by Ward Wagher
Mrs. Marsden began beating on a cast iron skillet with a metal spoon. “Line up here and you can have your dinner.” The men obediently formed a line to the serving area.
Frank turned to Eckert. “I think the men are more afraid of Mrs. Marsden than of me.”
“I don’t know if I would say that, Sir, but they definitely respect her.”
Looks to me like the men are terrified of her, Frank thought. There are certain advantages to having an old battle-ax around.
The other team came walking out from the village. Daphne, covered in dust, walked over to Frank. “Getting that second molly-cutter was a wonderful idea, Captain. We already have about four layers of stone on the walls of the treatment house.”
“That is great, Daphne. You are making remarkable progress. Any trouble getting the men to work?”
“After the first day when I knocked the biggest one down? No.” She walked over to join the men in the lunch line.
Eckert snickered. Frank turned to him with raised eyebrows. “I don’t know about old lady Marsden, Margrave, but the men are definitely afraid of the Lieutenant.”
Frank chuckled. “I suspect she could work any one of them into the ground too. As dusty as she is I was tempted to ask her if she had fallen down and rolled in the dirt, but was afraid she would knock me down too. Let’s go eat.”
Wendy and Mrs. Marsden ladled venison stew into plastic bowls, while Beddings filled cups with water. Smith & Jones had turned their exploration of the area around Montora into hunting expeditions. Wendy had traded some of the deer harvest to the villagers for truck from the gardens, so everyone was eating well. The men sat in small groups and chattered as they ate.
“Say Margrave,” one of the men called. “Do you have an aircar now?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Thought I heard one fly out last night.”
Frank looked at the little man. “There has been some traffic in and out lately. That is probably what you heard.”
The man nodded and went back to his stew. The man next to him leaned over and pointed to the tractor and made some comment. Frank watched as they talked. Hai Ciera had flown the aircar out after dark so it wouldn’t be identified when he landed it at Cambridge.
The meal went on for a while and the man spoke again. “Say Margrave,” he called. “Haven’t seen the commander today.”
“Oh, I have him on some projects. He’s about somewhere.”
The man nodded sagely and went back to his meal.
“Who is that?” Frank asked.
“That is Aaron Shover,” Mrs. Marsden said.
“What does he do?”
“Lives in the village. Keeps a garden. Nothing beyond that. Has a bit of coin, though.”
Frank gazed at him thoughtfully.
Chapter Fifteen
“I have got to get to a bank.” Frank was looking at his porta-comp and scowling at the numbers in the ledger.
Hai, Gerry, Daphne and Wendy sat arrayed around the desk in the margrave’s office. “It’s too dangerous, Frank,” Wendy said.
“I need some working cash and I need to okay the next draw on the letter of credit. The tractor about cleaned us out. I wasn’t expecting this level of expenditure right off the bat. Plus one of the villagers brought this to me.” Frank held up a small bag.
“And what is that?” Ciera asked.
“Funny you should ask,” he grinned. “This fellow spends his odd moments panning in the river. He had a deal with my brother where they would split fifty-fifty anything glittery they could pull out of the river bed.”
“That’s gold?” Wendy asked.
Frank tipped the bag and a couple of small ingots slit out into his hand. “The man is a jeweler and apparently knows something about separating out the gold. These are five ounce ingots.”
Ciera whistled. He reached out and took one of the ingots from Frank and hefted it in his hand. “How much work does this represent?”
“I don’t know. Any ideas, Gerry?”
“The villager comes in every month or so with about this much. His name is Goldsmith, by the way. He does not do a lot of business in his shop, as you might expect, given the economy around here. This is probably what keeps him in potatoes.”
“I wonder how much gold there is around here,” Ciera said.
Frank rubbed his index finger over his lips. “Indeed. Well, back to the topic at hand.”
“Visiting UBS again is problematical,” Ciera said. “After you made your initial visit, the first call the manager made was to the duke.”
“I wish we had known ahead of time the manager was in the duke’s pocket,” Frank said.
“Perhaps we could do a limited Power of Attorney,” Daphne said.
“Would we not have to go before a judge to do that?” Wendy said.
“Not necessarily. A limited POA just requires a lawyer, your signature and two witnesses. We could fly somebody in here ahead of time to take care of the paperwork. Then I show up at the bank and get on my high horse when they try to stall.”
“And she does that very well,” Ciera said.
“So I have noticed,” Frank said. “The problem is I imagine the manager would stall things until he can summon the gendarmes. That would be risky. Plus if they picked you up, they would make the connections to Hai.”
“Is there an sssistant manager?” Wendy asked.
“Yes, there is,” Hai said. “Young fellow, mid-twenties.”
