by Mark Eller
She frowned. "I've already thought of a few things. I've no idea how they will work out."
Aaron handed her a folded sheet of paper. "Here's a brief diagram I drew up. It shows a set of hand brakes and explains how they work."
Taking the sheet, she studied it carefully. "I can see why you need somebody else to do your drawing. I'll give it a try. I'll even have my daughter, Julia, come up with ideas. She's rather imaginative and can draw pretty well herself."
"I know she's bright," Aaron said. "I met her a few days ago, and she's been back to visit a couple times since. " He smiled. "She likes my pet, and Zisst seems to be fond of her."
Tremont looked slightly alarmed. "I didn't know that. I hope she's not been a bother."
"No bother," Aaron reassured her. "I asked her not to say anything until after I decided what to do with this place. She's the reason I didn't leave Galesward when I found out my agents bought a factory instead of the men's clothing store I asked for."
Her eyes glittered amusement. "Julia is a scamp."
Aaron spent the rest of the afternoon teaching Patton how to ride a runabout. The experience was every bit as enjoyable as he expected. Patton eventually stopped falling down and graduated to only running into small objects like trees and buildings and the occasional hapless bystander. Aaron joyfully kept after his bodyguard until Patton was no longer a dire menace to society. Once he decided the young man would kill neither himself nor anyone else, Aaron consented to Patton joining him on a ride to Billowby Manor.
Dinner waited for them when they returned. Eating at the giant table proved to be a bit more enjoyable when there was more than only one person sitting down.
After finishing desert, Jeffries set down his fork. "Is it okay to talk a little business now?"
"I suppose," Aaron said.
"I've looked over those papers the bank gave you. They're rather underhanded, but legal if you signed them. Among other things, they would have required you to give up the factory, agree the bank was in the right, and pay them a rather hefty indemnity. Furthermore, any future legal actions on your part against the bank would have been barred."
Aaron stared at him for a long moment. "That can't be legal," he finally said.
"In Jutland, it's very legal and extremely binding. Something smells rotten."
"I'll say," Missy broke in. "I spent a good part of the day trying to get hold of your financial records. The First National seems reluctant to release them. It's frustrating as hell. " She glared around the table. "And don't nobody say anything about my language."
"I won't," Patton promised. "But I will say you and Mister Turner better relax for a while and let your dinner settle, because in an hour I'm taking you to the mats."
"I'm looking forward to it," Missy said. She gave Aaron a long look. "I think I can show Mister Turner a few things."
Nodding, she rose from the table and left. Jeffries watched until she disappeared through the door.
"That woman has a grudge," he finally said to Aaron. "What did you do to her?"
Aaron stared at the empty doorway and frowned. "I wish I knew."
* * *
"He wants what!"
Bill Clack calmly looked at the speaker. Queen Malldane might be old, but the fear she represented was tremendous. If Clack showed the least trepidation, he would be lost.
"You heard me. It will mean hard times for Nefra. No more slavery, and of course, the main chapter house will have to go underground. Assassins are out of favor at the moment. In fact, Nefra is the last country where they can openly recruit and train. All the others treat them like--"
"Criminals," the old woman spat. "They are forced to hide their guild houses and mug street scum to get their training. The only decent assassins left originate from Nefra. Emperor Klein will have to die."
Clack shook his head. Death was not his plan for his superior. "Oh no, Your Majesty. If he dies the empire will fall apart, and I'll wind up as the head of a small tribe at war with twenty or thirty other small tribes. If I lose my power, you lose any chance of expanding your borders outside of these swamp infested lands. Nefra will remain a small rock buried in a large puddle. No, Klein isn't our worry. He's the Chin emperor, and nobody trusts or listens to a Chin. As far as the world is concerned, we are all barbarians."
"I think," Malldane said," you are something more than that."
"Much more," Clack agreed. "My faction is ambitious, but most of the world is unaware of us. As I see it, there's only one man standing in our way, the only non-Chin the emperor fully trusts, and foolishly so, since he hasn't seen Turner in better than a decade. I've heard rumors about Turner's doings these last couple years which is alarming since, until recently, the emperor gave me the impression Turner was dead. Because Turner has a small reputation and some recognized importance, but isn't a part of any country, Klein has a use for him that likely goes against my plans. This is the man who needs to die."
"If he dies, Klein will choose another. " Pushing back her chair, the old woman jumped to her feet to lean over Clack's kneeling form. Despite her energy, her bearing exuded more anxiety than menace. "What will stop him from finding another? Klein has no friends outside Chin? So what! He is an emperor. Emperors buy influence. It would take time, but it can be done."
"That's the beauty of the thing," Clack said calmly, looking up at the queen. "Chin is vast, but it's under-populated and broke. They really are barbarians. They own some fantastic weapons, but not enough. They have tents, cattle, a lot of grass, and almost no horses. No minerals have been mined. Silver is more of a distant concept than a reality to most Chins. The emperor is stretched as thin as he can go. Within two years his empire will collapse, and I'll be in position to gather the pieces together. Despite appearances, only one man stands in our way. All you have to do is find and kill him. The conference will gain Klein nothing, and our plans will proceed."
