by Ward Wagher
When he climbed down, Jones grabbed his arm and Wendy’s and propelled them across the field. “Please get away from the shuttle. It may be a target, or it may blow up, I don’t know. But you don’t need to be here.”
“Right, Sarge. Good flying, by the way.”
“That was Smith, Sir. They don’t come better’n him.”
Daphne stumbled out of the shuttle and landed on her hands and knees. She stayed there for a moment and then vomited. Smith jumped down the stairs and picked her up and ran across the open field with her.
“We will give it a bit, Sir,” Smith said. “If nothing further happens, we will get the luggage out for you.”
Daphne was crying and choking. “Those poor pilots. What a horrible way to die.”
Frank looked at Wendy and shrugged. “Probably they never knew what hit them,” he said quietly. He looked back at the shuttle and could see the jagged hole where the window used to be on the right side of the cockpit.
Frank spoke to Smith, “You need to find out what hit us. Get the bodies wrapped and stored. Can you contact the FBO from here?”
“Yes, Sir, and yes, Sir. Whatever it was, it was a one-in-a-million shot.”
Chapter Six
Frank gazed at the keep in the distance and rubbed his chin.
“What's bothering you, Frank?” Wendy said.
“I don’t see anyone from the village or the keep trotting up here to see who landed.”
“Are you expecting trouble?”
“I don't know.” He turned around toward the shuttle, “Smith!”
“Yes, Skipper.”
“Any thoughts on how we can get a sitrep on the keep before we walk into trouble?”
He looked at the keep on the other hillside. “Not wise to just waltz in there, Sir. And we are undermanned as it is. The other question is what to do about the shuttle.”
“Did you call Hai?”
“Yes, Sir. He's going to call me back.”
“I hate to keep the news from the FBO very long. Those were a couple of their trusted employees who died.”
“Should we call them directly?” Wendy asked.
“I was hoping Hai could handle things from his end. Somebody is going to have to fly another unit in here to repair that shuttle. I don’t think it is safe to fly in its current condition. Smith, can your personal comm reach that far, or do we have to use the shuttle com?”
“Unknown, Sir.”
Nyman scowled. “I guess there's nothing for it, but to take the risk at the keep. We are awfully exposed here and backup is a long ways away.”
Smith didn't look happy either. “Not only that, but we are stranded here until Commander Ciera finds more transportation. You are right about the shuttle not being safe.”
Frank scanned the vale for a bit and then reached a decision. “Let's arm ourselves and lock up the shuttle. We can come back later for the luggage. If we meet the people from the village on the way, we can turn them around. I don’t want them looking through the hole in the cockpit at the mess in there.
Smith led the way to the small cargo door at the rear of the shuttle. “Give me a hand with this, Jones.” They both grunted as they lifted the heavy locker out of the cargo area.
“What do you shoot, Daphne?” Frank said.
“I qualled on a 11 millimeter military Glock.”
“We got one Smith?”
“Will an H&K do?”
“Sure.”
“The colonel told us to put this in,” Smith said as he pulled a Groz MP22 out and handed it to Wendy.
“He remembered,” she said.
Smith smiled. “He told us you were an artist with that gun.”
“I do okay on the range with it.”
Frank shook his head. “I don’t know, Smith. I’ve always said, ‘Never give a woman a machine gun.’”
Wendy elbowed him.
Smith ignored the comment and pulled another 11 millimeter pistol out and handed it to Frank. He handed another MP22 to Jones and pulled one out for himself. “We’ll open the ammo box for our basic loads, then we’ll be on our way.”
“No Woogie-Whackers?” Frank said.
“Not hardly,” Smith laughed. “They’re great for immobilizing, but nobody but a Woogie really knows how to aim the things. Plus, they don’t have the range.”
“Just thought I’d ask.”
Smith nodded at the shuttle, “The bird is still a target, Sir,”
Frank shook his head. “If anyone has anything irreplaceable in their luggage, I suggest they carry it with them.”
Everyone stood looking at him as he waited.
“I guess that’s a ‘no,’” Wendy said. “I hope everyone wore their walking shoes. What is it, two or three miles across the valley to the keep?”
“About that, I’d say,” Smith said. “Just a brisk morning’s walk.”
The path down the hill was steep, and not well maintained. The group had to traverse numerous ruts and washes caused by the rains.
Below the landing pad, they walked into the forested slopes of the hillside and could no longer see the village or the keep. Pine trees and native firs covered the hills and lower parts of the mountains. Snow crowned the mountain tops and lent a cool edge to the summer breeze.
