“Not a lot, but enough,” Micah said, pride in his voice. “Enough to start another tour company, a trading company, and even shares in some trading ships that go up and down the east coast. In fact, I’ve done so well in my businesses that I’m now a member of the College.”
“The people who choose your Prez, right? Congratulations. Is Prez Thomas III still your leader?”
A slight shake of the head. “No. He was assassinated just under a year ago. The new Prez is Prez Johnson, a cousin of Thomas III. He’s still feeling his way into running the office.”
From his pants pocket Armand took out the Father Abram coin, and Micah gave a low whistle. “You still have it. I’m pleased. Good ol’ Father Abram.”
“This Prez Johnson? Is he another Father Abram?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” and the tone of his voice had changed.
“When we first met, you said something about the dream of Father Abram, about having another leader come back to your lands to free the slaves. How’s that dream now, Micah?”
Micah idly toyed with the handle of his coffee cup, and said slowly, “That was the dream of a younger boy, a boy filled with ideas. Now who sits in front of you is an older boy who has a business, a new family, and responsibilities. I don’t deal with slaves, and I don’t deal with slave traders. Someday there may be changes. But today is not that day, and tomorrow will not be that day.”
Armand said, “But you still have the dream? True? That dream is not dead?”
He looked at him with puzzlement. “Of course the dream is not dead. What are you getting at?”
Armand took a breath. “It’s time for me to tell you my story. Then, tradesman, it will be time for us to do another deal. I ask your boon, not to cheat me again.”
Gas lamps lit up the areas about them, and they sipped frozen fruit drinks and moved to comfortable chairs with candles at their elbows, near the tall windows. Armand told Micah all that had happened to him, from his journey back to Toronto and his subsequent arrest and deportation to the oil sands camp, and everything else that followed. He talked and talked until his throat was nearly raw, and when his tale ended, of him walking up to the building of “Honest Ways Mercantile,” Armand sat back, exhausted. In the dimly lit room Micah sat silent for what seemed to be a long time, and then he cleared his throat.
“The Starmen. Tell me again what their flag looks like.”
“Blue, red and white. Stripes and a blue square in one corner, with small white stars.”
He wiped at his eyes. “My sweet holy God. An army unit from the old empire, still alive, still equipped. My God…”
Armand took a long swallow of a frozen fruit drink, letting it sooth his throat. “Now it’s time for us to make a deal.”
Micah looked surprised. “A deal? What in the world are you thinking of?”
“Simple,” Armand said. “I need to go home. I need to get back to Toronto. And I need your help.”
Micah shifted in his seat, looking straight at him. Armand heard the sounds of birds and creatures in flight or in fight out there in the jungle. “First things first,” Micah said. “Based on what you’ve told me, why in hell do you want to go back to the empire?”
“Because it’s my home,” he said. “There’s important work to be done.”
Micah snorted. “Some home. Father gone, betrayed by your own mother, beaten, tortured, sentenced practically to a death camp. Why would you want to return there?”
“Because it’s my duty,” Armand said. “With my father dead, I’m now the Viscount of the de la Cloutier family. With responsibilities and obligations. I also feel ---- hell, I know! --- that if I return to Toronto and make my case with the Lord Chancellor, I will get my good name back. Once that happens, once I’m secure in my new position. there will be changes in the way my Empire governs the servant class. On that you have my word.”
Micah laughed. “Listen to you. Responsibilities and obligations, my trader’s ass. There’s something you didn’t mention, which is power. You’ll have some power. If you’re serious, even at your age, you will have your revenge against whoever betrayed you to your security services. True?
Armand had to admit it. “True. Among other things.”
Another laugh. “But why bother? Stay here.”
“Here? And do what?”
He spread his arms wide. “Everything! Armand, you can stay her and work with me. With your contacts and knowledge of the empire, think of the money we could make. You could stay here and grow with us, be safe and earn your own life by your own sweat. Not because you were fortunate in the way you were born.”
With a fully belly and clean clothes, Armand was tempted, oh, how was he tempted. But there was hard cold core inside of him that refused the temptation. Armand said, “Micah, any other time and place, I would say yes without hesitation. But Toronto and the Empire is my home. I need to go back there and make it right. For me and so many others.”
A nod. “All right, then. So you want to go. How can I help?”
This is where it was going to get interesting. Armand took a deep breath. “I need to get north on the next airship from Potomick. The airfare needs to be paid. Beyond that, I need identification that states I’m a citizen of Potomick. I can’t go north as a citizen of the Empire. The customs checks are too thorough. But if I had the proper papers and identification from Potomick, I can get there.”
“Forgery,” Micah said, his voice flat. “Besides the expense of airship travel, you want me to commit forgery. A crime that could see my businesses confiscated, and me sentenced to the cane fields as a slave. That’s some request, Armand.”
“Not a request. A deal.”
He snorted, took a swallow of his drink. “It’s going to have to be one hell of a deal, Armand. So make an offer. What can you give me?”
Armand removed the second, larger leather pouch that had come off the Mona Marie with him. He held it up to him. “I’m offering you the keys to your own empire.”
