“We should be in Birmisia within a fortnight,” said Staff. “Which is a good thing, because it’s going to take me a fortnight to learn who’s who.”
“I’m sure we’ll all be one big happy family in no time,” said Mrs. Harper.
“Quite,” agreed Buttermore.
“Your wife didn’t join you for tea today, Buttermore?” asked Staff.
“No. Like so many, Easton wasn’t feeling well. Easton is our little boy. So Julietta decided to stay in. It’s so cold out.”
“Now that I think about it,” said Staff. “I believe Mr. Shannon said that there were ten family members along, as well as ten M&S staff members.”
Buttermore counted off on his fingers. “Let’s see. Easton and Julietta. Mrs. Rutan. Mrs. Harper’s daughter and grandchild. Mrs. Fandice’s niece. The Mouliets’ and the Glieberman’s. Yes. Ten and ten.”
“We must have a get-together then, where we can all get to know each other. Perhaps it’s all the years I’ve spent in the navy speaking, but I think our enterprise will probably run all the smoother for it.”
“I would love to assist you,” said Mrs. Harper.
“As would I,” said Miss Rocanna.
The simple affair took place one week later and turned into a full-blown party. Staff reserved the common lounge from eight o’clock until two in the morning, paid for a bartender and a plentiful supply of hors d’oeuvres. Fortunately the weather was more cooperative than it had been, with relatively calm seas. It was still cold though. Mrs. Harper had made and sent out the invitations and Miss Rocanna had even managed to procure a mechanical music box with half a dozen different popular tunes engraved on wax cylinders.
“This was a wonderful idea, Mr. Staff,” said Mrs. Harper, standing with her daughter and granddaughter.
Mrs. Melody Lanier was Mrs. Harper’s daughter and looked just as she must have looked in her younger days, with dark hair and a voluptuous figure that would turn any man’s head. Likewise, her teen-aged daughter Wenda was a young, thin, and happy version of her, before adulthood had put the lines around her eyes or had put the grey in her mother’s hair. Mrs. Lanier had lost her husband and Miss Lanier her father, when he was killed in a boiler explosion, while working on the Greater Brechalon and Northern Railroad. Mrs. Harper had encouraged her daughter to come along with her and try to start a new life in Birmisia.
“You’ve heard me speak of them, and here they are,” said Buttermore.
Mrs. Julietta Buttermore was a very pretty, if frail looking woman at least ten years younger than her husband. She had very fine honey blond hair and clean, sharp features, but dark circles under her large, amber eyes. On her hip, she carried a chubby toddler, whose thick shock of golden hair perfectly matched his father’s.
Mr. Rutan and his wife entered and sat together in a corner, not speaking with anyone. Staff picked up a tray of drinks from the bar and carried it to the corner, holding it out for the couple. Rutan was wearing the same black suit that he had worn when they had met, and Mrs. Rutan was wearing a very simple black dress. She was a plain woman with a weak chin and a very large nose, and looked older than her husband. Rutan picked up one glass for himself.
“My wife doesn’t drink,” he said.
“Fortunately, this one is ginger ale,” said Staff, handing one of the glasses to the woman, who nodded her thanks. He then poured the four remaining glasses together into one large drink and held it up in a toast, setting the tray and the three empty glasses aside.
“To your health, madam,” he said. And so the three shared a drink, but there was no further conversation.
Mrs. Fandice pulled Staff away from the Rutans to introduce him to her niece. Loana Hewison looked so completely unlike Mrs. Fandice that anyone would have questioned whether they were related, and sure enough it seemed that their connection was only through marriage.
“Aunt Rosalyn is my mother’s sister-in-law, that is to say her brother’s wife,” said Miss Hewison, who was without a doubt the most beautiful woman in the room. Statuesque and striking, she wore a brilliant peach colored dinner gown. Her long hair was arranged in a very complex style, with each strand seemingly a different shade from very light blond to coppery red. As Staff spoke to her, he realized that not only was her hair multihued, but so were her eyes. One eye was deep brown and the other eye was hazel.
