The Waylaid Count (3)

 3

When my interest in Julbo flagged, I again began observing other diners. I noticed a young man entering, and had that feeling that we had met somewhere before. While I was still trying to place him, he approached my table.

“Major Raskelis?” At the sound of his voice, I immediately placed him.

“Major Gagginald Lodimmick, I believe?” I asked, nodding my head in response to his question. His smile confirmed the answer to mine. “Please be seated.” 

Major Lodimmick proved himself, despite his extreme youth, to be a man of the world and a practiced talker. The conversation between us never flagged. We spoke of his home in South Quaros. We chattered about Aux Thorksworth and the ice on Lake Reva. We moved on to the tenor at the opera who had been exiled, the quality of Quarian tea, and the sweetness of Quarian champagne. South Quaros exhausted, I lightly outlined my own doings since I had met the young man in Aux Thorksworth last year, and this recital brought the topic round to the Ritzavoy XI, where it stayed until my father returned.

“What a long time you have been, Pops,” I said.

“Only twenty minutes, my dove.”

“But you said two seconds. There is a difference. I was beginning to worry you had been waylaid by thieves.”

“Well, you see, I had to wait for the steak to cook.”

“Did you have much trouble in getting my birthday treat?”

“No trouble. But it didn’t come quite as cheap as you said.”

“What do you mean, Father?”

“Only that I’ve bought the entire cruiseshuttle. But don’t split hairs about it.”

“Pops, you always go above and beyond as a parent. Will you give me the cruiseshuttle for a birthday present?”

“No. I plan to run it—as an amusement. By the way, who is this?”

“This is a friend of mine who came in about five minutes ago, Major Gagginald Lodimmick. Of course I told him he must share our table. He is a companion to General Ribereus of South Quaros. I met him when I was in Aux Thorksworth with cousin Hetitia last fall. Major Lodimmick, this is my dear father.”

Major Lodimmick shook hands with her father as a new waiter delivered the steak. 

“Now that introductions have gone around, do tell, Pops, how you managed to purchase this entire ship?”

“I read in the news some months ago,” my father began, “that this cruiseshuttle was to be sold to a limited company, but it that the sale was not carried out. According to Mr. Feliste Ritzavoy, the man I just purchased this ship from, the middlemen between the proposed company and himself wished to make a large secret profit. He was against this. Since neither side could reach an agreement, the sale was cancelled. I asked Mr. Ritzavoy if the agreed upon price was still satisfactory to him, and he stated it was as long as I was not buying it simply to resell it for a higher amount. After a few questions, where I learned the return that could be had with my money, we agreed and an informal preliminary contract was drawn up immediately. 

“Then, I requested to see Mr. Rocco the chef. I promptly increased his pay by fifty percent if he agreed to stay on—which he naturally did. Once that business had concluded, I immediately requested your dinner and he immediately left to oblige. I dine with Mr. Rocco tomorrow to iron out any other issues we might have.” 

“Oh, Pops! You’ve gotten mustard on your collar,” I noticed when he finished with a wave of his fork. 

“Have I?” my father replied, moving aside to use the darkened window as a mirror. As he did so, I noticed Julbo standing nearby and saw him slowly and deliberately wink at Major Lodimmick. I caught Major Lodimmick nod slightly in response out of the corner of my eye. I was puzzled at what kind of relationship a companion to General Ribereus of South Quaros had with a maître d'hôtel on a cruiseshuttle that only spent one-fourth of its time around the planet Majrita. 

My father turned back to the table with a look of dismay. Mr. Lodimmick acted as if nothing had happened. 

Thinking back through our conversation, I realized that Mr. Lodimmick gave very meagre information about his own movements, either past or future. I began to wonder how he had obtained his post as companion to General Ribereus of South Quaros. 

When ices had been followed by coffee, I decided that it might be as well to discover something about the Major. 

“Aren’t you interested in Major Lodimmick’s position, Pops?” My father looked a little startled at this appeal, but trusted me completely. 

“You said, Mr. Lodimmick, that you hold a confidential position with General Ribereus of South Quaros,” he said. “You will pardon my ignorance, but is General Ribereus a reigning Count as well?”

“The General is not a reigning Count, nor ever likely to be,” answered Lodimmick. “The head of the government is the General’s nephew, Count Yougen.”

“Nephew?” I could not help my astonishment from showing. I knew I was a terrible poker player and wore all my emotions on my sleeve.

“Is there something wrong with that, dear lady?” Lodimmick asked.

