The Snows of Montora (The Chronicles of Montora Book 3)

by Ward Wagher

  "So, how do you fund your operations, Mr. Mayor?"

  Osterman snorted. "I get a small stipend from the Provost, mainly to keep this office open. The tourists seem to like it. I retired and sold my business on Caledon, otherwise I couldn't afford to inhabit this office."

  "And the police?" Frank asked.

  "Same thing. We have a police inspector. And that's about it."

  Frank glanced around the room as he thought for a moment. "I am planning to have forty or fifty employees here, ultimately. That means that my business alone will be pumping over one million Centaurans into the local economy each year. But, I have become annoyed at some of the games being played locally."

  Osterman shook his head. "I am very sorry to hear that, but, there's nothing much I can do to help you there."

  "If I figured out a way to put you in the driver's seat, would that help?" Frank asked.

  The mayor raised an eyebrow. "That could be very dangerous, Mr. Nyman. I do not much care for the local riffraff, however I do respect them. I have no desire to be a statue in the Dimatae Park."

  "Dimatae Park?" Frank asked.

  Osterman smiled with a one-sided grin. "We had some amateur divers who explored some of the local canals, and discovered a number of our former citizens, standing in pails of concrete, on the bottom. With the aquatic life swimming around them, some clown dubbed it Dimatae Park, and the term stuck."

  "Not a particularly pleasant way to die," Frank said.

  "If you ask me, Sir, there is no good way to die. The redeeming virtue, if I can use the word, is for those who are redeemed. Death is merely a transition."

  "Yes, well… To each his own, I guess," Frank said. "I can understand you being chary about crossing the local hoodlums, but if I can do something about that are you interested in taking a more active role in the local government?”

  Osterman folded his hands and leaned forward on the desk. "What do you have in mind, Mr. Nyman?"

  "I don't know yet. I just know that over the long term the current situation is unstable. When things like this break up, they tend to get very messy."

  "And if you don't handle it carefully," the mayor said, "things will certainly get messy. If the opportunity presents itself, I will of course be happy to take a more active role. However, Mr. Nyman I cannot involve myself in your activities. It would be very dangerous to me and Lucretia, and I cannot have that. She means too much to me."

  Frank nodded towards the door. "Lucretia?"

  Osterman smiled. "Yes. My wife. She is all that I have in this life. We have been married eighty years. I know someday we will both die and go to the Redeemer. You will pardon me if I don't seem to have enough faith. But it frightens me if she were to go first."

  Frank looked down and bit his lip. "I really didn't come here to talk about faith."

  "Oh, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

  Frank stood up. "Never mind. I just wanted to get some feel for the local government here. Thanks for your time."

  The mayor jumped up and trotted around his desk. "I am so glad you stopped by. Thank you for your interest. Please feel free to stop in for a chat any time. I really don't have enough to do."

  Frank nodded and gave a small wave as he walked toward the door. Moving through the outer foyer of the City Hall, he walked by Lucretia without seeming to notice her. Osterman moved over to stand by his wife as they watched Frank leave.

  "I think that man needs the Redeemer," the mayor said. His wife looked up at him, and then gazed out the door again.

  Frank walked a ways and sagged into one of the intricate wrought iron benches which were spaced at intervals along the boardwalk. He shook his head, and sighed as he looked at the Canal. Why can't they leave me alone about this God stuff?

  Charlie’s V-shaped fin appeared in the water again, and swept in a circle as he swam up to the edge of the boardwalk where Frank sat. The large blocky head eased out of the water and the unblinking eye stared at him again.

  "I suppose you want to tell me about the Redeemer too,” Frank said.

  In a surprisingly delicate move, the dimaton eased around and tapped the bottom of his jaw three times on the boardwalk. Then he eased back into the water where he could watch Frank.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake!” Frank threw his arms up in the air and jumped to his feet. He walked quickly down the boardwalk to his office.

  § § §

  "Is there a local Merchants Association or guild?" Frank asked.

