The Mountains of Montora (The Chronicles of Montora Book 1)

by Ward Wagher

  “Notice she didn’t answer the question,” Ciera said triumphantly. “So you are still hurting. All you are doing is giving Frank somebody else to worry about.”

  “I will take care of Frank,” Wendy said. “I, for one, am glad to have you here. Bless his heart, Gerry has the books all messed up again and I don’t have time to straighten them out.”

  She grinned over at Blakely, who had turned red. “A thousand pardons, Margrave, Margravine. A seneschal is not usually required to keep the books. I did the best I could.”

  “I know that Gerry. You have done a wonderful job here.”

  Putin’s comm chirped. He opened it and listened. “The shuttle is here, Commander.”

  Ciera got out of his chair.

  “Wait, Hai, you haven’t eaten yet,” Wendy said.

  “I’ll trot through the kitchen on the way out and grab something.”

  “You will not.” Wendy turned to the cook, who had been hovering in the room. “Mrs. Marsden, will you prepare something the Commander can carry with him to eat on the run?”

  She sniffed. “The man needs a proper sit-down meal, if you ask me. He has been out all day.”

  “No time, Mrs. Marsden, I’m afraid,” Hai said. “No rest for the wicked, et cetera. Let me get changed.” He walked out of the room. Mrs. Marsden harrumphed and returned to the kitchen.

  “Some day Mrs. Marsden is going to figure out a way to tie us into our chairs so she can feed us properly,” Frank said.

  “If she ever hears you making fun of her, she will probably poison you,” Wendy said.

  “She would not do that,” Eden rumbled. “She would just put some poke-weed into something she served him. He would spend the next day clamped to his seat in the fresher.”

  Everyone smiled and Blakely tittered. He stopped suddenly and turned red again when they looked at him.

  Frank cleared his throat and looked at Putin. “Colonel, suppose you tell us what you have in mind. I think you now have a good appreciation for what we are facing here.”

  The colonel nodded. “I have a suggestion, along with a proposal.”

  Frank leaned forward. “You’ve been dangling your proposal in front of me since you landed. I think I’d like to hear that first.”

  “I am not surprised. Captain, you are so easy.”

  Frank knocked on the table with a knuckle. “Let’s hear it, Colonel.”

  “We lost our base on New Prussia,” Putin said.

  “Lost it? It was attacked? Your home base, right?”

  “No; not attacked. The elector withdrew our lease to the base.”

  “The elector?” Frank said. “I thought the elector was your cousin.”

  “He is. As he told me, it wasn’t personal, just business.” Putin’s tone of disgust was clearly evident. “So while I’m trying to manage a contract on Addison's, my cousin cuts the ground out from under me.”

  “I cannot believe he would just throw you out of there,” Wendy said. “Didn’t you prop him up one time in the past?”

  “His father, not him,” Putin said. “I believe that embarrasses our current elector.”

  “Doesn’t he get a cut of your revenues?” Frank asked.

  “Absolutely. Someone apparently bought him out.”

  “To what purpose?”

  Putin shook his head. “Obviously I have irritated someone somewhere; sufficiently so to result in this. I have no idea how it could have happened.”

  Frank snorted. “You haven’t changed, Colonel. You have this amazing talent for bringing out the worst in people. You do it so well, even when you don’t realize what you are doing.”

  “Really, Captain. You know better than that.”

  Frank tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “You have a proposal?”

  “So I do. Here is what I propose, Captain.” Putin folded his hands. “I base my operation out of Montora. You provide the land and do not tax my operation. In return I provide security for you and the margraviate. You, of course, cover any expenses related to your security.”

  “That’s it?” Frank said. Wendy looked as if she wanted to say something and Frank gave her a warning glance. They had learned not to interrupt each other during the bargaining.

  “That is it. Oh, and I do not bill you for having Smith & Jones here for the past half a year.”

  “And the troop out with Hai?”

  “A down payment, as it were.” Putin leaned back and cocked an eyebrow. “I cannot deny I am in a bit of a financial quandary. The elector waited for me to pay my annual assessment before booting us out. It has not been a good year, and the assessment was a bit of a stretch. On the other hand, you, Captain, are in a poor position yourself. You do not have the resources to properly defend your domain and the Navy has constrained you from doing what obviously must be done.”

  “I didn’t know you had a headquarters battalion,” Frank said. “Kind of expensive, it seems to me.”

  “I do not. My headquarters consists of retirees and dependents. But as a group, they are as good as anything on this planet.”

  “When would they get here?”

  Putin leaned forward. It was apparent to Frank that the colonel thought he had closed the deal. “They are here. In orbit.”

  “Here?” Frank said. “You loaded up your entire headquarters group and brought them out here, betting I would go along with your proposal? You know Krause will extrude bricks when he finds out. With all the problems I have, I could just as easily have turned you down.”