Even in the candlelight, Armand could see his eyes narrow. “Go on. You have my interest.”
From the pouch he took out a thin booklet, and let Micah read the cover. “’A Kid’s Guide to the Constitution’… what’s that?”
“This was given to me by the Starmen. It’s the document that helped governed your old empire before it collapsed. I’ve read and re-read it a half-dozen times. Micah, it’s an amazing document. If it worked once for you and your people, I’m sure it can work again.”
He nodded at the other piece of paper in Armand’s hand. “And what’s that, then?”
Armand held the paper up to the candlelight. “The Starmen. They’re waiting to hear from someone in Potomick, or what they call DeeCee. The man called the President, or a group called the National Command Authority. They have soldiers transmitting and listening every day on a certain wireless frequency, waiting to hear from someone in Potomick.”
He waited, and Micah spoke up again, clearly intrigued. “Go on.”
“This piece of paper. It has the wireless frequencies that the Starmen are using to broadcast, and to listen.”
“Armand…”
“These are the codewords they are waiting to hear. Micah, whoever answers their message, and uses these codewords, the Starmen will listen to. And obey. A military unit with technology and weapons that can defeat any armed force in this hemisphere. They have been waiting for such a long time. They’re tired of waiting. They yearn to do what they’re trained to do, and to be under command from DeeCee. Micah, I’m offering them to you.”
“Deal,” he quickly said.
Armand shook his head. “You answered too quickly. Because I need a promise, a vow, the sacred truth from you, my tradesman. That if I give you these frequencies and these codes, that you will do your best to work with the Starmen, to bring back that old Constitution of yours, and to repeat the work of your Father Abram. That you won’t use them for your own personal gain, your own wealth and power, or that o
f your friends. So while I’m doing what I can up north, you’ll be doing something similar here.”
“I can’t promise that, Armand, you know that. The politics and the intrigue that would take, why ---“
Armand held the papers over the nearest candle flame. “I’m not looking for a promise that you will do it now. Just a promise that you will try. Otherwise, I will burn these papers right now, thank you for your hospitality and company, and I will depart and make my own way north.”
Something cold and dark bestirred itself behind those dark eyes of Micah’s. Armand felt sympathy for any traders who tried to drive a hard bargain with him. Armand stared right back, his hand with the papers over the candle flame. The wait was nearly intolerable. Micah breathed loudly and said, “You have my word, my vow, my sacred oath, Armand de la Cloutier, that I, Micah Kennedy of Potomick and a College Elector, will do my best to work with the Starmen to bring back the Constitution, and to repeat the work of Father Abram.”
Armand passed the papers over to him. “May God be with you.”
He took them and put them away in his jacket. “He’d better, or I’ll be in the cane fields, for certain.”
“With your trading skills, I doubt it,” Armand said. “But one more thing. I got to know the Starmen fairly well. Would you mind letting me know when you contact them?”
“Absolutely,” Micah said. “A fair request, though I’m sure it’ll be some time before I use those special code words.”
As Armand saw the papers put away, he thought of another code word.
Custer.
And he felt the familiar feeling of betraying a friend, though he had no other choice.
They left the offices of his company and went to Micah’s home, a modest-sized two-story house of stone and wood that was glaring with electric lights and which was reached by a path behind his place of work. Micah strolled with him, an arm in his, as they made the short walk. Micah said, “I like being close like this. It means I can come home whenever I want to see the children, to check on their nanny, or their mother, if she’s home.”
“How many children do you have?”
The pride of a successful father in his voice. “Two, a set of twins. A son who will some day be smarter and more successful than I, and a daughter that will break hearts and cause scores of young men to mortgage their futures for the honor of courting her.”
“You marry young here in Potomick,” Armand observed
With a touch of bleakness in his voice, Micah said, “We also die young here in Potomick.”
They went up wide wooden steps to the ornate doors leading into the house. “Your wife? What do you mean, if she’s home?
He laughed. “My wife is a headstrong wench who doesn’t mind being a wife and mother, but also has a desire for business, just like her husband. She works with her own company, and sometimes, well ---“
The doors swung open. An attractive woman stepped out, dressed in a long, cotton gown and a tight top that showed off a beautiful tanned cleavage. Her light brown hair was loose and about her bare shoulders. She curtsied to the both of them as they approached.
“My sweet husband, so nice to see you,” she said, and then turned to Armand. “And so nice to see you again, young sir.”
Armand started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. Micah’s wife was Celeste, the tour driver who had picked him up at the Potomick Arms Hotel.
She added, “Not to worry. Like you thought, Micah did in fact pay your fare.”
There followed another luxurious meal, some playing with the two infant children ---- Ronald and Laura ---- and then Armand was shown his own room, up on the second floor. Micah shook his hand and Celeste kissed his cheek. Armand barely had enough strength to strip off his new and clean clothes before falling into the soft bed.
But sleep took a long time to come, and when he did finally sleep, the dark dreams came back, especially the one of Francois Parchard, coming at him with a sweet smile on his face, and a sharp knife in his hand….
In the morning, the sheets wrapped around him and damp with his night sweats, there was a soft knock on the door and Micah came in, a light blue robe gathered about him.