“But General Ribereus is surely very young?”

“The General, by one of those vagaries of chance, is precisely the same age as the Count. The late Count’s father was married twice. Hence this youthfulness on the part of an uncle.”

“How interesting to be the uncle of someone as old as yourself! But I suppose it is no fun for General Ribereus. I suppose he has to be frightfully respectful and obedient, and all that, to his nephew?”

“The Count and my serene master are like brothers. At present, of course, General Ribereus is nominally heir to the throne, but as no doubt you are aware, the Count will shortly marry a near relative of the Emperor’s, and should there be a family—” Lodimmick stopped and shrugged his straight shoulders. “The Count would much prefer General Ribereus to be his successor. He really doesn’t want to marry. Between ourselves, strictly between ourselves, he regards marriage as rather a bore. But, of course, being a Count, he has a duty to marry. He owes it to South Quaros.”

“How large is South Quaros?” her father asked bluntly.

“I forget the exact acreage, but I remember that General Ribereus and myself walked across it once in a single day.”

“Then I guess you may say that the sun does set on his empire?”

“It does,” said Lodimmick.

“Unless the weather is cloudy,” I added. “I guess it was lucky of you to have found a position with the General instead of the Count. I presume you get to travel while the Count and his assistant must stay home and rule the country?”

“On the contrary, the Count is a great traveler, much more so than General Ribereus. In fact, although no one else knows it at the moment, the General will be meeting the Count here with his entourage tomorrow.”

“In this cruiseshuttle?” I asked, shocked Lodimmick would reveal to practical strangers the traveling plans of those so high in his country’s government. 

“Yes.”

“Oh! How lovely!” I added a smile to make it seem that I was excited to meet them while inwardly I was abhorred by this breach of confidence. I would definitely be letting the General know my opinion of his assistant. 

“That is why your humble servant is here tonight. I’m sort of an advance guard.”

“But I understood,” my father said, “that you were—er—attached to General Ribereus, the uncle.”

“I am. The Count trusts me as a scout as much as my own employer. The Count and the General have business concerning an important investment connected with the Count’s marriage settlement.”

For a person trusted with such discreet information, you are fairly communicative—I thought to myself. 

“Shall we go out on the virtual terrace?” I asked aloud.

All parties agreed, but as they crossed the dining room Julbo stopped Mr. Lodimmick and handed him a letter. 

“This just came, sir,” said Julbo.

“Leave me alone with this boy a little,” I dropped behind and whispered in my father’s ear.

“I am a mere nothing, an obedient nobody,” my father replied, pinching my arm sneakily. “I will go and look after my cruiseshuttle. Shall we meet at reception on Deck 6 in an hour or so?” I gave a nod, and soon afterwards he disappeared.

I sat together with Mr. Lodimmick on the enclosed terrace as we sipped iced drinks. Amid the blossoming plants few people passed. I tried again to ply information about his activities in the past year, and noted the contrast between his openness with the plans of those he should have been protecting and the closedness of his own plans—past and future. I hope when the General finally arrived I would have some time to speak with him in private about my concern.

At ten o’clock, Julbo brought another note. I tried to see what it was about, but he was careful to keep the information it contained hidden. 

“I must beg a thousand pardons,” he said after glancing at the note. “I have some urgent business for the General if you will excuse me. Would you like me to escort you to your room?” 

“I feel no need of an escort, but thank you for offering.” I said and made sure both he and Julbo left before I headed off to meet my father.

The Waylaid Count (2)

 2

At eight o’clock precisely, I took my seat near the window on the first balcony of the three-story main dining room. It was a splendid restaurant decorated in pure white and gold. As beautiful as the interior was it was simple and plain compared with the extravagantly dressed diners. I wondered if the designer had done that on purpose to better draw attention to the guests.

The menu card did not appeal to me. I gazed through the window at Majrita below. We would stay docked at this spacedock for three more days before heading to the moons. The spacedocks were small docking points in orbit around the planet or moon and passengers were brought to and from the ship in groups through it. The cruiseshuttle stopped at a planet, passengers were loaded and unloaded, then it toured that planet's moons and returned to the planet before moving to the next planet. Although some people had probably chosen to do all the planets, I had thankfully talked my father out of that. None of the people I had seen so far had interested me to the point of wanting to start up a long-term ship relationship with them.

I returned to the menu and pursed my lips. There appeared to be nothing to eat. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Vixie,” my father said, sliding into his seat. I smiled at my parent cautiously.

“You always are late, Pops,” I said.