“Take the point, Jones,” Smith said. “I’ll watch the back door.”
“Rog. I have the point.” Jones ghosted ahead of the group.
“I’m a little nervous.” Wendy said quietly. “Do you think the people who killed Jack and Sharon are still around?”
“I hope not, but it’s best to be prepared. I wasn’t expecting somebody to blow a hole in our shuttle this morning.”
“Any idea what it was?”
“I suspect a missile – passed through without the warhead detonating. If it was something like a twenty millimeter shell, we would have seen tracer, or had more than one hit.”
“Not that I’m not grateful, but why didn’t whoever it was not stick around to finish us off?”
Frank snorted. “Probably consistent with the half-assed way they do things on this planet. Whoever it was saw the shuttle fall off on a wing and assumed it was Miller time. I am not complaining either, my dear, but if we stay around here we have our work cut out for us.”
“In a lot of ways,” she commented, nodding to the road.
“Not very impressive,” Frank replied.
Jones eased back to Frank. “You be want’n to go through the village or around?”
“The maps of this area are not very good. Much as I don’t want to right now, we better go through. No telling where any of the side paths go.”
“Rog, Skipper.” He moved forward to where he was fifty meters or so ahead of them.
Wendy looked over at Daphne. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I just cannot get the image of the pilots out of my mind. They weren’t bad guys. They were just trying to do their job.”
“One of the senseless results of evil,” Frank said. “Innocent people get caught in the gears. We will find out who did it. Be sure about that.”
In the distance undifferentiated sounds gradually worked their way into conscious hearing. Jones eased back again. “Gettin’ close to th’village, Sir.”
“Right. Carry on.”
As they got closer it was easier to pick out the sounds of chickens clucking, the lowing of cattle, and the background rush of the river. There were no human sounds, however.
“Very quiet,” Frank said. “Look alive.”
The village gradually came into focus as they moved out of the forest. The rutted road changed to stone paving with curbing and gutters. The buildings seemed all to be two or three story with stucco, brick or stone construction. The roofs were tiled. Wrought iron street lights were spaced along the curbing. Most of the buildings along the street had the large windows indicating intended retail establishments.
“Theme park,” Wendy commented.
“You will notice,” Frank said, “the side st
reets turn to dirt and the building standards deteriorate rapidly.”
“The place looks fairly clean, but the smell is strong,” Daphne said. “Like they don’t have a sewage plant or something.”
“Maybe they don’t,” Frank said. “Like everything else on this planet, it is not quite finished.”
“Sounds like an opportunity,” Wendy said.
Frank grunted. “Possibly.”
As they walked into the village, Smith & Jones closed up to them to provide cover. Frank caught glimpses of people peering through curtains, or around the edges of windows. I’d be nervous, too, after everything that’s happened here.
“People are kind of standoffish,” Daphne said. “They probably wonder what is getting ready to happen to them now.”
They came to the central square. In the center lay the foundations for a fountain, still incomplete.
“Looks like a smaller copy of the plaza in Cambridge,” Wendy said.
“Duke Robert probably had a single architect for the whole planet,” Frank said. “Not a bad idea, really.”
Four men and a woman stood in front of the one of the buildings on the square. Frank had a chance to study them as they walked through. Three of the men and the woman looked middle aged. The other man was elderly, with a thick shock of white hair carefully combed over his bald pate. The woman was wearing heavy trousers and tunic like the rest. She had black hair, shot with grey and was stocky.
The woman called out to them. “Welcome to Montora Village. I am Yasmin Gris, the Mayor. We do not often get visitors. May we help you?”
Frank turned and walked over to them. The others followed. “I am Frank Nyman and this is my wife, Wendy.”
Gris’ mouth opened in an O. “You would be a relative of our old margrave?”
“He was my brother, yes.”
“Praise God! He has heard our prayers.”
One of the men moved close. He was a short fat man with thinning red hair. “Have you come to assume the margraviate?”
“Er, well,” Nyman was nonplused. “I don’t know if it is an answer to prayer. I came out here to investigate my brother’s death.”
“But are you the heir?” the man continued.
Gris seemed to be quick to size up the situation. She placed her hand on the man's arm. “Let's give Mr. Nyman a chance to get his feet on the ground. He has only just arrived.”
She reached out to take Wendy's hand. “And an honor to meet you, my Lady.”
“The honor is mine, Madam Mayor.”
“Oh, please; we are not that formal here. You can call me Yasmin. And allow me to introduce my compatriots. The gentleman with the big mouth is Gus Perkle, the town clerk. And this is the council, Dolf Lundgren, Sam Chillecothe, and Max Reading.”
