The Margrave of Montora (The Chronicles of Montora Book 2)

by Ward Wagher

  “Exactly! If it were my money, it would be one thing. But I do get a bit nervous committing Dad’s money to the project.”

  “That’s what he left it for, though, right?” Daphne said.

  “Yep. And he told me to use it, not just bury it in the ground. My desire is to not have to go back to him for more capital. Let me ask you two this: is it a worthwhile goal to fund our growth from existing income?”

  “Yes!” Blakely said flatly.

  “Depends on how fast you want to grow,” Daphne said. “The beauty of leverage is that you can achieve some pretty fantastic growth from your base.”

  “You can also lose your shirt in a heartbeat,” Franklin said. “I know you have the business courses and I don’t, but I picked up a lot from my parents. They were always careful about not leveraging themselves. It saved their bacon a couple of times when the regional economies went sour. They had the ship parked in orbit around Harcourt one time for about three months. It chewed up a lot of their ready cash, but they weren’t making payments on the bottom, so they were able to survive.”

  “Were you still with them then?” Blakely said.

  “Yes, it was just before I left for the Naval Academy. I don’t know how well you got to know my Dad, but he turns himself inside-out worrying about things. Mom would fix us a nice meal and afterwards he’d go throw-up.”

  “I got the feeling your Mother was the steadying influence in his life,” Daphne said quietly.

  Franklin looked down at the desktop and tapped his fingers on the screen. “Yeah, probably true. But, she was also the one willing to take the risks. Dad is a sharp operator, but Mom had to push him into taking advantage of the opportunities that popped up. They really were a team.” He shook his head. “I really wonder what’s going to become of Dad without Mom. It just took the life out of him when she died.”

  “Took the life out of all of us,” Daphne said. “I think it hit me harder than losing my own mother did.”

  The room grew quiet as the three contemplated the events of the previous six months. Wendy Nyman, Frank’s wife, was murdered towards the end of a long struggle with an insane and murderous Duke of Hepplewhite. The death of the Duke, which was presumed to be accidental, led to the Duke’s brother assuming control of the duchy. He placed Prime Minister Foxworth in control, and with the concurrence of Admiral Krause of the Merchant League Navy forced Frank Nyman to abdicate the Margraviate of Montora in favor of his son, Franklin.

  The admiral promised to make it up to Frank in the nature of lucrative business deals, but as Frank commented, it wouldn’t bring Wendy back. Krause had allowed Franklin, a Lieutenant in the Navy, to resign in order to take over Montora. He was still settling into the job.

  Franklin cleared his throat. “I don’t want to sound callous. I mean, I miss Mom as much as anyone. But, she would expect us to carry on, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  “By bombing the village with water balloons?”

  “Shut up, Daphne.”

  “Sorry. Just couldn’t resist.”

  “My left foot.”

  Blakely looked between them. “With all due respect, do you two plan to spend the rest of the day bickering? I do have work to do.”

  “Now look,” Franklin said, “You’ve gone and gotten Gerry upset with you.”

  “Now if you will look at this item,” Gerry said, forcing the change in subject. “Fully thirty percent of our revenue is coming from referrals out of Cambridge.”

  “You mean from Louie?” Franklin said.

  “Correct. He is somehow managing to convince a significant number of his guests to extend their stay on Hepplewhite and visit Montora Village.”

  “I think we need to find something shiny and expensive to put in the Woogie’s stocking this Christmas,” Nyman said. “His referrals are for us the difference between making it and not.”

  Louie was a Woogie – part of a race of aliens from the planet Woogaea. He looked like nothing so much as a pink stump with five arms and five legs arranged radially about his body. Woogies have a single blue, five-inch, human-like eye. They are best known for their odor – a combination of stinkweed and menthol.

  “Maybe we could have Goldsmith the jeweler make something up,” Blakely said.

  “A good idea. Dad showed me the necklace he made for Mom. I’ll go talk to him. He could probably come up with a nice bauble for Louie.”

  “Probably wouldn’t cost a whole lot either,” Daphne said.