“Only on a holiday,” he added. “What is there to eat?”

“Nothing.”

“Then let’s have it. I’m hungry. I’m never so hungry as when I’m being seriously idle.”

“Consommé Pinesdor,” I began to read out from the menu, “Saumon d’Termitan, Sauce Gehreloise, Aspics de Pyrntwood. Who wants these horrid messes on a night like this?”

“But, Vixie, this is the best cooking in the galaxy,” he protested.

“Say, Pops,” I said with seeming irrelevance, “had you forgotten it’s my birthday tomorrow?”

“Have I ever forgotten your birthday, O, most costly daughter?”

“On the whole you’ve been a most satisfactory father,” I answered sweetly, “and to reward you I’ll be content this year with the cheapest birthday treat you ever gave me. Only I want it tonight.”

“Well,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “what is it?”

“It’s this. Let’s have filleted steak and a bottle of homebrew for dinner tonight. It will be simply exquisite. I shall love it.”

“But my dear Vixie,” he exclaimed, “steak and homebrew on Feliste’s cruiseshuttle! It’s impossible! Moreover, young women under twenty-three cannot be permitted to drink beer.”

“I said steak and homebrew, and as for being twenty-three, I shall be twenty-four tomorrow.” I gave him my best smile. 

There was a gentle cough. Julbo stood over us. It must have been out of a pure spirit of adventure that he had selected this table for his own services. Usually, maître d'hôtels did not personally wait tables at dinner. They merely hovered observant, like a captain on the bridge during the mate’s watch. I suppose I should have felt honored when Julbo attached himself to our table. Instead, I was suspicious.

My father only hesitated one second, and then issued our order with a fine air of carelessness: “Filleted steak for two, and a bottle of homebrew.” It was the bravest act in my father’s life although I would never say higher courage was lacking in him. I thought whether Julbo had wanted to or not, by waiting on us he had done me a huge favor and saved me a longer debate.

“It’s not in the menu, sir,” said Julbo.

“Never mind. Get it. We want it.”

“Very good, sir.”

Julbo walked to the service-door and, merely pretending to look behind it, came immediately back again.

“Mr. Rocco’s compliments, sir, and he regrets to be unable to serve steak and homebrew tonight, sir.”

“Mr. Rocco?” Pops questioned.

“Mr. Rocco,” repeated Julbo firmly.

“And who is Mr. Rocco?”

“Mr. Rocco is our chef, sir.” Julbo had the expression of a man who is asked to explain who Shakespeare was.

The two men looked at each other. I am sure my father, the indefinable Theodorick Raskelis, who owned a thousand mines, several towns, and sixty votes in the Galactic Senate, was baffled that a waiter or even a whole cruiseshuttle would defy him. It seemed to me, for whatever reason, that the Ritzavoy XI staff’s overly-refined back stood against the wall believing not a regiment of wealthy men could apparently turn its flank. 

Julbo’s calm expression reinforced this belief in my mind. I think he believed he had won. I, on the other hand, knew my father, I foresaw interesting events, and decided to wait confidently for the steak. I was not hungry, and I could afford to wait.

“Excuse me a moment, Vixie,” my father said quietly, “I shall be back in about two seconds.” With that, he strode out of the dining room. If anyone in this room had known him like I did and caught the expression on his face, that man might have trembled for an explosion which should have blown the entire Ritzavoy XI out of the sky.

Julbo retired strategically to a corner. He had fired and believed he had one. I watched him as he perched on a stool, occasionally answering questions as waitstaff came and asked them. No other waiter approached my table, and he did not return. Surely, he saw me still sitting here. I wondered if he believed the battle was over, and I would soon leave?

The Waylaid Count (1)

 1

Marjrita Spacedock

“Yes, ma’am?” I was greeted by the maître d'hôtel of the galactic cruiseshuttle Ritzavoy XI as I entered its Equinox Lounge on Deck 4.

It was 19:45 on a particularly sultry Majrita summer night, and dinner was about to be served at main dining room. Women and men of all sizes, ages, and home planets filled the bar but everyone alike was arrayed in faultless evening dress, dotted about the large, dim room. 

I was wearing my black leather maxi-dress. Below my knees, it flared out in a tuille puff that my black suede pumps only peeked out of when I was walking. Its tight, front-zippered, turtleneck top had two inlaid red lines symmetrically running down both sides in shapes similar to those found on the backs of female katipo spiders. Why someone from earth thought that endangered species was worth saving by giving it a free trip to Upsilon Andromedae where it now thrived, I have no idea. 