“There’s an airship leaving this morning for Toronto,” Micah said. “If you get up now, we can get the necessary papers together for you in time. If you still want to go. Otherwise, go back to sleep. You can stay here as long as you want.”
Armand swung his legs out of bed. “Let’s get to work.”
Later that day, with a full belly and with clean clothes and an overnight bag, Armand walked into the Empire’s airship terminal with Micah at his side. Passengers were starting to gather at the departure hallway, and Micah grasped Armand’s arm. “All right. Go off and do what you have to do. Contact me when you can, either through telegraph or wireless. Even postal if you don’t mind the wait.”
“I’ll contact you, don’t you worry. And be well with those keys I gave you.”
Micah gently shook his head. “Those keys. It’ll be a while before I’m in a place to use them. But those Starmen, as you call them, I’m sure they can wait a little bit longer.”
Then like the day before, he gently placed both hands on Armand’s shoulders. “You be careful up there in your home country, Armand de la Cloutier. You seem so civilized up there, but you know what? Here, if there is a dispute, or a fight, we do it face to face. Up there in your empire… it seems that the ones closest and dearest to you can do you in, with a smile on their face. If you escape again, do come back here. My house and business are yours to join.”
“Armand de la Cloutier,” he said quizzically. “Never heard of him, sir. My name is Arthur Woods. Of Potomick. A very young trade representative from ‘Honest Ways Mercantile.’”
Micah laughed and dropped his arms. Earlier Armand’s paperwork had been gathered and even his photograph had been taken, making him into a citizen of the Grand City of Potomick.
“Good enough, Arthur,” Micah said. “Glad you got the name down. You can trust that I’ll do what’s right. You have my vow.”
Off by the departure hallway, a bell sounded. Time to go. Armand embraced Micah and his throat was thick and still, and he joined the other passengers, heading back to the Empire of the North.
In the departure hallway, Armand had to force himself to stay behind, as citizens of the Empire were allowed to board first. Some of them glanced back at the few non-citizens with a sense of arrogance and pride that this airship belonged to their nation, and their nation only. Armand looked to his fellow non-citizens, six of them, men of all ages and types, and Armand was sure that we were all involved in trade.
A uniformed Imperial Air Service man at the doorway motioned them out, and Armand walked out and almost started laughing: the airship was the same one that had taken his father and him to Potomick more than a year ago, the good ship Pitseolak.
He hoped it was a good sign.
Armand walked up a set of stairs, his paperwork and tickets were checked once again, and once aboard, the engines roared into life as the lines were loosened up, and they started heading north. There was a reception in the airship’s main dining room, where stewards served wine and little snacks of food. Armand stayed by himself, smiling and talking when talked to, and staying away from the political discussions that were taking place among the Empire’s citizens, for there was deep concern with the recent death of the young Crown Prince about the succession crisis in Toronto. Eventually he found his cabin, which he shared with a heavy man named Cameron O’Toole, who smelled of burnt sugar and who snored the first night, and the second. He tried to engage Armand in conversation and gossip of the Empire, and Armand played stupid, or dumb, or however one wanted to call it. He just remembered his last trip on the Pitseolak, and how Imperial Security had recorded his conversations.
Then something flickered in his mind. A few recent words. A warning. A warning that now suddenly made sense.
On the morning of the second day, Toronto came into v
iew, the buildings and the Spire and the Coliseum as well as the blue waters of Lake Ontario. Armand had to stand alone by the viewing ports, for despite all that had gone on before, the betrayal, the arrest, torture, and imprisonment, tears were streaming down his cheeks.
He was finally home.
Once they had descended and the lines had been secured, Armand and the rest of the non-citizens had to wait while the chosen ones departed before them. As Armand set foot onto his native soil for the first time in ages, he forced himself to focus, to be Arthur Woods, to look around and gape as if this was the first time he had ever come here. Armand followed the slightly curving path to the reception area, overnight bag in his nervous hand. He followed the other six men through passport control, and that’s when he felt colder, at seeing the passport officers examining the paperwork and luggage.
Armand took a deep breath, and then another. His passport officer was a pudgy man with ink-stained fingers, who flipped through his Potomick passport, looked at his photo. “How long do you plan to say in Toronto?”
Forever, he thought, and aloud Armand said, “A week. Longer if my meetings go well at the Ministry of Trade.”
He grunted, stamped his passport and handed it over. “Welcome to the Empire of the Nunavut. By the way, you speak Franglish quite well.”
“Thank you, sir,” Armand said, putting his passport back into his coat. “I had good teachers.”
In the departure hall, the flags and banners hung from the rafters, along with a large portrait of Emperor Michel I, and a new addition, a smaller painting of Andre, the crown prince, with black bunting about the frame. Every Imperial official in view was wearing a black armband.
Armand moved quickly through the crowds of passengers meeting up with loved ones or business associates, and went outside, where he went to the line of livery cabs. Some were horse drawn, others were electric or steam, and he decided to splurge on electric. A young boy with a yellow cap touched a finger to his forehead and welcomed Armand to his coach.
The Noble Prince (The Empire of the North) Page 12