“Suppose we wait until the manager leaves the bank for some reason and then Daphne goes in and charms the assistant.”
Ciera tilted his head first in one direction and then the other as he thought about it. “The question is whether the manager would reverse the transaction.”
“Would he be likely to find out about it?” Daphne asked. “I’ve been in that bank and the manager gives the impression of limited intelligence.”
“There is a greater risk beyond simply being in the bank,” Ciera said.
Frank looked at Hai for a few moments. “That they might think of tracking the account activity.”
“Right. I’ve been throwing your money around with abandon, Captain. Technically the local governments cannot interfere with the banking system, but if the manager is bought…”
“Worse than shutting off the money, what about the police showing up on the doorsteps of your suppliers?”
“That is really my biggest fear,” Ciera said. “I have nightmares about them hauling Justin Vos in for a little conversation. Guilietto Roma really is a vicious little weasel.”
“But if we just sit out here, the well is going to run dry sooner or later,” Frank said, “probably sooner.”
“So you are saying we need to go ahead with something then?” Ciera said.
“I think so, Hai, unless you can come up with a better idea.”
“Unfortunately Daphne has probably figured out the best possible way and it still looks dangerous.” Ciera chewed on a finger-nail as he pondered. Finally he sighed, “Very well. It will take us a couple of days to set things up. I just wish I knew why the duke has been so hell-bent to get rid of you. If we knew that, we could probably develop some kind of a strategy.”
“Maybe you could spend a couple of days skulking around Cambridge and find out something.”
“Maybe I should at that. I guess the money is first priority, right?”
“Yeah. I hate to say it, but I need the liquidity. And very soon Wendy and I are going to start making decisions about spending serious money on this place. I am talking about tens of millions. I keep postponing that, but we need to determine whether we slip off planet and find a buyer for the margraviate or stick it out.”
“Is this place marketable?” Ciera asked.
“Not really at this point,” Wendy said. “The infrastructure needs to be completed – roads, sewers, power, space port, not to mention a marketing plan to get tourists in here.”
“And we cannot really do that with the duke sitting
out there taking pot shots at us,” Frank said.
“You are thinking about leaving?” Gerry asked. The wrinkles on his forehead extended into the thin hair on his head. “I mean, I thought you were staying. When you called yourself the margrave, the villagers assumed you were here permanently.”
Frank and Wendy looked at each other. “Stepped in that one, didn’t I,” he said.
The room grew quiet and uncomfortable. Finally Frank spoke again. “Let’s get some working cash and then maybe Hai can find out what is motivating our beloved duke. The other concern I have, since everyone seems to be baring their chests. I assume you and Daphne are going to have to leave sometime, Hai.”
“The admiral told us to stay put here as long as you needed us. The Navy considers this important.”
“And I, for one,” Wendy said, “have no intentions of baring my chest.”
Guilietto Roma’s desktop communicator trilled. He pressed the accept button. “Yes, Marlo?”
“My lord, the Naval Legate is here and craves a few moments of your time,” the secretary said.
The duke sighed and thought for a moment. “Send him in.”
He got out of his chair and walked to the door. “Commander Stine, how good of you to drop by.” This has got to be the smallest naval officer I have ever seen. He looks lost in that hat.
“Thank you for seeing me, My Lord. I have just a small bit of business to take care of.”
“Fine, fine. Come on over and have a chair. Can I ring for something to drink for you?”
“No thank-you, My Lord.” The commander sat down in a chair across the desk from where the duke eased himself back in. “I will come straight to the point. Your policemen arrested one of my lieutenants in the performance of her duty. That, in and of itself, was highly questionable. They will also allow no contact with her from anyone at the Legation office.”
Why can’t these Navy people leave well enough alone? “This lieutenant, Daphne Locke, and yes I am familiar with the case, was either involved in an illegal banking transaction, or was directly aiding a rebellious lord here on Hepplewhite. Of course I had her arrested. This is a serious situation.”
“That being the case, My Lord, the Universal Rights Covenant, which you were required to sign before assuming the duchy, mandates communication and representation for prisoners.”
Roma cocked his head as he looked at the diminutive commander. “National emergency supersedes those laws, as you know, Commander.”
“Have you declared a National Emergency, My Lord? I have received no notification of such, and as the Naval Legate, I am required to.”
“It was a secret finding of the Duke’s High Court. I am not required to publish those.”
“But you are required to notify the Naval representative.”
“Consider yourself notified, then Commander,” he said. And be damned to you too!
“Very well, My Lord,” the commander leaned back in his chair, “with you having declared a National Emergency, and having claimed Navy involvement, I am required to convene a Discovery Hearing to determine actual Navy involvement and make recommendations to the locally constituted government.”