A faint odor of undistinguishable flowers was piped in through the vents, and the tinkle of a fountain from the center was occasionally heard through the whispering crowd. The regular waitstaff moved softly across the thick Xiepvuian rugs, balancing their trays with the dexterity of jugglers, and receiving and executing orders with that air of profound importance of which only true luxury-class waitstaff have the secret. The atmosphere was one of serenity and repose characteristic of the Ritzavoy XI. It seemed impossible that anything could occur to mar the peaceful, aristocratic monotony of existence in such a perfectly-managed establishment. 

“May I help you, ma’am?” repeated the maître d'hôtel, and this time I heard a shade of disapproval in his voice.

“Oh!” I said, looking around the room for my father, “Have you seated an older gentleman? He was wearing a long, black and red leather suit jacket similar in design to my dress and had the Crest of Hraindoral with his black and red cape on his shoulder.” 

The maître d'hôtel’s frown deepened. 

“This way, ma’am,” he said as he briskly led me through the crowd without once looking back to make sure I was still following him.

My father rose from the table when he saw me.

“Hey, Pops,” I smiled.

“Vixie,” he said and sat again after the maître d'hôtel pulled my chair out and seated me. My proper name was Elevixie, but he had called me Vixie for as long as I could remember.

“I’ll have an Angel Kiss, Tubal,” my father said. The maître d'hôtel looked as if he had just bitten down on a very bitter pill. 

“Julbo, sir,” he said through clenched teeth. “And I am afraid I didn’t catch your request.”

“I’d like an Angel Kiss. And you, Vixie?” The twinkle in my father’s gray eyes told me he had probably been harassing this man all evening. 

“I’ll just have a water,” I said with my most charming smile. 

“Sir, if that is some Majrita specialty, I’m afraid we don’t keep it in stock.”

“I believe water is a universal drink,” my father shot back. 

“I meant the Angel Kiss,” Julbo’s voice was pure ice. 

“I never imagined you kept the drink around. I am certain you can mix it, though, even on this cruiseshuttle.” 

“This is a galactic cruiseshuttle, sir. We have special bars that cater to planetary tastes up one level and an android that will mix your drinks as you so desire, but this one does not.” 

I could be very sympathetic to employee hierarchy, but that was never an excuse to poorly treat a customer who was paying more for his two-week cruise to Majrita’s moons than Julbo earned in a year. Besides, an Angel Kiss was more of an old-timer drink than something exotic my father had invented or something local to Majrita.

My father sat up straighter and gazed quietly at Julbo for a moment. A few of the other patrons had glanced our way, probably trying to figure out what was the cause of the disturbance to their calm. Unlike Julbo, it only took them one quick look to determine that my father was clearly an expert, who knew where he could make a fuss with propriety and where it was more advisable to go with the flow. 

“Get a liqueur glass,” my father said, half curtly and half with good-humored tolerance. “Pour in equal quantities of cherry brandy, cream, and crême de cacao. Don’t stir it; don’t shake it. Top it with a maraschino. Bring it to me. And, I say, tell the bartender—"

“Bartender, sir?”

“Tell the bartender to make a note of the recipe since I shall probably want an Angel Kiss every evening before dinner.”

“I will send the drink to you, sir,” Julbo said, and he moved off slowly.

I was not surprised when a regular waiter brought our drinks to us. I was, however, relieved they had at least made the drink correctly. 

“Do you think they will remember you tomorrow, Pops?” 

“I would expect the staff here is at least good enough to do that. I hear there’s a comedy club across the way and a casino on this level.”

“Well, I passed a casino on my way here, but it wasn’t much.” 

“Would you like to come with me on an explore after we finish these?” 

“I am more interested in getting the lay of the people than the lay of the ship. I would like to stay here until it’s time for dinner.” 

“Whatever you desire,” he smiled, downing the last of his drink and heading off. 

Most people would say I am rather full of myself. Unlike my peers, I am never up to date on the latest fashion trends. I make my own fashion, and my father likes my style well-enough to adopt it for himself. It is true that I am thoroughly accustomed to doing exactly what I like, when I like, and how I like. I have taught hundreds of gilded young men the true art of fetching and carrying. By the age of twenty, I had so much parental spoiling, I came to regard myself as the feminine equivalent of the Emperess of Majrita. 