  Putin slumped back in his chair and sighed. “I didn’t have a choice. The elector wanted us off planet and threatened to bomb the place if I didn’t move. So I loaded them up. But, on the other hand, not to twist your arm, Captain, but your options are limited as well.”

  “But I still have a few options.”

  “Do you really?”

  “I do.”

  The colonel looked down at his hands and then back up at Frank. “I do not have many friends, Captain. But I count you as one. Please, Frank.”

  Frank chuckled mirthlessly. “What the hay, Otto. How long have we known each other? Thirty years, near enough. I didn’t know you had any friends.”

  “The operator of a mercenary regiment cannot afford to have many.”

  “May I assume you already have a location picked out for the base?”

  “The plateau above the shuttle port. We estimate it at forty-six acres.”

  “Otto, to be honest, I know you are in a difficult situation. Mine is impossible. I need to warn you: more people are going to die here before it is over and done with. Some of them will be yours.”

  “Just so we understand each other,” the colonel said, “when this is over and done with, we will be Montorans. And we will likely pay for it in blood.”

  Frank slid his chair back and stood up. He stuck out his hand. “Colonel, I believe we have a deal.”

  Putin stood up. He clicked his heels together and bobbed his head. He reached out and took Frank’s hand and gave it a quick single shake. “Captain! The honor is mine.”

  Wendy stood up. “What a relief. I thought you two were going to argue about it all night.” She walked over and kissed Putin on the cheek. “Thank you for coming, Colonel. I hope… fervently hope this will be very satisfactory for all of us.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “And you have a ship load of retirees along with women and children?” Frank said.

  “I do,” Putin said.

  “Is that what I sent Hai out with?”

  Putin laughed, more naturally now. “No, Captain. I brought my executive security group with me. They have been looking for some action for several months.”

  “And what about your suggestion?” Frank asked.

  Putin’s smile turned evil. “I shall explain.”

  Glenn Foxworth idly spun a stylus on his desktop. The duke had spent the better part of a month’s stipend from Carlo Roma on a group of thugs who had then promptly disappeared. Now the
unpaid civil servants were starting to disappear as well. Guiletto’s manic obsession with Montora and the Margrave was going to destroy them all. In spite of his efforts, he was being dragged to the precipice. Try as he might, he was unable to find a lever which would control the duke.

  He nursed growing suspicions the two teams sent into Montora did not simply disappear. Frank Nyman had shown himself to be dangerously competent. Foxworth had had the feeling a huge load of something was about to fall on the duke, and had therefore made a side bet by informing the margrave of the second team in order to keep from being spattered himself.

  He threw the stylus across the room and spun his chair around to look out the window. The snow coating the castle square, and the buildings around exuded a feeling of quiet peacefulness. Foxworth had taken the job knowing there would be challenges, but the fairy-tale appearance of Cambridge had seduced him into believing he could make something out of a childish and idiotic duke. What a mistake that had been. He would be lucky to survive the experience with his head still attached to his shoulders.

  He heard his door close with a quiet click of the latch. He assumed his secretary, who stayed with the job so far, had come in to place some item on his desk which required his attention. It wouldn’t do to be seen gathering wool in front of her, so he spun his chair back around. Two large men in white, arctic camouflage, carrying automatic rifles stood on either side of Frank Nyman.

  “Prime Minister,” Frank said.

  Foxworth leaned forward slowly and eased his hands onto the desk top. Those rifles were not pointed at him, but they weren’t exactly pointed away either. “I hope you realize it is very dangerous for you to be here, Margrave.”

  “Not nearly as dangerous as it is for you and the duke, Prime Minister.”

  Foxworth looked back and forth at the two soldiers several times. “May I assume you have… taken care of the castle security?”

  “You may assume. But we have murdered no one; unlike someone else,” Frank’s voice was cold.

  “I see.” Foxworth pondered that for a few moments. “What can I do for you today, Margrave?”

  “We need to have a little visit with the duke.”

  Foxworth’s heart skipped a beat. “Much as I dislike Guilietto Roma, killing him would stir up more problems than it would solve.”

  “Is that the voice of a prime minister intent on saving his job?”

  “Margrave, if I could figure a way out of here, I would be gone. I am as trapped as you, perhaps more so.”

  Frank shrugged, then swung his head. “Let’s go.”

  Guilietto Roma idly spun a stylus on his desktop. He had spent the better part of a month’s stipend from his brother on a group of thugs who had then promptly disappeared. Now the unpaid civil servants were starting to disappear as well. Why did things keep going wrong? Try as he might, he was unable to find a lever which would control the margrave. If he could just get his hands on Montora, his problems would be over.

