods Crossing.
The Regimental soldiers marched off the shuttle and formed a loose perimeter for the Margrave and Major. Two riders on horses approached along the dirt road from the small town. On either side, the grain fields stretched out to the north and south.
“The one on the left would be the mayor,” Boodles said. “His name is Gore Mittal.”
“Strange name.”
“It is unusual. I looked it up.”
Franklin looked over. “And?”
“Some twentieth century author on old Earth used the given name. And a family of minor politicians used it as a surname.”
“I wonder if our mayor is embarrassed by it. It is a never-ending source of surprise what people name their kids.”
Boodles snorted as the riders arrived and dismounted. Franklin strode forward.
“Mayor Mittal? I’m Franklin Nyman, the Margrave.”
“Oh, welcome, Sir.” Mittal gave a little bow. “We are honored with your visit. Please allow me to express our condolences on the loss of your mother. We all thought very highly of her. And of your father, of course.”
“Thank-you Mayor Mittal. Her loss was a shock to all of us. Please allow me to express my appreciation for maintaining your loyalties during the recent troubles.”
“How could we do anything else, Sir? Your father and mother were the best thing to happen to us in our lifetime.”
“Well, I hope to accomplish some small fraction of what they did.”
Mittal turned to the tall, taciturn bald man who had accompanied him. “This is John Bowers, one of our councilmen.”
He stepped forward and bowed to the Margrave.
“An honor to meet you, Sirs,” Franklin said.
“What may we help the Margrave with today?” the mayor said.
“Information.”
“Of what sort, Sir?”
“A rather substantial percentage of the villages have not fielded road crews this spring or summer. Is there something in particular going on?”
Mittal grimaced. “Sheer stupidity?”
“This was intentional on their part?”
“It could hardly be accidental, don’t you think, Sir?”
“Not at all, Mayor. I guess the question would be stupidity of what sort?”
“If you’ll pardon me for saying it, the reasoning was that the Margravina was dead and the Margrave had left the planet, so who cares.”
“Of course I pardon you, Mayor. I guess we’ll just have to let them know the new Margrave is in town. Tell me this, what would be the reaction if I fined them for shirking their duties?”
“You’re asking me?”
“You are the best placed to understand the people and also know what is expected of them.”
“Were you aware, Margrave, that your Seneschal distributed funds from the tolls to help pay for the work?”
“So you are telling me they not only failed to perform the work, but kept the money we paid to have it done.” Franklin rubbed the bottom of his face with his hand.
# # #
“Daphne, can you shoot me a list over the comm of what we paid to the individual villages for the road work?”
“Of course. Give me about five minutes.”
“How come I didn’t know about it?”
There was a long pause.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, Franklin. I thought you knew about it.”
Nyman raised his eyebrows and gazed at the ceiling of the shuttle.
“I’ll be waiting for the list.” And he disconnected.
He grinned at Boodles. “This is a first. I’ve finally caught Daphne on a mistake.”
“She doesn’t make many,” Boodles said.
“True. And she makes a lot fewer than I do, but don’t tell her I said that. But I finally have some ammo.”
“Things like that are best never used, Franklin.”
“Oh, I know. Just the fact that I know about it, and she knows I know. It’ll be worse because I’ll never say a word about it.”
“You are your father’s son.”
“If I can ever be half as sharp as he is, I’ll die a happy man.”
“Here comes the comm message from Daphne.”
“Have you a printer aboard?”
Boodles nodded at the flight engineer. “Of course, Sir,” he said.
Franklin spent several minutes looking at the list with Boodles. “Okay, we’ll take Saracen first. It’s about ten miles to the east. I’d like to drop the shuttle into the village square, raise a lot of dust, then have the troop run out with weapons ready. We need to give them a bad scare.”
“Understood, Margrave,” Boodles said.
“Oh, and Major; make sure the weapons are not loaded. They can carry whatever you want in their pouches, but I do not want any horrible accidents.”
Boodles looked at Franklin carefully. “My people know their business, Margrave.”
Franklin gazed back at Boodles. “I understand that, Martin. You also know more about the military than I’ll ever learn, but I would rather have some of our men… your men killed than precipitate an incident like this. Do you understand me?”
Boodles had been standing by the seat where Franklin was studying the printout. He braced to attention. “Of course, Margrave.”
“Thank-you, Major. Let’s get this show on the road.”
chapter four
“I think I spend more time in the aircar than on the ground running my estate,” Franklin Nyman muttered to himself.
“What you say?” the vocoder attached around the middle of the Woogie asked. The device functioned as a voice synthesizer, and allowed the Woogie to communicate with humans.
“Sorry, Louie. I was talking to myself again. But thanks for coming out to Castle Paravel with me. We might just be able to make some money out there.”