However, I was approaching an age in my life when I had become quite bored with it. My father had noticed and tried to cheer me up a few years ago by handing over complete control of one of his smaller mining operations to me. I found myself wanting to be down in the mines helping the workers and giving them hands-on advice instead of relaying my dictates through managers. I checked myself into therapy.

After months of discussion and debate, the therapist told me to take up knitting. I wished her dead and left. Instead, I threw myself into training my troops. As Major of the state of Hraindoral, I hoped for war. I had no such luck. Since I never fit in with my peers, I could not believe my father suggested this trip. However, I could see he needed a vacation if I did not, and I knew he would never be comfortable traveling alone. He was not the type of man who could survive without a female taking care of him. I lost many hours wondering why he never remarried after my mother’s death, but the only thing I ever came up with was that he still loved my mother. 

A Second Series

 In addition to the Upsilon Andromedae Sweet Romance series, I also want to use this blog for a Cozy Mystery Series: Rizavoy XI Serial Mysteries. Today will start the first book in that series. 

The Viscount of La Soutain (23)

 23

Samh 11.05.1342 15:26

To his delight, Geodor was occasionally sent to the lieutenant’s private residence during the hours he was employed on confidential business. He was there one day in the front hall when he overheard the two cousins in the main parlor. 

“There is Viscount Elwynalam's landcraft," Jeanilotta exclaimed with high glee. "He has come at last! How I wish papa would send away that young man in the hall. I do not want his lordship to see such vulgar people about the house.”

“Hush! He will hear you and his feelings will be wounded," replied Abaledina with a voice so low that it scarcely reached Geodor. "Your father says that young gentleman is his new brokerage clerk, and he respects—"

"Tsk! This is not Viscount Elwynalam after all," interrupted Jeanilotta, disappointed. “But it looks as if the messenger has a note. How I wish that clerk would go! I dislike to have even the viscount’s servant see him here."

Geodor stood, passive as a machine. For a moment, his only worry was that Marcellus might recognize him as he watched the proud girl receive the note from the hands of his servant. She pressed it to her lips, and eagerly perused it with flashing eyes. He knew that it simply announced his return and requested permission to visit her. He was not quite certain how he was going to juggle being two people at once, but he longed to spend more time with Abaledina and saw this as the only way of doing it. Glimpsing her on the rare occasions when he was sent to the lieutenant’s home had only made him more interested in her.

“Say to Viscount Elwynalam that I am at home this evening," she told the servant, who bowed and departed. As Jeanilotta rushed upstairs past him, presumably to tell her mother, Geodor relaxed. No flicker of recognition had passed in his servant’s eye. 

Almost as soon as Jeanilotta had disappeared, Abaledina entered the hallway.

“Would you like to join me in the parlor,” she asked politely. “You must be much fatigued from standing here so long.”

"Thank you, Lady," he said in his low musical voice. She glanced at him, and his heart beat quickly with the thought he was discovered. Then she frowned, shook her head, and continued leading him into the parlor. 

“I believe you are Mr. De Montfort?” she asked, her natural kindness causing her not to stand on ceremony. "I have many times heard my uncle speak very highly of you."

Geodor bowed. 

"It is an honor,” he replied. “I had not anticipated receiving his praises, but to hear those praises echoed by the fair lips of his beautiful niece gives me much happiness."

"You know me then?” she asked, drawing her worktable toward her completely at ease with him.

“Only as the beautiful and the good are always known," he replied, letting the light of his clear, brilliant blue eyes fall upon her with a joyous expression. “Last night, I heard Miss Abaledina Gillfillian's name repeated with tears of gratitude. You had just brought food to one of the families who was recently ill at the War Infirmary."

Abaledina blushed. 

“You must also visit the suffering or my deed would remain unknown," she replied. Geodor nodded and felt an invisible bond of sympathy for those less fortunate between them. One topic led to another, and Geodor found in this humble attire that they were being imperceptibly drawn toward each other in conversation on a myriad of topics. As himself, he had only been able to speak with her thus at the ball because their conversation was always dominated by Jeanilotta. 

Several minutes later, he rather regretted seeing the servant bring the box he was to return to Lieutenant Gillfillian’s place of business. Geodor arose to depart, and Abaledina also arose with him.

“With your permission, I will ask my dear uncle, if I may invite you to come share with us now and then at an hour of your leisure. I have much enjoyed our conversation today."

“Certainly, whenever you wish. I would welcome the change from my rather mundane life." Pleasure sparkled in her fine eyes. “Time in conversation with you will be the happiest hours of my life."  

The full ebook is available HERE or check back tomorrow for the next chapter.