  "I have not heard of such," Gough Brundage said. "I have not moved much in the business community, though."

  What Frank was beginning to think of as the Nyman Trans-Space club was gathered in the drawing room of the Wilton Street house after dinner. Gough was leaning against the mantle drinking a beer. Smith was swirling a snifter of cognac. Emily sat on the sofa with a glass of wine. Frank sat across, in an easy chair, with his cup of coffee.

  "What about you, Smith?" Frank asked.

  The sergeant shook his head. “No one has mentioned it to me. And, I think we've done a pretty good job of keeping an ear to the ground."

  "So how do you think we could call an organization like that together without making Benjie or the Provost nervous?"

  "Let's have a party," Emily said suddenly. "You just bought the house, Frank, and you're moving business into the community. It would be logical to invite the local businesspeople in for an evening."

  Frank looked up at the ceiling, then looked at one corner of the room then the other, and then back at his coffee. "Not a bad idea, although I would have to invite the Provost as well."

  "So? You're good enough to have one-on-one conversations without the Provost being any the wiser. I don't think he's that perceptive, anyway."

  "You may have a point, Emily," Frank said. "Anybody else have any ideas?"

  "Be a good time to announce the purchase of the building," Smith said.

  "How soon are we going to be able to do that?" Gough asked.

  "Within the next couple of weeks, I hope," Frank said. "I want to get out of that waterfront deathtrap."

  "Oh, it's not so bad," Emily said. "I think it's kind of quaint."

  "Heaven help us if we ever had a fire. Plus that whale, or whatever it is, has apparently decided I'm his best friend. He keeps poking his head out of the water and staring at me. Gives me the creeps."

  It grew quiet in the room as Smith bit his lower lip and busily swirled his drink.

  "Quit laughing, Smith. I may just send you to live in the Dimatae Park."

  Gough had just taken a swig of his beer, and suddenly had to force himself to swallow.

  "What? Nobody's going to ask?"

  "I'm too busy strangling on my beer," Gough said.

  "Since you are all dying of curiosity," Frank said, "let me tell you about it. The mayor told me that some divers found an area in the Canal populated by former town dwellers in cement overshoes. With all the sea creatures swimming around the place was dubbed Dimatae Park."

  Emily set her glass down on the coffee table. "That is disgusting, Frank."

  "I had heard about it," Gough said, "but I thought it was just a myth."

  "Who knows?" Frank said. "If it is just a myth, then maybe Cedric can become the first permanent addition to the park."

  "At least it would be quiet down there," Smith said.

  "Touché," Gough said, as he tipped his glass toward Smith.

  "Back to the topic at hand," Frank said, "Let me talk to George tomorrow, and see what he thinks. He's got a better sense of the social mores than I do."

  Emily stood up. "I think I'll call Stephanie and Pamela. We need to start planning."

  Frank looked over his shoulder at Brundage. "We need to talk about how we want to arrange things. When we get done I want the Mayor to control the town. Benjie needs to disappear from the equation, and I think we also need to clip the Provost's wings a little bit."

  "You're going to kill Benjie?" Gough asked.

  Frank
shook his head. "Just a figure of speech. But, I seriously want to put him out of business."

  Gough grimaced. "Then you probably will have to kill him. He will see you as taking away his livelihood, and his power. If you don't kill him, he'll get you eventually."

  "Let me think about that," Frank said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  "Woogies love parties," Spanky said.

  The pink extraterrestrial being was flitting between the downstairs rooms of the Wilton Street house, introducing himself to the members of the Gustav business community he had not previously met. Stephanie stood in the corner next to the doorway staring wide-eyed at the Woogie. Every time he bounced from one guest to another she would stare, and shake her head.

  "In case you didn't know it, Woogies love parties," Smith said as he eased up to Stephanie.

  "That's what he is telling everyone," she replied.

