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.

The Viscount of La Soutain (22)

 22

Samh 10.29.1342  18:00

Geodor and Diatter walked slowly in the direction chosen by the latter. 

"Our acquaintance has been so brief that I feel much hesitation in asking something of your history,” Geodor finally said. “If I do not offend you, pray tell me why you were so reluctant to leave an employment which is evidently injuring you?”

“Oh, that is a very simple matter,” replied Diatter, endeavoring to be calm. “I have a mother and only sister depending upon my salary—which is only seventy thousand-notes—but we manage it with great economy. Some months ago, I felt my health breaking down from such intense application to my work, and I requested permission to resign, trusting to Providence for another situation once I had recovered.”

"And was it granted?" 

“Oh no! On the contrary, I was told that it was impossible for me to leave until another was secured in my place. No one has applied until you came to day."

“But when I applied today, you seemed to hope that I was refused—I saw it in your countenance. This is what I wished to understand."

“I am very selfish—I acknowledge it. The thought of those loved ones at home without money, without resources, lay heavy upon my heart. I know that I must die—that nothing that can save me now. I might have lived, but now it is too late. Therefore, I had resolved to work until the last.”

"Brave heart!" exclaimed De Montfort. "I am sad that it is I who have prevented the accomplishment of this heroic resolution. But in return for that, I ought to be of some service to you. Please, give me a moment to  reflect."

At this moment, they arrived before a large uncomfortable looking apartment building at which Diatter paused.

“This is my home, sir,” he wheezed. “If you have more to say to me, will you come in? I am much too fatigued to walk farther." 

Geodor readily accepted the invitation. The pneumo-lifts were out of order, so they ascended the two flights of stairs during which Diatter often had to pause. Halfway down the hallway, they entered a low small room and were received by a matron of about fifty years and a little girl of twelve, the mother and sister of Diatter. 

Geodor expressed great sympathy for his new friend and assured him that he would do everything in his power to assist him and his family. He invited them to make his cottage their future residence, where he would send a physician to attend upon Herolam Diatter until he recovered. This offer was gratefully accepted. 

Mrs. Diatter profusely thanked Geodor for his kindness, both to herself and her son and daughter. After which, he excused himself to prepare for his new occupation, walking with a spring in his step from being able to help those dear souls. 

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

The Viscount of La Soutain (21)

 21

Samh 10.29.1342  15:00

It was a cold bright morning, when a tall, finely developed young man was seen moving industriously from one shop to another. He was plainly dressed in a black suit that matched his straight glossy black hair, which was pulled into a neat ponytail and secured with a leather band. His clothing was smart but far from rich. His accent made it known he was a foreigner—perhaps a Swienzean. He walked with an expression of fresh hope and unshaken courage, following as his guide a memoranda upon a slip of paper.

Geodor had already investigated three of the other brokerage houses on his list. This would be a real test of his skills at disguise. He was shown into Lieutenant Gillfillian’s main office and told to wait until that gentleman would have the leisure to attend to him. A peculiar but almost imperceptible smile played about his mouth as he brushed back a stray black strand of hair from his noble brow, folded his arms across his ample chest, and gazed with an air of genuine independence upon the scene before him. 

Lieutenant Gillfillian was in a side office with a glass wall that allowed him to observe all his workers and vice versa. He occupied an immense old-fashioned arm chair. Before him was a table covered with green baize, upon which were a multitude of papers, some tied in bundles with red tape, others lying loose and half open about him. 

Shortly, he rose from his upholstered throne and came out of the office. In front of Geodor, he engaged with two men in an animated discussion. The men both had sharp, lean visages, bent forms, overhanging brows, and the small, flashing, brilliant eyes of those who have built up their own fortunes. For these two, the habit of bargaining was so strong that it had become a part of their existence. Geodor listened and discovered the lieutenant was in the process of cutting their wages. 

“A fine beginning," he said to himself, as he closely scrutinized the hard countenance of the man lopping off ten thousand-notes from the well-earned, but often incompetent salaries of those whose daily toil had placed the millionaire lieutenant upon his giddy height. 

“Is there no justice on Samh?” Geodor continued quietly to himself. “That he who labors should exist upon a meagre pittance, and he who plans and bids that labor to be performed should roll in wealth and luxury, teaching his family to despise the humble instruments of that wealth?” 

Geodor looked with touching sympathy upon the pale face, slight half-developed figure of a young man who occupied a stool and desk in a distant corner of the room. While he watched, the man never rested from his weary task except to occasionally give utterance to a subdued cough and place his hand for a moment upon his side. He had become a machine to watch stocks and make quick sales or purchases. His spirits, health, and life were oozing out with every click of a button. But all these considerations for his health were quite out of place in a brokerage. 

Finally, the sharp eyes of Lieutenant Gillfillian rested upon Geodor

“What is your business here? Come on, and be brief as possible about it!” he demanded.

"1 seek employment as a broker or accountant," replied the Geodor. “My name is Geodor De Montfort." 

“Ah! That is quite fortunate for you, Mr. Diatter," said Lieutenant Gillfillian, addressing the distant broker. “If this applicant proves worthy of the situation, you can be released to take care of yourself.” 