Roma leaned forward on to the desk. “Why should you need to do that? The problems here are local and nothing I cannot handle. This is Navy interference, pure and simple. I withdraw the state of emergency.”
“Which is it, My Lord? You have arrested one of my officers, claiming insurrection. When I request you release the officer to my custody, as is legally required in such instances, you refuse and stand upon your declared emergency. Now you want to withdraw the emergency.”
Now Roma leaned back in his chair. “Do you know who my brother is, Commander?”
“I know who your brother is: Carlo Roma.”
“Perhaps he would be unhappy to hear of the Navy interfering with the lawful execution of my business here in Hepplewhite.”
Stine shifted around on his chair. Roma watched him carefully. Okay, I have him backed into a corner. Now, to move in for the kill. “You can still back out of this. Let us say you called on me to register your concern about Lieutenant Locke. I note your concern and assure you she will be treated legally and well. You go back to your office and everyone is happy.”
“You misunderstand me, My Lord. The Navy is the creature of the Merchants League and is bound to reflect its wishes. However, while we endeavor to serve senior members of the League and the League Council, we have been directed to protect the rule of law on the League worlds. The Council has given very specific guidelines on managing… differences of opinion with local governments.”
Roma stood up quickly. “Why don’t you just spit it out? You are not going to support a legitimate government against its enemies, is that right?”
“Once again, you misunderstand me, My Lord. If there is documented insurrection, the Navy is legally bound to help the legitimate government. I am prepared to do so. However, I have clear procedures on managing such an event. If this is an emergency situation, and it appears to be from your statements, I can pull together a court of inquiry almost immediately.” Stine stood up. “If you will allow me to take my leave, I can be about it sooner. I shall, of course, require you to present Lieutenant Locke at the hearing so her case can be handled.”
What do I do now? The duke remained standing, with his mouth open, but he said nothing.
“Good day, My Lord,” Stine said as he turned to leave the office.
What a sad example of a hotel, said the young man to himself as he eased through the half open auto-doors to the lobby. And it looks like this was a nice place once upon a time. And is that a Woogie behind the counter?
“Not hotel open,” it said. “Not accepting guests. Yet.”
He hitched his backpack further onto his shoulder and marched over to the counter.
“Need place to stay? Louie can arrange. Not inhospitable. But hotel not open.” The Woogie waved his five arms/tentacles around as he spoke through the vocoder strapped around his middle.
“I am actually looking for a job,” the man laid a sheet of paper on the counter. Below the upper edge of the counter and scattered along the workspace were fifteen or twenty shiny objects – glass knickknacks, chrome styli, gold paperweights. Yup, a Woogie lair. They just cannot resist scarfing anything shiny and not nailed down. And they smell awful. “This is my resume. I am a hotel manager. I could help you turn this hotel into a showpiece.”
Louie subsided into stillness as he stared at the man. The Woogie’s single, blue, four inch eye was disconcertedly human looking. The immobility continued for a full thirty seconds. The young man began to get restless, and then gulped as a wave of the menthol and stinkweed odor of Woogie washed across him.
“Name?”
“Uh... oh. My name is Modest Marple. I am an experienced hotel manager. I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to speak with you about the opportunities you have here.”
The Woogie backed up and then spun in circles a couple of times as his arms waved about. “No, no. Louie not need hotel manager. Do not need human. Have human marketing consultant.”
“Please, Mr. Louie. I would be willing to start as a desk clerk or bell hop. You would be glad you hired me.”
“No, no. The Louie cannot afford. So sorry. So sorry, Mr. Modest.” The Woogie subsided again and stared at Marple.
Modest Marple bit a lip as he looked at the Woogie. “Sir, perhaps you can suggest a place for me to look for a job. I really need something – my funds are almost depleted.”
“No money?”
“To be honest, I have enough to last me another week. My travel cost more than I expected.”
The Woogie stared at him again. “So sorry. No job. Louie cannot afford. Times difficult in Cambridge.”
Marple shook his head. “Well, thanks for talking to me.” He hitched the backpack again and turned to walk to the door.
“Wait!”
He turned to see the Woogie rummaging in a draw
er. Louie pulled out a coupon chip. “Woogie not inhospitable. Free meal at Gus’s. But not job. So sorry.”
Marple reached out and took the coupon chip. “Thanks. I’ve always heard Woogies were good folk. You are very generous.” Even if they sound like a serious case of bad plumbing.
The Woogie shivered and burrrred. “Yes, Woogies try to be good folks.”
Marple turned and walked to the door and was just stepping through it.
“Wait!”