  “Don’t make that mistake, Daff,” Franklin said. “While a Woogie will abscond with anything bright and shiny, they know the value of that stuff far better than any of us do. I don't want to risk insulting him with a piece of cheap junk. On the other hand, if he saw something like that lying on my desk, he'd probably grab it in a heartbeat. Woogies just can’t help it that they're congenitally driven to lift things.”

  “Good to do business with, though,” Blakely said.

  “Aside from the smell and them being klepto,” Franklin said, “I don’t mind at all doing business with the Woogies.

  Franklin's communicator trilled. “Nyman.”

  “This is Alex, Margrave. I'm at the gate. We have a couple of people from Cambridge News here asking for a moment of your time.”

  He looked over at Daphne. “Two people from Cambridge News.”

  She frowned and shook her head. “They've got a couple of people who style themselves as investigative journalists. Little good would come of talking with them, Franklin.”

  Franklin looked back at Daphne and leaned his head to one side and then the other as he considered. “Alex, tell them I'm not available.”

  “Right, Sir.”

  Franklin put the comm down and looked at Daphne again. “I wonder what they're after.”

  “There's no telling. Probably ran out of stories in Cambridge and decided this was fertile ground.”

  “Can you check with Mayor Gris and see if they've spent any time in the village? This makes me nervous. If they start making up stories about us, it'll impact business.”

  “If they make up stories and hurt business,” Daphne said, “you can have them hauled into the Duke's court.”

  “Prime Minister Foxworth would not thank me for that,” Franklin said.

  chapter two

  Glenn Foxworth’s life had taken a turn for the better. Very much for the better. As the Prime Minister for the Duchy of Hepplewhite he had considerable freedom in running the government and managing affairs on the planet. The Duke, Carlo Roma, spent most of his time on Earth and trusted Foxworth implicitly.

  Foxworth was a tall, gangly man, easing into middle age. His brown hair was streaked with grey at the temples, and his face showed the effects of his periodic bouts with the bottle. He pondered his fortunes as he sat in the Prime Minister’s office in the Ducal Castle in Cambridge, the capital of Hepplewhite. The previous duke, Guilietto Roma had grown increasingly erratic over the past year prior to his recent death and Foxworth had despaired of salvaging anything from the wreck. The poor duke had been found in his bath, drowned and with a high level of alcohol in his blood. No one was disposed to investigate very far. The accidental death was convenient for all involved, however little it satisfied anyone.

  Since Foxworth was not spending the monthly stipend from Carlo Roma on every crack-pot idea as the previous duke had, the treasury was beginning to show a respectable balance. The local economy was picking up. The new police chief appointed by the new Duke to report to the Prime Minister had quickly cleaned up his department, with a resulting reduction in criminal activity in the city.

  Foxworth’s wife Monica was employed as the marketing consultant for the Cambridge Arms, a local hotel managed by Louie the Woogie. This not only augmented their income, but gave her an entrée into the local society unavailable before. She was viewed as a working stiff, like most of the inhabitants of the town. It helped that both the Foxworths were thoroughly likable. As a result the Foxworths enjoyed the good will of t
he local populace.

  Foxworth swung his chair back and forth slightly as he faced the panoramic windows of his office. The lush foliage of the hardwood canopy framed by the mountains in the background lent a soothing tint to Hepplewhite’s summer. Foxworth pondered his fortunes and waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “Things are going too well,” he muttered to himself. “It’ll all probably fall apart at lunch.”

  # # #

  Foxworth walked into the Duke’s Private Dining Room a few minutes before noon. Franklin Nyman, the Margrave Montora had already arrived, as had Joe Wilson, the Earl Paravel.

  “Hey Glenn, you’re letting us eat in the grown-ups room today,” Wilson said.

  Foxworth chuckled. “One of the benefits of an absentee duke is I get to use the facilities as I see fit.”

  “Did you move into the Duke’s office?”

  “No. I’m not sure how Carlo would react to that the next time he stopped by. ”

  “A wise man,” Franklin said. “The Prime Minister’s office is plenty nice. It’s a lot nicer than mine.”