Geodor saw that the young broker was deeply agitated. He turned partly round in his chair, a troubled, morbid flush glowed upon his cheek. A large, pearly tear rested in the corner of one eye.

"It will be of no use now,” the broker replied. “I would rather remain as long as I can, sir.” 

As he uttered these words, an expression of suppressed internal anguish passed over his pale features, but he only pressed his thin hand upon his side a little longer than usual and patiently waited.

“You grow miserly, Diatter. I must not allow it. If we can find another broker as faithful as you have been in Mr. De Montfort, I must discharge you for you really ought to do something for yourself.” 

There was no reply. The young man bowed as if he well knew the ineffectiveness of arguing. After closing his eyes with his hand for a moment to hide his emotion, he proceeded with his work. 

“So. You look trusty," said the lieutenant after a long and very close scrutiny of Geodor’s countenance, during which his full, clear eye neither flinched nor cowed beneath the lieutenant’s searching glance. “What can you tell me about yourself, and where do you reside? I will need your references, too. We never hire anyone without the best of those.”

“I am a comparative stranger in this city, having been here but a few months," replied the applicant in his rich, manly voice. “I reside in my own villa on Orton Street. As to references, I have only one, and that is from Viscount Elwynalam." Here he pulled a sealed envelope from a small black engraved-leather wallet.

“From Viscount Elwynalam! Have you ever been employed in his service?” the lieutenant asked.

"He knew me in Swienzea, sir," Geodor replied, avoiding the question. Even in disguise, he did his best to stick with the truth. It was easier to keep everything straight that way. “He considers me worthy of the position that I desire.”

The terms were discussed, and it was agreed that Geodor would be accepted on trial for a few days. The lieutenant sent him to Diatter ostensibly to learn the duties of his office. 

After a few necessary directions from Diatter, Geodor said, “I understand perfectly. Now, tell me when and where I may hold a little private conversation with you as soon as possible?”

“I will be off the clock in ten minutes,” replied the broker, looking at a large silver watch that was some relic of antiquity. “If you choose to wait, here are the last papers with which you may amuse yourself. I must not stop my work any longer.” 

Geodor took the papers and helped himself to a chair since no one had offered one to him. But instead of reading the work before him, he watched each motion of the sick man with a constantly increasing interest, wondering why he was against being dismissed. 

Once Diatter had finished his work, he examined one by one each article in the old service room desk. the heavy books with their coarse leather bindings, the messages, the papers, the viewscreen. For him, each seemed to have some memory of joy or pain connected with it. It was evident that he was parting with old friends, valued not so much for themselves as for the remembrances connected with them. He must have sat there for years—the desk and its appendages were a part of his being. He sighed as he gazed upon them for the last time.

"Come,” said De Montfort at last, “it is time for you to go, and I have much to say to you.” 

The young man started, unaccustomed to having anyone speak to him so kindly. 

“Diatter," called the lieutenant, taking out an immense wallet, “come for your salary before you go. It is not the regular payday, but I will make an exception in your case. You have been a faithful brokerage clerk." 

After counting a roll of bills twice, he handed them to him.

“Count them, sir, and see if all is right," said the lieutenant somewhat sternly as Diatter was putting them in his pocket. 

The broker tremblingly laid one bill after another upon the table. While he did this, the Lieutenant repeatedly opened and shut his wallet as if tempted to add a gift to the salary. Geodor noted that his lips moved nervously in the struggle between benevolence and avarice, but at last, he shut his wallet firmly and put it away. 

“Nonsense. I have paid his due," the lieutenant said under his breath before turning to Diatter. “Take care of yourself and your money, too, young man. It may be a long time before you earn so much again." 

After some stiff bows, the two left the lieutenant to his business. Geodor pondered that Lieutenant Gillfillian might in all probability have had a heart once, but it had been divided into shares and distributed among stocks, interest money, importation and exportation bills, and the rise and fall of merchants, insurance companies, bank dividends, and every other possible investment that took his fancy till none of it remained for charity. 

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

The Viscount of La Soutain (20)

 20

Samh 10.14.1342 

Fifteen days after the sudden departure of Viscount Elwynalam, Beritha was walking to his residence on a mission to ascertain if he was ill, absent from the city, or any other facts about why he had not come to visit that she could gather and which would interest the Gillfillians. 

The first five days of his unusual absence had caused a stir of conjecture and discussion about it. By the tenth day, they believed he had left the city but were puzzled as to why Jeanilotta at least was not notified of his trip. Mrs. Gillfillian already had a storm brewing on her brow, and Jeanilotta had begun to be extremely repulsive. That Abaledina continued in her quiet way to soothe the others made Beritha think she knew more than what the rest of the household had.

This morning, Jeanilotta's nervous impatience exceeded all else. After a brief consultation with her mother, Beritha had been summoned and found herself on this happy mission. She had long desired to get a peep behind the clouds of mystery in which this impenetrable man enveloped his domestic life. Not only was she going to find out just how wealthy he was, she hoped to have several morsels of gossip to bring back with her and spread around the neighborhood. 