“So you say. Louie might agree. Much money might be made with Hepplewhite.” The Woogie flooped and waved his arms / tentacles / (?) to indicate emphasis. “Woogie odor not impact?”
“Not much, no,” Franklin said. A couple of times he had to gulp when the menthol and stinkweed smell emanating from the creature became a little overpowering. “I’m sure there are things about humans you find discomforting.”
“Discomforting?” The flat mechanical sound of the voice did not betray the Woogie’s confusion, but
the jiggling of his five arms did.
“Umm. Some things about humans Woogies really do not like.” Franklin tried again.
“Yes. Not like perfume. And humans cover up. Cannot see body language. Not like.”
Franklin laughed. “Louie, old buddy, you probably won’t have the chance to study human body language.”
“The Woogie knows. Nudity taboo. Waste of cloth.”
“I hear you, Louie. Sorry to disappoint, but it may be asking a bit much to expect everyone in Cambridge to go without clothes.”
“Would upset the Redeemer anyway. Gave you clothes for a reason. Do you know the Redeemer?”
Franklin cleared his throat and tried to quickly find a reason to change the subject.
“Father Riggs talks to me about that from time to time.” He mumbled.
“Did the Riggs Servant talk to you about the Redeemer?”
“Do you think your Woogie friends will be interested in investing in Castle Paravel?”
The pink alien’s single large blue eye gazed at Franklin. A hiccup sound came from deep inside Louie’s plumbing and he spoke again. “Time will tell. Louie found good deal in Cambridge. Maybe can be had with Mr. Earl as well.”
“Well, there’s the town. I guess we’ll find out what the Earl thinks soon enough.”
The pilot set the aircar down on a pad outside of the Castle proper. Castle Paravel was situated on a rocky promontory by the sea. The village had grown up along the road which wound its way down the hillside to a beach that was exceptionally lovely, even for a planet known for pretty beaches.
Joe Wilson was on hand to meet them. Franklin and the pilot got out, along with the two guards, before the Woogie was able to maneuver his way to the ground.
“Welcome to Castle Paravel. Thanks for coming, Louie.”
“I am welcome, you are sure,” the voice synth plonked out.
“Er, yes. Please come into the castle with me.”
Wilson stumped into the castle. The bandy legged and heavy set little man seemed perfectly suited to the role of orbital steel worker. He was not, however, what might be expected of a minor lordlet on a frontier planet. The fate, luck, or maybe predestination which allowed him to win the lottery and buy his domain was no respecter of persons, it seemed.
“First of all, thank you both for agreeing to visit Castle Paravel,” Wilson said. “You are doing me a great favor.”
The Woogie made some clogged plumbing noises.
Franklin shrugged and said, “Hey, Joe, if we can grow your economy, it benefits all of us on Hepplewhite.”
“Big if,” he said. “But I’d sure like to try.”
“The big problem with any development is the requirement for off-planet capital,” Franklin said. “There is just not enough wealth here to bootstrap things.”
“What is this bootstrap?” Louie said.
Franklin thought about it for a few moments. “It’s an old earth saying, I think. Something about picking yourself up by your bootstraps.”
“Makes no sense.”
“Right. And in the same way, this planet cannot grow its economy on its own.”
“Okay. The Woogie understands. You are looking for Woogie funds?”
“I had thought maybe a syndicate,” Franklin said. “I can put in some money. We can twist Foxworth’s arm – or Carlo’s. Joe is going to have to cough something up. And whatever we could arrange from your sources, Louie.”
“Mr. Joe sick?” the Woogie asked.
The conversation halted as everyone pondered Louie’s question.
“Oh,” Franklin said. “Just a figure of speech. I meant Joe will have to come up with some money.”
“Okay-o. Glad Mr. Joe will be with us for a while.”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about business,” Wilson said.
“Compared to Dad, I don’t. But I’ve picked up a thing or two.”
“Remind me not to get into any games of chance with you. But, yes, I can certainly come up with part of the cash. How much total would we need?”
Franklin shrugged and looked at Louie. “I don’t know what you paid for the Cambridge Arms, but I have about two and a half million in my hotel in Montora.”
The Woogie backed away from the table and spun around a couple of times. “Cambridge Arms is supersized. But per room we are similar. Not like sharing that. Please do not repeat.”
“We’re on the same side here, Louie,” Wilson said. “We can keep our mouths shut.”
“And not talk either?”
“Right,” Franklin said. “Let’s plan on two million Centaurans to start with. We should design the thing to be expanded if the business really takes off.”
“Who has controlling interest?” Wilson said.
“Good question. What do you think Louie?”
“The operator have controlling interest. Makes smoother.”