  He threw the stylus across the room and spun his chair around to look out the window. The snow coating the castle square, and the buildings around exuded a feeling of quiet peacefulness. He had come out here as a personal favor to his brother, and the fairy-tale appearance of Cambridge had seduced him into believing he could make something out of this group of losers. What a mistake that had been. He would be lucky to survive the experience with his head still attached to his shoulders.

  Behind him he heard two thumps outside his office door. When he spun back around the door was just opening. His prime minister walked in, followed by the Margrave Montora and two… no, thugs was too gentle a word. These were trained attack dogs in human form. The guns were aimed at him. I am going to die! Right now! Here! As his chair centered in front of the desk, he reached with his foot and pushed the emergency button. If he could just string things out until his quick reaction team got here, he might have a chance. Then he remembered his quick reaction team had walked off the job three days previously. I am going to die. The knowledge drained the strength away from his body.

  “Perhaps My Lord, the duke is curious about this unscheduled meeting,” Frank said.

  Roma could not summon the strength to speak. He gave a quick, shaky nod.

  “Have you wondered, Milord, how two teams have simply disappeared? You probably thought they gutlessly just took the money and ran. Unfortunately they managed some damage before they were caught. You might be gratified to know your latest team successfully destroyed a village – men, women and children. Of course, you know about your previous success,” Frank continued conversationally. “The first team murdered my brother and his wife.”

  Roma found his voice. “You do not know I was responsible. My job is uphold the law, not fund treachery.”

  “Don’t be an ass, Guilietto!” Foxworth said. “These people are not screwing around with us.”

  “Part of your problem,” Frank said, “is you do not listen to your prime minister. Perhaps you will listen to me. Admiral Krause has forbidden me to take direct action against you, even though we both know you are as guilty as sin. But listen carefully, Guilietto. Your life hangs by a thread. Because if so much as a hair on the head of another Montoran is harmed, I will be the last person you will see before you die. And you won’t have long to wait.”

  Frank sniffed the air. “It seems you have ruined a very expensive suit. Just remember: that is what your life is turning into. Let’s go gentlemen.” He turned and walked out of the room followed by the two soldiers.

  Foxworth stared at the duke as he squirmed in his chair. “It is almost too late. You are very lucky to still be alive. Give that some thought, Guilietto. I am rapidly losing any ability to protect you.” Then, he turned and left the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The front door of the Cambridge home slammed open against its stop as Glenn Foxworth stormed through. He backhanded it shut again with a bang and shed his coat onto the floor as he turned right into the den, which served as his home office.

  The imported walnut paneling and bookshelves, which had been so soothing when he had purchased the home, now seemed to mock him. He had arranged the room as a retreat, but for him there was no place to hide. He walked to the liquor cabinet and began fixing himself a tumbler of scotch – if the previous evenings were a guide, this drink was only the first.

  “Should I call someone to come and repair the door?.”

  He turned to look at the tiny, thin, almost elfin brunette standing in the doorway. He took a slurp of the drink and grimaced as it burned its way to his stomach. “We were paid a visit today by the margrave, Monica. He delivered a message to the duke.”

  “Considering how Guilietto feels about him, I am shocked he showed his face in Cambridge, Bunny. I think our duke is capable of personally putting a bullet into just about anybody, if he thought he could get away with it.”

  “Worse yet, Nyman was accompanied by a group of professionals – I have no idea where he got them, but they had mercenary written all over them. The game just changed. It frightened the duke so badly he shat himself. I mean, I could smell him clear across the room.”

  Monica walked up to him and took the glass from his hand. After setting it on the desk she clasped her hands behind his neck and stretched up to kiss him. “I should think that would be good news, Bunny. This should make even the duke stop and think.”

  “I doubt it, Sweetheart. After he went to his apartments to change, he came roaring back in to berate me for letting his security people quit. The man views himself as the perpetual victim. He is interested in no one else – I don’t believe he thinks anyone else truly exists.”

  “It is hard to believe someone so good looking could be such a moron. I can understand why he has never married.”

  Foxworth was almost able to laugh, but not quite. “Sweetheart, somewhere in this universe is walking around a woman, who has no idea how very, very lucky she is.”

  “And meanwhile, we are stuck with him. I wish w
e had never met Carlo Roma. And we thought he was such a decent man.”

  “That’s the rub,” Foxworth said as he picked the glass for another hit. “I think Carlo Roma is genuinely a decent man. And he honestly loves his brother and is trying to help him be successful. That is why he is paying us so well. And… I do not know how to do this.”

  She reached up and took the glass from him again as he tried to bring it to his mouth. “You are not going to help things by destroying your liver. The health care here is not good enough to fix it if you do.”

  “I’m sorry, Baby. I am just at my wit’s end. I really do not want to send Carlo a message saying I am incapable of keeping his little brother under control.”