The queen returned to her seat. Clack smiled. Despite her earlier show of energy, old age and weak knees had caught up to Malldane. The Nefran queen breathed heavy.
"Then it shall be done," Malldane said. "I'll arrange it with the Master of the Guild. We'll find this man, this Turner, and we'll put our best assassin on him."
"Only one? If you give the contract to several, there'll be no doubt as to the outcome."
The old woman scowled. "Nefra has the best killers in the world. It's a matter of pride that a job is assigned only once. Our people do not fail."
"So be it. I'll await word of his death."
The old woman relaxed. "I'll give you this favor. Our embassy at the conference will contain several assassins. If the one assigned to Turner fails, backup will be in place, assuming Turner bothers to attend."
"It makes me feel better," Clack admitted. "I want Turner dead because he might be more of a threat to me than he is to you. I'm afraid Klein's plans may go further than even I know."
Malldane smiled. "I've no doubt Klein has many plans. The man is an upstart scoundrel, but he's also a ruler, and rulers live complex lives. Do you want me to inquire about your remaining daughter?"
"No need. I stopped following that experiment years ago. I've no interest in her."
"I'm glad to hear you say so. We fear she may be unstable."
"Do what you will with her. Just make sure Aaron Turner dies.
* * *
"Turner will have to die," David Flintlow said.
Delicately scooping an oyster from its shell, Jerry Flintlow placed it in his mouth and swallowed it whole. Truthfully, he thought oysters were disgusting table fare, but Jerry liked the idea of digesting live food. It suited his sense of perversity.
"Dead or ruined," he agreed. "Either will suit our purposes so long as it stops the investigation. I suggest we attack from three directions."
David leaned back in his chair and waved his hovering servant away. Jerry knew his father had no concern the woman would report anything. Being deaf, dumb, and illiterate, she was one of several perfect pers
onal servants their family retained.
She moved down the table, looking to serve one of the three wives or seven daughters who were present. There were other wives and daughters, but Jerry had lost count of how many. His father married on a regular basis. His wives and those children David distrusted died almost as regularly.
"Clumsy cow!" Emily, Jerry's youngest sister, slapped the deaf woman when she brushed Emily's sleeve. Blushing, the servant lowered her head.
Jerry caught Emily's eyes and smiled. She looked away. Their father nodded approval.
"You're learning, girl, even if you were slow about it. Seems to me sending Jerry to your bed has worked out well, and I see the bruises are healing."
"Yes, Father," she said. "My brother is a real man."
The table conversation concerning Turner started up again, all except for Susan. She was a strange one, quiet, and perversely gentle. Jerry wasn't worried. With a little time, he would break her or she would die.
Amel tapped her glass to draw his father's attention. "I know people who do favors for money, but they cost. Also, they won't work in Galesward because their guild won't operate in a small town where they have a member living under cover. Still, if Turner leaves on a trip--?"
"And I can cover matters in the city," Jerry said smoothly after taking a moment to swallow another oyster. "Our woman will be more than willing to help us out."
He growled annoyance when his birth mother reached out to ruffle his hair.
"My Little Tiger," she said admiringly. "It's been too many months since you last drew blood."
"Damn it, Gwen," he snapped, shaking her hand off his head.
"I'm proud of you, dear. Um, David, can I have the third line of attack? You haven't assigned me anything in months. I'm growing bored."
David studied his oldest surviving wife. Jerry knew what he thought. Gwen was near forty, almost as old as Amel. She no longer resembled the thirteen-year-old who had given David his only son. Because of this, her body held little appeal to David Flintlow. However, her agile mind almost equaled her husband's, and that was something David treasured.
"What do you have in mind?"
She shrugged. "Buildings burn."
"No good. He can rebuild."
"Blackmail then. Give us cash or your employees die."
"Oh, come on, Gwen. Why should he care if a few nobodies kick off? You have to do better."
David scowled displeasure. Jerry watched his father's gaze travel down the table to study his other wives. As a rule, David's wives ignored him just as he ignored them once they passed a quarter century. Following his father's gaze, Jerry smiled. A decade long tradition held; those his father no longer wanted were free to the son until they became inconvenient to the father.
Susan squirmed, and her expression turned almost hopeful. David appeared rather pleased. Any expression on Susan's face was a change for the better. Mostly, her eyes appeared empty, even when Jerry or his father mounted her.
Emily winced. Turning in her chair, she reached out to jerk a servant's hair hard enough to pull more than a few strands loose. The woman squawked and refilled Emily's glass.
"David," Gwen prodded,"back to business."
"Last chance," he said, using a soft tone that spoke impatience. "Get it right this time or I'll choose somebody else."
"I'm sure you already have somebody in mind, dear. This idea requires a little development, but have you thought of how these runabouts will affect the cabs. " She dabbed her mouth with the corner of her napkin. "If the runabouts sell well, I suspect a number of cabbies will be angry. A lot of their income will be lost."
David smiled. "Gwen, I'm proud of you. Not only do you not cause me problems, you have the brains to help."