  She was dressed in an ankle length, emerald green velvet gown. The silver earrings, bracelet and necklace accentuated her dark brown hair and dark eyes. The other females at the party were eying her enviously.

  "It got a little bit gross when he sampled the hors d'oeuvres though,” she continued.

  "Woogies are funny things," Smith said. “Just when you reach the point where you think they are more human than you are, they'll take a bite of something and you realize they're really not from around here."

  "Exactly," she giggled. Her warm contralto made it a pleasant sound. "It's been fun watching the people who aren't used to Woogies stepping backwards when he approaches them. They don't know how to act."

  "The Woogies know who their friends are, too," Smith said. "For example, I think every one the Skipper has met likes him. I really don't know why."

  "But, Mr. Nyman is a nice man."

  "Oh, I know that. Notice whom they came looking for when they wanted to transfer their treasure. There are any number of nice starship captains out there that could have done the job; probably just as well."

  "I thought that was just because we had done some business with Spanky before," she said.

  "You may have that backwards, Stephanie. I think once the Woogies figured out where Frank landed, they came looking for him to transact business. Spanky was the messenger."

  "So what's with the Woogie tonight, then?" She asked.

  Smith grinned. "The Woogies love playing things on three or four levels. Spanky, here is a party animal; or perhaps, I should say a party Woogie. But, he and Frank have talked, and Spanky is one-hundred percent behind what Frank wants to do. So while he's rumbling around on his five tentacles, stuffing his pipes, he's building a list of people to invite back to Frank's study for a little private conversation."

  "A private conversation with Spanky?"

  Smith snorted. "No, silly. Frank will be waiting back there."

  "Oh. Sorry."

  "Don't worry about it. We'll let you take a Mulligan on that one."

  Over in the corner Gough Brundage raised an eyebrow at Smith, and Smith eased away from Stephanie and made his way across the room.

  She watched him walk away. What's a Mulligan? She asked herself.

  Three of the local business men clustered around Frank and George Liston in Frank's study. The general bonhomie indicated that at least a few had imbibed enough to increase their joviality. Each had a drink in hand, and Frank, again, had his cup of coffee.

  "I don't know, Frank, it seems a little dangerous to me." The short, rotund, bald-headed men looked a little unsure.

  "It is going to be a little dangerous, Everett," Frank replied. "But only for the people out front. I will be the one taking the risk. If Chavis and the Provost take me out, all you will have to do is fade."

  "Oh, you misunderstood me, Frank. If we are going to do this, I will be right out front with you. This needs to be done if this planet is going to go anywhere. But there is risk associated with it. I always liked to bet on a sure thing."

  "He's trying to tell you there's no sure thing, Everett," a tall thin, dark-haired, waspish man said. "I'm glad you're not chickening out. I would have been embarrassed. I've been waiting for years for an opportunity to put decent government in place here. If you're ready to go with it, Frank, I'm with you."

  The third man in the group looked around at each of them. He was middle-aged with sandy blond hair. "Where are you on this, George?"

  "I was afraid you were going to ask that," Liston said.

  "Come on, George," Frank said. "We've already gone over this."

  "No, no. I'm with you, Frank. It just scares me."

  "I hate to bring this up," the blond man said. "But, George puked out on us once before, and left a bunch of us twisting in the breeze."

  Frank looked over at George and tilted his head. "Is there something I need to know about, George?"

  "Yes, he does. About ten years ago we tried to take Benjamin Chavis down. And George baled on us."

  "I didn't bale on you," Liston said. "The old Provost had figured out what was going on, and Chavis was rolling things up. It cost me one-hundred thou to buy my way back into Benjie's good graces. What did it cost you, Jimmy?

  "It cost us all something." And he glared at Liston. Frank looked over at the chandler again. "George, I'm not forcing you to take part in this. If you don't have the stomach for it you can walk away from it right now."

  Liston looked back and forth at Frank and the other men. "No, I'm with you on this. I won't let you down, Frank."

