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

by Ward Wagher

  He listened for a few minutes. “Yes, tonight if it is not too much trouble.”

  He laid the comm down and went back to work.

  In the afternoon Frank took the opportunity to escape from the office and wander through the village. Several teams of workers were laying out flower beds and arranging planters around the village square. Harmon Eckert waved as he maneuvered the backhoe across the square with a surprisingly large sapling in the bucket. Along the perimeter of the square the paving had been broken up and trees planted at intervals. Wendy had shown Frank her design earlier for the landscaping project, and what he saw now confirmed her eye for pleasant design.

  The completion, during the winter, of the waste treatment plant ensured the current aroma was of spring flowers. The bright colors of the painted buildings now made sense with the village nestling into the verdant background.

  He walked into the lobby of the inn and Modest Marple came scurrying out of his office to meet him. Frank decided Marple had thoroughly educated the staff on notifying him when the boss walked through the door.

  “Good afternoon, Margrave.”

  “Hey, Modest. Just out wandering around and thought I’d stop in to see how things are going.”

  “It is a good time for a visit, Sir. The regimental officers moved up to the camp last week and we have just finished the renovations on the fourth floor. I would be honored if you would take a look.”

  Frank smiled to himself. He is much more anxious for me to see his work now that he knows what he’s doing. “Sure. Let’s go.”

  The walk-through was routine, except for Marple showing off the features of the hotel. “I like what you have done, Modest.”

  “Thank-you, Sir. I know it took me longer than it should have to get on the stick here, but I hope you find it satisfactory.”

  “Eminently so. You are paying attention to the small touches, and that is what brings customers back again and again.”

  “We try, Sir. I wonder,” he said as they walked back to the elevator, “if we might consider doing a quick refresh on the restaurant if we hit a slow spell this summer? We put it together in a big hurry last fall and there are some aspects of it that just do not work.”

  “Are you talking about décor or the actual restaurant management?”

  “Both, actually. I have a much better idea of what you are looking for in the resort and some of the fixtures I purchased were a little on the cheap side. I honestly cannot blame anybody else for that. I also want to rearrange things just a bit to improve movement of the staff – things tend to bunch up a bit.”

  They stepped into the elevator and both turned to face the door as it closed. “I have no problem at all with what you suggest, Modest. In fact, I’m delighted to see you reviewing your operations for improvement. That is how we will ensure our long term success here – by constantly reviewing and improving.”

  “Thank-you, Sir. I appreciate your confidence.”

  “You should, however, talk to my wife about your plans. She really has a better eye for this sort of thing than I.”

  “I understand, Sir. I am very excited about the changes to the plaza she has been working on.”

  Frank chuckled. “Today was the first time I really noticed it. She had shown me the plans and so on, but I’ve been busy. I need to compliment her on it.”

  “Are we going to complete more streets this summer, Sir?”

  “Oh, yes. I think Eckert has people up in the hills cutting stone already. If we can get more streets paved, we can open more shops. I would like to drive the trade up as much as I can.”

  “We are going to be limited by hotel capacity,” Marple said. “We filled three floors last Christmas, and that was just the first year. We’ve got the fourth floor open, but I wonder if that is going to be enough. I fear will have people make the trip and find there is no room in the inn.”

  “What do you think, Mode, should we add a wing to the inn, or build a second hotel?”

  “A good question, Margrave. I am not sure.”

  “My wife has already suggested we have a general planning session. The business is growing quickly enough that we need to seriously plan ahead. She would include you, me and the mayor, plus anyone else you think might be able to contribute.”

  The doors of the elevator opened and they stepped out into the lobby. Marple pursed his lips as he thought. “Please let me know when the meeting will be. I need to think about things.”

  Frank smiled at him. “That was my intent. You have proven your ability to run the inn. I would like to stretch you into looking at a bigger picture.”

  “I’ll do my best, Sir.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  Wendy walked into the private dining room wearing a floor length gown. The white satin was collared at her neck, but her voluptuous form was visible.

  “You still have the capability to take my breath away after all these years,” Frank said.

  She gave him a warm smile as she slid into her chair. “You say the nicest things to a girl, Frank.”

  “You look… virginal.”

  She snorted. “We have Franklin to prove otherwise.”

  “Not to mention the racket you made the other day.”

  She blushed as she glared at him. “Am I going to have to hurt you?”

  “Oh, please!”

  “Don’t ruin the evening, Frank.” She grinned at him to take the sting out her words.

  Mrs. Marsden bustled in with the meal and made a quick exit.

  “She is not supervising tonight,” Wendy said.