Lobo answered the smart ring of the bell, but he only opened the door to show a fraction of his face: stern and obscure as ever.

“May I see Viscount Elwynalam?" she asked pertly, hoping to awe him into a more complaisant manner.

“Doubtless,” he replied gravely without opening the door an inch wider.

“Well, you don’t seem to know whether or not I can see him. I wish to do so,” she continued, seeing that he did not move to admit her. She had as yet only obtained the least possible glimpse of a well-polished staircase. It was no small part of her errand to carry to Mrs. Gillfillian an accurate account of the interior of the mansion. The mother anticipated Jeanilotta's installment in it soon as viscountess. Beritha was playing different odds and wanted to know just how much to ask for the information she had.

"I understand," replied the man slowly, monotonously pronouncing the syllables.

“You do! Well, will you not say to Viscount Elwynalam that I am commissioned to see him immediately?” 

“He could not hear me.” 

“What do you mean?” she exclaimed, the rage showing itself in her flashing eye and flushed cheek. “Where is your master?” 

“I have not been informed.” 

“I have not been informed!" she repeated contemptuously. “Don’t you see him every day?”

“When he is to be seen.”

“Then he is at present invisible?” 

“Not to those near him.”

“Once for all," she demanded fiercely, “is Viscount Elwynalam in or out of the city?”

“My orders do not enable me to say.” 

“You are a most provoking fool!” she exclaimed by way of revenge for her want of success and turned to depart.

"Doubtless, madam," responded Lobo, bowing and closing the door. 

Beritha returned to the anxiously waiting mother and daughter in a high rage.

“I declare,"' she said after exhausting her abuses of Lobo, “I will disguise myself this very evening and gain admittance into the servants' hall, where I shall be sure to learn everything you wish to know.”

Her plan was approved, and with the first shades of evening, she presented herself at the door of the basement completely disguised as a man. "The statue," as she now called Lobo, was doomed to be her tormentor everywhere. 

“Good evening, my dear sir," said Beritha in the blandest deep tones. “We moved in a few houses down and like to form acquaintances among our neighbors. So, I have ventured here to introduce myself. My name is Ashixandria.” 

“I wait your commands, Mr. Ashixandria," replied the unflappable Lobo, shutting the door behind him, and seating himself upon the stone steps. He invited Beritha to follow his example.

“Do you not receive visitors in your hall or kitchen?”

“I have no orders to that effect.” 

“But do you never enjoy yourself?"

“Doubtless, sir.” 

“Well, friend, are you or are you not disposed to admit me to chat with you and your companions for an hour?”

“My orders don’t allow it.”

With surprising quickness, she sprang up. Before Lobo realized what was happening, Beritha had gained entrance to the home. A single glance was sufficient to reveal several men, an elderly woman, and a young girl.

“Giovana—Marcellus” Lobo called, and in an instant, she felt herself clasped in the arms of the giants and thrown into the street. Completely baffled and somewhat frightened, she angrily raced home where she was greeted with frowns and harsh words from her employer for not having learned more. 

“The gratitude of these selfish people!" Beritha exclaimed indignantly as she slammed the door of Mrs. Gillfillian's dressing room and retired to her own.

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

The Viscount of La Soutain (19)

 19

Samh 9.29.1342 13:00 

Later that day, Geodor went again to Tyrol City and found himself in the waiting room of the castle palace. The Count of Anorraq entered. 

“We have learned that someone or a group of someones from Samh are providing funds and helping ship supplies to the moon base,” he said. “We need you to infiltrate them and get evidence against them. If you can intercept any communications that will give us an idea of why the Xiepuvuians are doing this. If you can also discover if and when they plan to attack us, that would be an added bonus.”

“I doubt that information will be readily available to someone who just joins an organization, but I will do my best. Do we have any leads?”

The Count of Anorraq handed him a sheet of paper with five names and addresses on it. Geodor scanned them, his eyebrow shooting up at the second to the last name. 

“In order to pursue this, you will have to change for a while.”

“How long?”

“That will depend on how long it takes you to find the correct dealer and gather the information we need. I would expect at least two months.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

* * * * * *

Geodor sat deep in thought the entire way home. He did not want to go two months without seeing Abaledina. He hoped he would find some way to continue their relationship even while he was under cover. His first thought was sending messages, but she had revealed to him that her aunt and uncle filtered all her messages. He suspected this is why it took her so long to hear any reply from Eraith and that her guardians were doing a bit more than just filtering out inappropriate messages. 

As soon as he arrived home, he told his servants and sister to prepare for his instant departure—that day.

“May I go with you this time?” Lira asked.

"I’m afraid not," replied her brother, and embracing her tenderly, he withdrew to give the necessary orders. Within four hours, Geodor climbed into a rented landcraft—his bags were already packed and loaded in it. 

The silent Lobo stood upon the steps of the mansion next to Lira, giving brief and significant hand gestures, the last orders necessary to send the vehicle off. Lira waved as tears clouded her eyes.

“It may be two or three months. I will message when I can,” he said before bidding her farewell and closing the door to the landcraft.

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