"Yes, dear, I always look out for your interests, which is why I'm still alive. " She turned her gaze to the two younger co-wives who were present. "All three of us have seen what happened to the others. These two aren't bright, but I've at least taught them to stay quiet."
"And properly so. " Pushing his chair back, David stood.
The sight of his aging body gave Jerry some satisfaction. His father was a big man, but Jerry was bigger. David Flintlow's flag would soon lower while Jerry's would finally rise to its full height.
"Make your plans, Gwen," David said,"but plan so the cabbies don't become too organized. I want no future trouble because of this, and do not put anything into motion until I give the word. Let's see what bribery will get us before we take things to the next level."
He left with a nod at Gwen and a tip of his head to Emily.
"Don't worry, Mama Gwen," Amel finally said. "Jerry or I will take care of things. It will never come down to you."
Gwen's smile turned to frost. "I'm not worried, hon. Emily, dear, look to your mama."
Emily raised her green eyes to her oldest mother.
"Emily, your father told me earlier that he wanted to see you in his bedroom after dinner. Go now."
"Yes, Mama."
Every eye followed her exit. Amel sighed.
"Jealous sister?" Jerry asked.
"Not really. I'm too old for him. It's just that I sometimes miss my poor Bearden."
Jerry laughed. "You should have thought things through before you had me kill him."
"I don't miss him that much."
Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, Gwen sighed. "Jerry, please take care of your sister's itch. Go on--go."
She shook her head in seeming disbelief at the perversity of her family. "Well, Gwen," Jerry heard her mutter to herself. "You wanted entrance into the world of high finance and banking. You just didn't know how strange it would be. "
Chapter 6
Four months later Missy appeared at Aaron's office door with papers in her hand. "We need to talk. "
"Do we have to talk tonight?" Aaron asked. "My brain already hurts from listening to Mister Jeffries."
And had that not been a headache and a half? Apparently, matters were not going smooth with the investigation. The courts were stonewalling. Elected officials were not in when they should be, and records kept disappearing. Because of this, Jeffries had written to outside authorities asking for help. It seemed the Flintlows had a number of local officials and elected politicians on their payroll.
"If not tonight," Missy said,"then soon. It's about the factory."
Sighing, Aaron shoved the cork into his freshly opened bottle. He should probably cut back anyway. "The factory is running ahead of schedule. Orders are up. Production is zooming, and Miss Tremont is improving our product designs. What more is there to talk about?"
"How about repairs?"
"What about them?"
"Runabouts break. The broken ones are brought back to the factory, but that will only work so long as our customers live nearby. You need to expand. Create repair shops and people them with those who know the most about runabouts, your factory workers. This means you need to hire others to fill factory openings."
Aaron shook his head. "I never wanted to get too involved in this. You're making it sound like a permanent job."
"It's permanent for the people working for you," Missy said pointedly. "Think about them instead of just yourself. Their lives are wrapped up in your company, so you need to make it work. You need distribution centers and riding schools and training facilities, and any number of other things. Since you can't keep up with the new orders, you need to open more factories. This means more office personnel, new employees, new agreements with suppliers, and a whole lot more. " She waved the papers. "I've been working on a plan."
"It means money," Aaron told her. He eyed the bottle and wondered if he should pour a cup even though Missy was still here. His mouth felt dry. "I won't expand until we pull a profit."
Missy smiled. "Is your head buried in the sand? You've more than doubled your start-up costs. Money is coming in so fast I'm having a hard time keeping track of it. By the way, you need to hire a couple more accountants. I'm falling behind."
"So
you're telling me I'm rich?"
"You've always been rich. You're just getting richer."
Aaron pointed a finger. "Which means I have no reason to work hard. Like I said, I don't want to get involved."
Missy pointed back. "Liar."
"What?"
"Fess up. You're loving this."
Aaron grinned, more because this conversation seemed like the old Missy who didn't hold a grudge than because she was right. Once again, Amanda had been correct. He would not have been content with a small clothing store.
"I confess nothing," he said,"but you need to consult with Miss Cartridge."
Missy looked confused. "Why?"
"Because my people are doing wonderful, because you want the runabouts to expand, and because it's time I started building goodwill. Miss Cartridge handles the manor's social functions."
"So you're throwing a party?" Missy asked.
Aaron's grin grew larger, and he grabbed up the bottle. "I'm throwing a carnival."
* * *
"Don't worry, Mister Turner. You'll learn how to do it someday. " Hugging Zisst tight, Julia giggled.
Aaron studied the position of his last two horseshoes. Neither had come close to the sand pit, let alone near the stake. His workouts with Patton might have improved his reflexes and begun filling out his body, but they had done nothing for his ability to throw a horseshoe from one stake to another. The distance was too far.
He didn't mind losing a game to a woman. Aaron was used to losing most games requiring strength. He did, however, wish Miss Julia Tremont didn't follow him everywhere, giving him lots of unhelpful encouragement. He probably should have joined a game of bowls. His Talent for accuracy would have helped him, and it would not have required as much strength.