“When my Uncle Henri passed on, my parents sent me to live with Aunt Rosalyn,” the young woman continued. “And when she had the chance to go to Birmisia, well, I just had to join her. It’s so exciting. Imagine—a whole new world.”
“I hope you like it as much when we get there,” said Staff. “You will easily be one of the most beautiful women on the continent.” At which point, Mrs. Fandice steered her niece away to another part of the room.
The most interesting part of the whole get-together for Staff was meeting the mining engineers and their families. Aakesh Mouliets and his wife Purna were Mirsannan and proud of it. He wore the traditional yellow fez and great red coat trimmed with ferret skins, while she wore an outfit made of layer upon layer of silk. It had no bustle and, while not truly transparent, was far more revealing of her form than the clothing most Brech women would have worn, even to bed. Their ten-year-old son, Sudas, on the other hand, had fully embraced not only Brech attire but Brech culture as well. He wore a smart little grey suit with knickers, and carried a large volume of poetry by Samson Whitney.
The Gliebermans, Beeman, his wife Acadia, and their six-year-old daughter Sherree all dressed in simple grey and white clothes, and all three wore wire-framed glasses. In fact, the little girl was the youngest person that Staff had ever seen wearing eyeglasses. Her tiny dress was identical to her mother’s except that the skirt was supported by layers of petticoats rather than a bustle. Their rather austere dress led him at first to think they might be Zaeri—a notion of which he was quickly disabused.
“Fortunately there are no zeets among our group,” said Glieberman, and he pointed out the small, but no doubt expensive, gold cross on a chain around his wife’s neck.
“My husband and I are both god-fearing Kafirites,” said Mrs. Glieberman.
Finally there were the Kanes. Ivo and Femke Kane looked more like brother and sister than husband and wife. They were both about five foot eleven and both had sandy brown hair and blue eyes. What’s more, they were both dressed in khaki. Mrs. Kane wore no make-up and for that matter no dress, choosing instead the same shirt, jacket, pants and knee high black boots that her husband wore. Other women present, from Mrs. Harper to little Sherree Glieberman flashed displeasure in their eyes at her choice of wardrobe. Only Mrs. Mouliets, whose wardrobe was almost as scandalous, though in a different way, did not glower. Mrs. Kane however, seemed completely oblivious to this nonverbal castigation.
“I’m glad to meet all of you,” said Staff, getting the four engineers together in one corner of the lounge.
“What an excellent idea, this party,” said Ivo Kane, his teeth making a little whistling sound in the middle of the word ‘excellent’. “I don’t think that I had met everyone till now.”
“Yes, very nice,” said Aakesh Mouliets. “However, the four of us will have our own work to do in Birmisia. We will not have much time to socialize with these people.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Staff. “These people, as you say, are going to be the backbone of the company. It’s all well and good to find coal and hire lizardmen to dig it out, but the office staff will be handling the sale and transport. I intend to have a very close knit unit, working together, sharing ideas.”
Mouliets didn’t say anything, but the parsimonious look on his face spoke more loudly than words that this would not be his choice in the matter. Beeman Glieberman had the same sort of look on his face as well, though Ivo Kane seemed much more guarded. Staff imagined that he disliked the idea no less, but was far better than the other two at hiding his feelings.
“I’m sure Mr. Staff knows what he is doing,” said Femke Kane
, the only female engineer with the company, and as far as Staff knew, the only female engineer in Greater Brechalon. She had a deep sultry voice that made her husband’s, with its unfortunate whistle, seem comical by comparison. “I’m sure he has the complete support of our investors.”
“You are quite right in that!” boomed the voice of Alastair Merchant, stepping up from behind to clasp Staff on the right shoulder. A moment later another hammy hand slapped Staff’s left shoulder indicating that Wendell P. Shannon was there as well.
“Yes, Mr. Staff has our full backing,” he said. “I know something of his service record and he’s a good man to have in a difficult situation. More importantly, he knows Birmisia. It’s a very different place, as different as anyone of us has ever seen.”
“I quite look forward to the adventure,” said Mrs. Kane.