  “I told her I wanted a candlelit dinner with my bride. She got the message.”

  “She certainly fixed our favorites.”

  “And she won’t be back in here again until after we are finished.”

  “Eating or…” Wendy grinned.

  “Now look who has the evil mind. I seem to remember a certain girl one time grabbing a table cloth from under the table and pulling half the dishes off the table.”

  Wendy laughed. “Now that was quite an evening. No, I just want to eat; then you can carry me back to our bedroom.”

  “Let’s eat.”

  “Slow down, tiger.”

  They began working on the Chicken Marsalla. “I really wanted an evening to spend with you, my dear,” Frank said. “You are so busy I never see you.”

  “There has been a lot to do, especially now that the business is starting to take off. We are going to have to acquiesce, and hire some more people, I’m afraid.”

  “I know what you mean. If it wasn’t for Daphne helping with the books, and Gloria handling the odd chores, Gerry and I would be covered up.”

  “We are going to have to give Daphne a title, soon, I think, and a real salary.” Wendy rested her chin on her hands, her fork dangling below. “She told me she was really having fun.”

  “I should have thought of that myself. And by the way, I am going to have to take a trip down to the flatlands. Daphne has been looking at the numbers and it looks like we are not getting the full amount of turnpike tolls.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. I think I’d like to go with you. I haven’t seen that part of the province yet.”

  “I told Gerry to keep it low profile. But, sure, I’d like to have you along. I think we can wrap things up down there in a couple of days.”

  “You might have to put a few of the Regimental people down there for a while so they will know were aren’t messing around.”

  “Good idea.”

  The conversation subsided as they ate and looked at each other.

  “Have I told you recently,” Frank said, “how much you mean to me?”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The Moody River valley widened as the shuttle traveled southward through Montora. The two ranges of the western mountains were still visible in the distance as they marched along both sides of the valley. A springtime wash of green was creeping across the valley, soaking up the golden light from Panoz. The river
itself changed from a cataract to a wide, placid, smooth-flowing artery, draining the continent into the Gulf of Dreams. Whatever his shortcomings, Frank thought, Robert Hepplewhite picked some picturesque names for the places on this planet.

  The regimental pilot set the shuttle down on an open field near the village of Woods Crossing. This was where the turnpike bridged the Moody River on its cross continent trek to Castle Paravel. Along with Frank and Wendy, Hai Ciera, Daphne Locke, Smith & Jones, and four troopers made up the party. The pilots would stay with the craft.

  “I am still not sure why you picked the middle of the territory to start looking around, Frank,” Wendy said. “The problems have to be at the borders, probably on both sides.”

  “Because everything is so bamfoozled, I thought an indirect approach might yield dividends. I hope to gain enough information here to help determine how to handle the borders.”

  “Makes sense. The scenery is nice, though.”

  “I love these wide valleys with the mountains along each side. Reminds me of the Shenandoah Valley on Earth – it is in the Carolina Free State, I think.”

  “I have heard of it,” Wendy said. “Never been there. I have to say, though, the mountains of Montora are about the loveliest I have ever seen. I mean, they are majestic up around the village, and just plain beautiful down here.”

  “What they look down upon is tawdry at times, though,” Ciera said.

  Wendy slapped him on the arm. “You always have to go and spoil the mood with your comments, Hai!”

  Frank cleared his throat to indicate his desire to continue. “This is the largest incorporated area in the south. I thought this would be a good place to make our presence felt first. Besides, they manage the toll collection and reporting from here. I suspect whatever is going on, they know about it, whether or not they will be willing to talk. And here comes our welcoming committee.”

  A group of the local villagers was walking out to where the shuttle grounded. Most were carrying weapons.

  “I don’t think I like this,” Smith said.

  “I think we’re all right. Everybody in this part of Montora is armed at all times,” Ciera said. “After the massacres last winter, everyone is a bit jumpy, I expect. And they don’t know who just dropped in on them.”

  “All the same…” he leaned his head back inside the shuttle to speak to the pilots. “Warm up the weapons systems, but don’t make any obvious movements with the turrets.”

  Wendy’s eyebrows raised. “We don’t need another massacre here, Frank. I hope nobody is trigger happy.”

  “Not a problem,” Smith said. “We’ll just take it nice and easy.”

  The group, about fifteen of the villagers, stopped eight or ten feet away from the margrave’s party. One of the men stepped forward another pace. “You are welcome to Woods Crossing. Could you state your business?”

  “I’m Frank Nyman.”

  “Should that mean any… oh. You are the margrave. My apologies, Sir.”