“Good point,” Wilson said. “So everyone is in for roughly twenty-five percent. Whomever we decide runs the hotel gets the plus-one share.”
“Not,” said Louie.
“Huh?” Wilson said.
“Operator needs fifty-one percent. Otherwise can be outvoted.”
“Definitely a point, Louie,” Franklin said. “I assume you are leading to something?”
“What is assume?”
“It means making an…” Wilson started to say.
Franklin held up his hand to stop Joe. “What do you suggest, Louie?”
“Bridgitte.”
“Who?”
“Bridgitte. Woogie saw my operation and wants to invest. Good operator. Good Woogie. You like.”
“Tell me more,” Franklin said.
“You put up one million Centauran. Bridgitte invests one million Centauran. Bridgitte builds hotel and operates. Everybody happy. All make money.”
Wilson and Franklin looked at each other. “I like it,” Wilson said.
“The devil is in the details, though,” Franklin said.
“Woogie not do business with Devil. Very bad business.”
Wilson roared with laughter while Franklin rolled his eyes. The Woogie flooped a couple of times and spun around. “You laugh at Louie?”
“No,” Franklin said. “We laugh with Louie.”
“What so funny?”
“You had it exactly right. We don’t do business with the Devil. If we do not get the details of this project correct, it would be just as if we had.”
Louie stood absolutely still as he considered things.
“Okay. The Woogie understands. Louie get draft contract from Bridgitte. You review.”
“When do we get to meet this Bridgitte?” Wilson said.
“Two weeks.”
“She was coming to see you anyway?”
“No. Bridgitte coming to see Louie.”
“Okay, okay,” Franklin said. “Louie, do you want to put any money in this venture?”
“Small money. Cambridge Arms had Louie committed.”
Wilson snorted. “I don’t doubt it.”
“Okay, let me talk to Glenn. Joe, are you going to Monica’s soirée tonight?”
“Yep. She would hurt me if I skipped it.”
“Same here. Did you get invited, Louie?”
“Louie invited. Not want Monica to hurt the Woogie.”
Both men laughed. “Monica takes good care of the Woogie,” Franklin said.
“Woogie makes a little joke.”
“Hold onto your wallet, Joe,” Franklin said. “Louie here is a sharp operator.”
Louie made a buzzing noise.
“I think he’s giving us the raspberry,” Wilson said.
“That is what Monica said,” Louie replied.
Both men laughed again.
“By the way Joe, I got the road crews moving again yesterday.”
“So, I heard. Thanks for working on that.”
“The scoundrels took money from Dad to pay for the work and decided they didn’t feel obligated after he left the planet.”
“I trust you were able to disabuse them of the notion,” Wilson said.
“A shuttle-load of armed troops was convincing. They moved with alacrity. I’m just sorry you and Glenn had to get involved.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it, Franklin. In the end, it got done.”
# # #
“So tell me once again, Glenn, why you like these parties?” Joe Wilson said as he, Glenn Foxworth and Franklin Nyman stood together in the corner of the Foxworth living room in Cambridge. It was a good vantage point where they were able to anonymously survey the Cantabrigian hoi polloi displaying their peacock feathers.
Foxworth chuckled. “Because it gives me a chance to drink without Monica observing every swallow.”
Franklin took a sip of his drink before speaking. “Yeah, but you never explained the reasons for that.”
They watched as Louie thrummed across the room on his five motivators, burping greetings to everyone in his path.
“Goes back a few months when we were having our problems with the old duke. I was pretty deep into my cups at that time, and my dear wife decided to make it her mission to keep me from death by inebriation.”
“Well, it has worked so far,” Wilson said. “Did you discover anything while you were communing with John Barleycorn?”
“Only how much my head hurt the next day. Anti-hangover pills don’t work. Period.”
“So why are you swilling the stuff tonight?” Franklin said.
“I am not swilling. Just trying to get a little buzz on is all.”
“I came home loaded one night when I was sixteen years old.” Franklin said.
“I’ll bet that was an experience. Did your folks know about it?”
“My old man hadn’t laid a hand on me since I was eleven. Told me at a certain point I had to start learning my lessons like an adult.”
“So what did he say that night?” Wilson moved in closer, clearly interested in the story.
“He beat the ever-living tar out of me is what he did.”
“So how did he explain that?” Foxworth asked.
“Told me if I was fool enough to do something like that he was glad to repay me in like coin. I was sore for two weeks afterwards.”
“Taught you not to come home drunk, I guess,” Foxworth said.
“Taught me not to get drunk, period. Dad is not a big man. Even then I was bigger then he was. But he knew how to make you hurt without leaving permanent damage. In fact, he didn’t leave a mark on me. So every time I think I’m starting to get tiddly, I remember those fists coming in.”