“Good,” said Merchant. “We should be able to see the coast of Mallon by the day after tomorrow.”
“One more round of drinks on me!” shouted Shannon.
Chapter Seven: Graham and the Constables
The S.S. Queen of Expy was the largest ship yet to dock at Port Dechantagne, almost twice as large, in terms of tonnage, as the H.M.S. Minotaur, the battleship that had brought the first colonists to this shore. Her four massive smokestacks were no longer pouring out giant black clouds as they had done all the way from Greater Brechalon. The great ship was now, ever so slowly, turning without the aid of any tugs, so that she could connect to a dock that was so much more primitive than she was used to. It all put Saba Colbshallow in mind of a very fat lady trying to maneuver herself around in a bathtub.
“How long do you suppose before they can get the gangplank up?” wondered Eamon Shrubb, who like Saba stood in his heavy blue reefer jacket and blue constable’s helmet.
Saba consulted his pocket watch. The ornate little hands showed 10:30. A snowflake settled upon its glass face, just above the six. He turned his face skyward and saw a few more large white flakes falling toward him.
“A while,” he said. “Tea?”
Eamon nodded, and the entire police force walked across the gravel road to the cart that Aalwijn Finkler had set up to sell hot drinks and cakes.
There were exactly five vending carts in Port Dechantagne, and all five were within fifty yards of the dock. In addition to Finkler’s, there was Mr. Kordeshack selling fish and chips, Mrs. Gopling selling smoky sausages, Mrs. Luebking, selling scarves, mittens, and knit caps for those who had either not brought warm clothing or were unable to find it in their luggage, and Mr. Darwin, who sold purses, wallets, belts, and hat bands, all made of dinosaur skin.
“Two teas,” said Saba, setting a ten-pfennig coin on the cart.
“Sugars?” asked Aalwijn.
“One.”
“Three,” said Eamon.
“Milk?” asked Aalwijn.
“No.” With no cattle in the colony and few goats, the only milk available was in tins. While this was fine for cooking, most people had given up milk in their tea because of the metallic taste.
The snow started coming down more heavily as the two constables sipped the steaming tea from the small, plain porcelain cups. When they had finished, they set the cups in the bin on the side of the vending cart reserved for dirty dishes. Saba turned around and looked at the S.S. Queen of Expy.
“I don’t think it’s moved,” said Saba.
“What’s Expy?” asked Eamon.
“It’s an island.”
“Does it have a queen?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How come they named a ship Queen of Expy then?”
“That’s just something they do.”
“I don’t think it’s moved,” said Eamon.
“Come on,” said Saba. “Let’s do a tour.”
“Together?”
“Sure.”
The two constables started off to the north, walking past the warehouses, and reaching the end of Bainbridge Clark Street, and the edge of Augustus P. Dechantagne Park. The park occupied ten acres just past the narrowest part of the peninsula, and was mostly composed of a large grassy area where during the summer, people had picnics, and played football or cricket. On its western edge was a copse of several dozen large trees and rose garden with a gazebo, a reflecting pool, and the base for a statue that had not yet been completed. The base was four foot square and two feet high, and would eventually hold a life-sized statue of the man for whom the park was named. It already had his name embossed upon it, along with the phrase “Stand Fast, Men”. Trailing through the park and the rose garden within it was a winding cobblestone path, which Saba and Eamon took. They stopped between the statue base and the reflecting pool, which was completely frozen over.
“You knew him pretty well, eh?” asked Eamon, indicating the spot where the statue would someday be.
“Yep. He was a great guy. He used to tell me dirty stories when I was a kid, and he usually gave me a couple of pfennigs when he saw me. That was big money for me then.”
“Sure,” said Eamon, who had grown up in a poorer family than Saba’s. “Do you know what it’s going to look like?”
“Nope. Nobody but Mrs. Dechantagne-Calliere knows. Knowing her, he’s going to be standing like he has a stick up his ass, and he’ll probably be pointing forward or waving heroically.”
“How do you wave heroically?”