  “No need to apologize. You were being cautious, which is wise in these parts right now.”

  “We are honored to have you visit. I wish we have known, we could have prepared a reception so you could meet the people of the town.”

  “This was kind of a spur of the moment thing, so I am sorry for the short notice.” Frank studied the man carefully. The speaker was of medium height and non-descript. Somebody who could be missed in a crowd. “And who are you, Sir?”

  “Oh, excuse me once again. I am Gore Mittal, the mayor of Woods Crossing.”

  “Glad to meet you.” Frank stuck out his hand. We are doing a quick survey of the area and decided to start here.”

  “Oh, very good. Perhaps we can arrange a lunch for you then.”

  “If it is no trouble, that would be generous of you.”

  The walk to the village was instructive. Mittal pointed out the grain fields, with the winter wheat beginning to peek out of the straw. Other fields were being tilled by ox-drawn plows. There was not a lot of forest in this part of the valley, except along the river, however the fields were ringed by trees.

  “What is the population of the village?” Daphne asked.

  “About six-hundred at last count,” Mittal said. “The count is increasing steadily, although not quickly. We are prosperous here.”

  “Do you have businesses other than farming?” Daphne continued.

  “Yes, we maintain or repair the vehicles and wagons coming over the pike. There is a little bit of manufacturing – iron mongery mostly.”

  “What do you use for fuel, then?”

  “We bring in coal from the mountains to the west. There is a mining camp at the western toll gate.”

  “That’s what, one-hundred miles away?”

  “A little over eighty,” Mittal said. “Bit of a long haul by wagon, but worth it to us.”

  As they walked through the village Frank noticed a parish church. The sign on the front read Harmonite Church of Woods Crossing. R.E. Shaleman, Pastor. It seemed to be in decent repair, in fact, the village did not exhibit the run-down impression he noticed upon his arrival at Montora Village.

  “Harmonite?” Frank asked.

  “Odd group of people,” Mittal said. “Twenty-five or thirty of them. Practice polygamy. Shaleman is a good sort, though. Solid folks. Really support the village.”

  “What kind of roadway is the turnpike?” Frank changed the subject.

  “It is mostly unpaved,” Mittal said. “We try to keep it graveled as much as possible, but still end up with some mud pits in the spring. We have stone paving through the village.”

  “A nice looking village. You keep it up well.”

  Mittal bowed his head briefly. “Thank-you, Sir. The council sets some strict rules on keeping things up. Some of the other villages around here are little better than cesspools.”

  “I would like Daphne here to consult with you, if you please. She has been working on upgrading the infrastructure of Montora Village. I’m sure we could learn some things from you.”

  “She would be welcome. And here is the village hall.”

  At the entry to the building, Frank turned and thanked the villagers who had come out to the shuttle. The small, white painted building on the square was not imposing. When they walked in they saw there was space for a small courtroom and a few offices. “It is not much, but we try not to build any more government here than absolutely necessary.”

  “I like your attitude,” Frank said. “Are you elected to your post, or were you appointed?”

  “Technically I was appointed, Sir. The old margrave asked the villagers who they wanted for their mayor, and I got picked for my sins. They still laugh about it.”

  Frank laughed. “Very good, Mr. Mayor. I would like to have a private word with you. Well you, me and a couple of my folks.”

  “I do have an office here, but it is very small. Let’s go on into the courtroom – there is more space. You can post your guards at the doorway, if you like.”

  After the doors were closed, the mayor looked at Frank expectantly.

  “Let me come right to the point, Mr. Mayor. One of the reasons I came out here was that I needed to see the lands and meet people. The other reason is we have concerns about possible shortages in the toll collections. Can you tell me anything about that?”

  Mittal went pale. “I told them. I told them.” He shook his head. “As you may know, the toll collections are delivered here for processing. We then send everything on to Montora Castle. The castle remits back to us to cover expenses. The tolls have been falling off, but we are seeing about the same traffic come over the bridge here. We collect a bridge toll too.”

  “And your conclusion?”

  “Well, it is clear, Sir. They are skimming the tolls. More than that, they are taking great big bites out of the revenue.”

  “Mr. Mayor,” said Daphne, “are you seeing this from both the east and west tolls?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Curiously, the fall-off is the
same percentage. It’s like they have been talking to each other.”

  Frank and Wendy looked at each other, but said nothing. Daphne continued her questions.

  “Do you keep toll records over several years?”

  “We have records from the beginning,” said the mayor.

  “Are they electronic or paper?”

  “Paper, of course. We do not have consistent electrical power here and computers are few. Paper is more reliable.”