“And let me introduce our friends, Daphne Locke, and Sergeants Smith and Jones,” Wendy said.
“Pleased to meet you all,” Frank said. “At my earliest convenience I would like to take a tour of the town and also have an extended conversation with you. I think the first order of business is for us to head on up to the keep.”
“Of course,” Gris said. “If you like, I can send some people up to the landing pad to help with the luggage.”
“That will not be necessary at this time. I appreciate the thought. Maybe later.”
“Of course, Margrave,” Gris said.
“Thank you, Mayor. “Until then.”
The group turned to walk across the plaza. Across from the court house was a church.
“Looks like a toy cathedral,” Daphne said.
“Once again, a theme park,” Wendy replied. “I am beginning to think we could make this into a really interesting place.”
“Is that a priest standing in front of the church?” Daphne asked.
“Yes, and he is coming this way.” Frank said.
“Hello, I am Edmund Tracy Riggs.” The priest was middle aged and stocky. His round face looked almost cherubic. He stuck out a hand with pudgy fingers.
“Frank Nyman.” They shook hands.
“You would be the new margrave then?”
“It is starting to look that way. And you are the local parish priest?”
“Yes, Margrave, or the minister, more accurately. This is St. Stephen’s Anglican Reformed Church.”
“Nice to meet you then, Father,” Frank said. “Once things settle down, you and I will have a visit.”
“Of course, Margrave. May the Lord bless you.”
They began walking out of the plaza. It was a short half-block and they were through the village and on the bridge over the river.
“What river is this?” Wendy asked. She looked over the rail at the water tumbling over the rocks as it worked its way through the valley.
“Moody River,” Daphne said.
“What?”
Daphne started to repeat and Wendy interrupted. “Sorry, I heard you. What kind of a name is that?”
“Doesn’t really fit, does it? It is from some ancient historical reference. I did some digging after I looked at the map. Nobody here has any idea why Hepplewhite named it so.”
“Named after t’Lieutenant,” Jones said quietly with a grin.
“You said something, Sergeant?” Daphne said.
“No, Ma’am.”
There was a short climb to the gate of the keep. There was an empty moat around the castle and the drawbridge was open. The portcullis was in position.
“The margrave’s flag is flying,” Frank said. “Jack’s flag. That may be a bit of good news.”
“Meaning?” Wendy said.
“It is not the duke’s banner. If he were trying to claim the place, he waited too long.”
They reached the edge of the drawbridge when Frank stopped. “Let’s hold here.”
“Hello the keep!” he shouted.
In the quiet they could hear birds singing and the river below them. A breeze rustled through the trees.
A voice came from wall above the portcullis, “Who calls?”
“Frank Nyman, Margrave Montora.”
Silence. Then the answer, “Please wait, Sir, while I call the seneschal.”
“I guess we wait,” Frank said.
Two minutes later Frank spoke again. “Here we go.” A man appeared in the courtyard walking rapidly to the gate. He was dressed casually but had a golden key hanging about his neck with a ribbon.
“I must apologize for not being ready for your visit, My Lord. I am Gerard Blakely, the Seneschal.” He unlocked and opened a door in the portcullis and stepped through.
Frank reached out to shake his hand. “I’ve met you before, right? Good to see you again. I apologize for the unexpected arrival. I didn’t know how to contact the keep.”
“There is no way to contact the keep as the accumulators for the communications equipment all ran down. Please come on in.”
The seneschal continued talking as they followed him through the courtyard. “We have the castle in some semblance of order again. May I tell you how sorry I am about your brother. Everything happened so quickly. When Eden and I woke up, they were both dead.”
“Thank you. Given the circumstances, we felt the need to come out here and take a look around.”
“Of course, of course. If you will step this way into the meeting room, I can give you a report on the condition of the castle and the margraviate.”
The group walked across the stone-paved courtyard. Rooks cawed from the towers of the keep.
“I was curious why no one from the keep came to the shuttle when we landed,” Frank said.
Blakely shook his head. “After the attack, I have been very nervous about people flying in.”
“But the gate wasn’t up when we got here.”
“I didn’t even think about that. Look, I... we are still in shock about all this.”
They stepped up to a large set of double doors. The right-hand door was opened by a middle aged woman in a servant’s dress. She curtsied as they walked in, but said nothing. They fo
llowed Blakely across an expansive entry hall into a large room with a carved wooden throne at the opposite end. To one side was a sitting area.