“You know. Like ‘Come on, Men!’” Saba waved invisible soldiers behind him to move forward.
“Okay.”
“You know they should have named this park after Zurfina. She’s the one who saved our cake.”
“I’ve heard you say that before. It’s just because you fancy her.”
“No. I’m serious. I was there. I know.”
“She really put it on the lizzies?”
“Oh, it was bloody awesome.”
“But you do fancy her?”
“She’s too old for me,” said Saba. “Not that I haven’t had the odd fantasy about her.”
“She’s not that old is she? I’ve only seen her a few times, but she doesn’t look… forty do you suppose?”
“She’s a sorceress. She might be four hundred for all I know. Still, you saw her, eh?”
“Yes, she’s a tidy one. It’s true. But, you know… magic,” Eamon waved both his hands in the air for emphasis. “I’d be afraid. She could do something to you. You might never function properly again.”
“You know who wasn’t afraid? Him.” Saba pointed to the statue base.
“Yeah?”
“That’s right. I was with him when he went to visit her in Brech. I had to wait in the carriage for an hour. Of course he wasn’t afraid of any of the women. If I saw him sneaking out of one lady’s door, I saw him sneak out of a hundred.”
“So maybe he does deserve a park?”
“Maybe so. I can think of a couple of statue poses now that I think on it.”
Eamon laughed. “So who do you fancy more—Zurfina or Mrs. Government?”
“Mrs. C? Come on.”
“I know you like her too.”
“I had a crush on her when I was a boy. I suppose they both have their appeal, though in different ways.”
“Neither of them is Mrs. Dechantagne though, eh?”
“Don’t start that,” Saba said, straight-faced.
“Ah, touchy subject.”
“Maybe.”
“You need to quit mooning over married women and find yourself a girl.”
“Maybe,” said Saba.
By the time they reached the northern edge of the park, the snow was coming down heavily and already several inches had accumulated on the ground. Beyond the park, on the tip of the peninsula were dozens of large pens where the animals belonging to the colony were housed. In these pens were large barns, so that the animals could have shelter from just the type of weather that was now falling over the land. The triceratops at least, did not seem as though shelter interested them. They stood like great lumps, munching happily on pil
es of brush, as the snow fell down around them.
“Kafira!” said Eamon. “Oh, that smell!”
“Yes, it’s the pigs.”
The wind had changed, bringing the smell of pig wallow from the east back into the dinosaur pens. Unlike the snow, this influx of odor disturbed the great three horned dinosaurs, which began tossing their heads up and down.
“I must have shoveled fifteen tons of dinosaur poo,” said Saba. “But I wouldn’t work in that pigpen for anything.”
“I always heard that pigs were clean.”
“Anyone who says that has never walked by a pigpen. The sheep aren’t too bad though.”
“Hey guys!” called someone from just ahead.
The two constables walked past the triceratops pen, and blew a happy cloud of relief in the cold air as the wind swung back around from the west again. The next pen was the home of the colony’s iguanodons, and most of the green and yellow striped beasts were in their barn. One specimen, more than half grown at about twenty feet long and weighing more than two tons, was running around on its hind legs, still hunched over with its tail sticking straight out the back. Upon its back was a heavyset pre-teen boy.
“Woo-Hoo! Look at me, guys!”
“Go boy, Go!” shouted Eamon. Saba slapped him on the back of the head.
“Get down, Graham! You’re going to get yourself killed!”
The iguanodon slowed and came to a stop just on the other side of the fence from the two constables. Graham tossed his left leg over the back of the great beast and slid to the ground.
“Get on inside,” he said, slapping the beast on its side. It honked, and then walked toward the barn. “It’s all right. Stinky would never hurt me.”
“I know Stinky is friendly. I used to take care of him,” said Saba. “In fact, I’m the one who named him. But you could fall and break your leg. He might fall on you and crush you. Look around. There’s no one here to help you if that happened.”
“I had to come when nobody else was here. Otherwise they wouldn’t let me ride him.”
“Well, there you go. Rules are made for a reason.”
The Drache Girl Page 10