  “My thoughts exactly. I try to avoid looking for trouble. Particularly in view of recent events.”

  Wilson folded his hands and bowed, “Amen! I ask God every day not to let me make a fool of myself. I slipped up a few months ago and the carnage was dreadful.”

  “When the old Duke hit the fan, we all got splattered,” Foxworth said.

  “It was worse than that,” Franklin said quietly. “Far worse.”

  Foxworth looked over at Franklin. “You are right. Please forgive me for my insensitivity. The real hero in the whole mess was your dad, and he suffered the most grievous loss.”

  Franklin nodded but said nothing more.

  Foxworth rubbed his hands together, changing the subject, as he looked around the room. “Well, let’s get started.”

  The three men sat down around one end of the walnut and cherry dining table. The heavy curtains at the windows kept the noise level subdued. The pinpoint lights in the chandeliers and wall sconces lent an elegant atmosphere.

  Wilson spoke as the servants brought in the salads and beverage. “Let me say again, Glenn, having these monthly luncheons is a great idea. None of our people are as likely to play games when they know we are talking to each other.”

  “I don’t know, Joe,” Foxworth said, “it’s been so quiet I keep waiting for something to happen. Things are going too well.”

  Franklin said, “Prime Minister, one of the first things I learned in the Navy was not to go looking for trouble. When it needs to, trouble will find you.”

  “Glenn,” Foxworth said. “We’re informal here.”

  “Glenn,” Franklin repeated. “Sorry about that. I’m not used to moving in these rarified circles.”

  Wilson snorted. “Rarified. I used to be an orbital welder. Glenn here used to be a customs officer. You’re probably the most high-born. Sorry Glenn.” He noticed the pained look on Foxworth’s face. “I mean, we’re all just folks here. That’s why I think we can make something of this down-at-the-heels planet. We’re not worried about what people think of us. And we all know how to get things done.”

  “Point taken… Joe,” Franklin said. “This salad is good. Did you get a new chef?”

  “No,” Foxworth said. “When the old one quit, I had Louie start catering it from the Cambridge Inn. It’s cheaper than paying for kitchen help and the food’s a lot better.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Glenn,” Wilson said, “but it's a massive improvement.”

  “Thanks. And I agree with you one-hundred percent. It was Monica’s idea actually.”

  “I wish I had a wife like that,” Wilson said. “Will you sell her to me?”

  Foxworth burst into laughter along with the other two men. “Not on your life! There’s a question of who would sell who. Monica is rather possessive. The only thing you might trade away would be the family jewels.”

  Wilson shuddered. “Forget I said anything.”

  “So what’s on the agenda today?” Franklin asked.

  “Here’s the printout. Let’s wait for the staff to get the entrées on the table and then we can talk about it.”

  It got quiet as the men worked their way through the salad. The staff then rolled in the cart with the entrées and began placing the plated Beef Wellington in front of each.

  “This looks great,” Franklin said.

  “So far, Louie always delivers on his promises.”

  “And then some. I’m getting about thirty percent of my business from his referrals.”

  “He’s a one man economic stimulus package, I think,” Foxworth said. “Or one alien, rather.”

  “Forget Monica,” Wilson said. “I’ll buy Louie.”

  “Forget the jewels, Joe,” Foxworth growled, “I’ll just rip your heart out.”

  “Does Louie have a friend?”

  “Why don’t you ask him? I don’t think you’re getting much tourist traffic out your way.”

  “How about zip? Only problem is I don’t have the funds to build a hotel.”

  Franklin tapped the tip of his fork on the table cloth a few times as he thought. “Let’s have a side conversation after this meeting, Joe. I have a couple of ideas.”

  “Will there be anything else, Prime Minister?” the butler said.

  “That will be all. Thanks, George.”

  The butler followed the rest of the staff out and turned to pull the double doors to the dining room closed.

  Foxworth chewed down a bite of the beef and then cleared his throat to speak. “The first item on the agenda is listed as Naval Support. Carlo has made arrangements with the Navy to turn a destroyer over to Hepplewhite to form the nucleus of a customs group.”