  The blond man put his hands on his hip. "Okay, you all heard it from the man. Let me say this - if you roll over on us again, George, I will kill you myself. You won't have to worry about Benjie."

  Spanky thrummed into the room with music playing on his vocoder. "To party, to party. Good friends, and good conversation. To Frank thanks for the food."

  Everett choked on his drink.

  "I'll tell you this, Frank, the only reason I would even consider what you're proposing is that you've got a Woogie in on this. I've done pretty well for myself by betting with the Woogies in the past."

  "Spanky, come over here," Frank commanded.

  Spanky glided over to the group. "Yes, friend Frank?"

  "Have you been into the booze?" Frank asked.

  "Not, absolutely, no, friend Frank. That would make the Woogie sploogie.”

  "You seemed to be getting a little happy. I was concerned."

  "Spanky happy. No Woogie sploogie though."

  "That's good. I would hate to have to make you clean it up."

  "Friend Frank. Good host. Not cruel to the Woogie."

  Frank snorted. "You assume a lot, Spanky. How are the other guests?"

  "The other guests standing around drinking. Some not like Woogies. Food is good. Stephanie happy. Dark outside..."

  “Spanky!”

  The creature stopped waving his tentacles about and turned his single eye to stare at Frank.

  “Now that I have your attention. I am going to go out and mingle with the guests. In another fifteen or twenty minutes I will come back here and you will round up another four candidates.”

  “Right, Friend Frank. Then Spanky left.” Five tentacles raised in salute, and the Woogie glided out of the room.

  “He's playing you, Frank,” Everett said.

  Frank grinned broadly. “Of course he is. But he's on my side. He's not going to high-center me.”

  “Did you get that, George?” the tall thin man asked.

  “Give it a rest!” Liston said sharply. “I'm in on this, okay?”

  “And don't forget it.”

  § § §

  Andreas Neckersulm ushered Frank into his office.

  “How good of you to visit again, Mr. Nyman. I assume your employee spoke to you about the conversation I had with him.”

  Frank eased into the chair across from the desk. “Indeed he has, Mr. Provost.”

  “Of course, you understand my reasoning. If your company is indeed much larger than you originally had us believe, then you must pay your
fair share.”

  Frank nodded. “Under some circumstances that might seem reasonable.”

  Neckersulm smiled warmly. “I'm glad you understand. Your employee became just a slight bit difficult when I tried to explain things to him.”

  “Gough Brundage is more of a business associate than an employee. As such he is empowered to make decisions for me while I am away.”

  The corner of the Provost's lip curled slightly. “It is good, then, that you have returned so we can straighten the matter out.”

  “I also trust him implicitly.”

  Neckersulm chuckled lightly and insincerely. “I... see. Nevertheless, we need to get things settled. I like a smooth running organization.”

  “I'm very sorry to hear that, Mr. Provost,” Frank said.

  “And your point is?”

  Frank pulled an envelope out of his pocket, and unfolded a sheaf of paper.

  “I have this document on paper, as well as in electronic form. It is a charter for the City of Gustav. We are going to set up a formal city government, and then we are going to vote on our own taxation.”

  Neckersulm tittered. “Surely you don't believe I will agree to such an arrangement. Why, it would abrogate the long-standing means of support for the university.”

  “Oh, we understand the needs of the university. We are fully supportive of voting out a reasonable tax to underwrite part of your operations. I brought this document because I would like your signature on it.”

  The Provost stood up. “My dear man, I would never sign something like that. Do you take me for a fool?”

  “That remains to be seen. What you have here is a completed product. We would like your blessing on it, but we don't have to have it.”

  “You are operating way outside of your authority, Mr. Nyman. You will find yourself totally without support.”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Provost. This document represents about seventy percent of your budget. What happens to your university when the trough goes empty?”

  Neckersulm turned pale. “You wouldn't do that.”

  “You seem to have forgotten, Mr. Provost, that government requires the consent of the governed. In parliamentary terms, you have lost your vote of confidence.”