  “Who did he have to bribe to get that done?” Wilson exclaimed.

  “Admiral Krause, who else?” Franklin replied. “They’ve been in each other’s pockets for years. But I’m not prepared to look a gift horse, etc., etc.”

  “Oh, but there’s more to the story,” Foxworth said.

  “I’m not surprised. Those two are artists at quid pro quo. What do they want?”

  Foxworth raised an eyebrow. “We get to finance the thing.”

  “We can’t afford a destroyer! Even a used one is going to run twenty-five million,” Franklin said. “Carlo should know better than that.”

  “Oh, we don’t have to buy the thing, just provide the upkeep.”

  “Worse yet,” Wilson grunted. “Means you’ll have to raise the levies, Glenn. Probably cheaper just to buy the boat and let the Navy pay the upkeep.”

  “You’re right,” Franklin said. “And that’s precisely why they structured it this way.”

  “We have to keep the bigger picture in mind too,” Foxworth said. “Although Carlo is careful with his coin, remember whose duchy this is. With the curtain getting ready to come down on the Merchants League, Carlo and Krause are transferring as many assets out here as possible.”

  “Rats leaving the ship?”

  “No, Franklin,” Wilson said, “it’s called long term planning. Whenever the Centaurans decide it’s time to absorb Earth, there will be nothing anyone can do about it. I’m not sure anyone even wants to. Is the League Navy prepared to fight a shooting war with the Centaurans?”

  “No, of course not. War fighting is not in its mission. Customs support, piracy suppression. That’s about it. There’s nothing bigger than light cruisers in inventory. All the heavy metal is in the Centauran Navy.”

  “Okay, so here’s the deal,” Foxworth said. “Sooner or later we will be on our own out here. The Duke and the Admiral will give us all the help they can, but we are going to have to begin pulling our weight.”

  “All the more important we get the economy rolling,” Wilson said. “It takes real wealth to support a navy. Tell me this, Glenn, will Roma come out here when Earth falls, or will you end up in the hot seat?”

  “Carlo hasn’t said, but I suspect he will remain
on Earth. Unless things really hit the wall, he will still have Nano Roma to care for. Hepplewhite is small potatoes compared to that.”

  “How’s about if we get him to set up a branch of Nano Roma out here.”

  “That’s a good idea, Joe. I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll make mention of it in my next note to Carlo.”

  “Back to the destroyer,” Franklin said. “What are the details?”

  “As I understand it, the Navy will send it out with a volunteer crew. They will swear allegiance to the duchy and we’ll have to pay them. We’ll also have to fund maintenance on the ship.”

  “What’s the vig on it, then?” Wilson asked.

  “Carlo didn’t say. What’s the crew size on a destroyer, Franklin?”

  “ A hundred to one-twenty-five.”

  “Crappola!” Wilson yelled. “That’s three to five million Centaurans right there. That ship’s going to cost us fifteen to twenty a year total. I’ll bet that’s more than your entire budget, Glenn.”

  Foxworth looked uncomfortable.

  “I knew it,” Wilson said. “We’ve bought a pig in a poke.”

  “Whatever that is,” Franklin said. “Do we have a choice? If we don’t soon get some security in the high orbitals, word will get around. Then it will be BOHICA.”

  Wilson looked blank. “That’s Bend Over. Here It Comes Again,” Franklin said. “An old Navy term. Every pirate in the neighborhood will come swarming around the Panoz system. I don’t know how we’re going to fund it either, but we’d better start looking for a solution. I don’t want to think about the alternative.”

  Lunch was forgotten as the three rulers of the planet Hepplewhite considered their options. Robert Hepplewhite had originally intended to build a planetary theme park on his namesake world. He had completed three picturesque towns – Cambridge, Castle Paravel and Montora Village – before running out of money. A succession of dukes with more ambition than money or sense had followed Hepplewhite, and the place remained a backwater. In the past year, however, tourism had begun to pick up, as had the economy. This was mostly due to the efforts of Frank and Wendy Nyman. The three men in the room today were dedicated to continuing that progress.