by Ward Wagher
Frank said, “He is six weeks away at Baughman’s and probably will not get loose for another year.”
“That was one of the nice things about running the ship. We would end up in his neighborhood from time to time. I miss him, Frank.”
Frank nodded. “Me too. I suppose we should go inside the terminal. We’re going to freeze the guards if we don’t.”
“You are going to freeze me if we don’t.”
“We have got to do something about Montora,” growled Duke Hepplewhite. “He not only got his toady, the admiral, to slap me down, but now he is taking business away from me.”
“He is not taking business away from you,” Prime Minister Foxworth said. “There has been no business to take.”
“Nyman got the Woogies to buy the Marriott property out from under me. He has a functioning star port. He has tourists starting to visit. They ought to be visiting here.”
“What would they see here?”
“You are no help at all, Glenn. The only way I can survive is to generate some business. I had an option on the hotel and I lost that. The Woogies will steal anything that is not bolted down. I have the Navy snooping around here, so I cannot do what is necessary to control the duchy.”
Foxworth leaned against the wall and folded his arms. Since his one-sided conversation with Admiral Krause, he was much blunter with the duke. “Don’t you think Frank Nyman would offer side trips to Cambridge as an added benefit to his tour packages? If we spent some time cleaning up this dung heap of a town instead of beating crap out of the townspeople, we would have some business.”
“Surely you cannot believe that, Prime Minister?”
“Let me tell you what I believe, Milord. I think if you would focus on being the duke, and live in your castle and hold your parties and let me run this place for you, I could make you modestly wealthy. Or at least get you off your brother’s stipend.”
“Be serious, Foxworth. The previous owners looted this place and raped the economy. There is not enough left to invest in the local economy. And when I had an opportunity, the Woogies snatched it away.”
Foxworth snorted. “At the price you were holding the option for, the owners jumped into the arms of anyone who offered real money. And let’s say for the sake of argument that Frank Nyman did talk the Woogies into buying that property, which I don’t for a moment believe; but if he did, he was doing you a huge favor.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Have you ever known a Woogie to bet on anything other than a sure thing? They are risk averse. They will run that place and make a go of it, which means they will be pumping money into the economy. The restaurant trade will pick up. The trinket trade will pick up. We may even get some genuine tourists in here. Besides, if I had to guess, you know squat about running a hotel.”
“What could be so difficult about that? Anyway, any business they generate would be snatched away by Nyman.”
“How can you say that?”
“He thinks I killed his brother. He is out to get me. We need to figure out a way to get him first.”
Foxworth shook his head and walked across the room to the duke’s desk. He sat on the edge of the desk and looked down at Roma. “And if you succeed in killing Nyman – which will be far more difficult than you can imagine, the Navy will be here in force. They will keep turning over rocks until they find something which leads to you. When that happens, you will be a footnote in whatever history books are written about this dump.”
“Listen, Glenn, if I do not get him, he will probably get me. This is something we must do.”
Foxworth could feel the blood boiling up into his face. “Listen to me you little turd! The reason Nyman is after you is because he knows you killed his brother. I don’t know how he found out, but there is no question in his mind. But the admiral sat on him, and I think his people will keep him from doing something stupid. He is happily building his little mountain kingdom and from all accounts simply wants to be left alone. We are not going to do anything to upset that balance.”
“You are just no help at all, Foxworth. I don’t know why I have been saddled with you.”
“Because my job is to keep you alive!” he screamed. “Why do you suppose you have had people getting you out of trouble all your life? You keep playing these little games and sooner or later somebody is going to get lucky, and you’ll get dead. Try to pay attention to what I am telling you.”
“Oh be serious!” the duke said. “People keep standing in my way because of who I am. They hate the Romas and if they cannot get to Carlo, then they take it out on me. I am the perpetual victim.”
“You are the victim of your own stupidity, Milord! What can I say to get you to understand that? Look, why are we out here on the backside of nowhere? Did you know people think your brother sent you out here so you couldn’t murder him?”
“Why would I want to do that? He’s my brother. I love him.”
“Precisely. He sent us out here because he was looking for a sandbox for you to play in that was small enough for you to have some chance of success. If you do well here, you would make your brother really happy. Killing people and beating up on the residents is not the way to do that. You are just lucky the admiral was satisfied to let you sacrifice two policemen for beating up his lieutenant.”
“Okay. You win. You’re in charge. See what you can do with this mess and I’ll stay out of your way. I’ll be a good boy.”
Foxworth slid off the desk and strode out of the room. Why do I not believe the little snot?
Chapter Twenty-One
Frank Nyman walked through the hotel room and looked carefully at the fresher. “Are we ready to open this floor to the guests, Mode?”
Modest Marple, the manager of the Montora Village Inn looked over Frank’s shoulder. “I think so, yes, Margrave. The furnishings are all in. We have to pull up the protective coverings over the hall carpet, do the touch-up and final cleaning and we’ll be set. Besides we have some of these rooms reserved for guests next week.”
Frank turned and raised an eyebrow. “So what you are saying is, since we have paying guests coming; ergo the floor is ready?”
“But sir, the floor is ready.”
“Then why has nobody written up the sloppy grout-work here?” He pulled a crayon out of his pocket and circled several areas around the bath. “Look at this, Mode. The customers see this and they subconsciously wonder what else we are sloppy about. Did you not notice this?”
Frank looked around the bathroom carefully. “And you have inspected every room?”
A pause. “Me personally? Well, not every room. Housekeeping has looked at everything.”
Frank shook his head. “One of the lessons you must learn about managing a public facing business is that until you have proven the staff to be competent, you must inspect everything. I guess we now will have to inspect every room in this fleabag.”
Marple looked horrified. “Sir, we are developing a four-star hotel here. It is not a flea-bag.”
Frank pointed to the circles he had drawn on the tile. “That is not four-star quality. He turned and pushed past Marple back into the room. Nesmith was guarding the door and Jones was examining the room. “What have you got, Jones?”
“Needs some work, Skipper. Loose wallpaper along the enviro unit. Construction dust on the top shelf in the closet.” Jones had been the terror of marine recruits during the innumerable barracks inspections of his career. Frank was using him to good effect at the Montora Village Inn.
Marple was shaking now. “Margrave, I… I don’t know what to say.”
Frank laid a hand on Marple’s arm and looked him in the eye. “Mode, you have done a good job setting up the hotel and booking the business. Other than the dust, the things we pointed out would go un-remarked at any mid-range hotel. But it is the little touches which bring customers back and referrals to their friends.”
“Margrave, you have my most humble apologizes. I will surely do better.”
>
“I think you need to relax just a bit. If I did not have confidence in you, you would be on the first shuttle out of here.” Frank grinned at him, “They say a good beating has a salutary effect. Let’s just say I am not happy that you and I are now going to have to inspect every room on this floor. And while we’re at it, Jones, pull back the covers on the bed.”
Jones walked over to the bed and whipped the spread off. “Corners are not tucked. Sheets are wrinkled.”
A moan escaped from Marple.
Frank laughed. “Not to worry, Mode. You are going to get the crews back in here to fix these things, and then follow housekeeping through each room to make sure they know what they are about. As badly as the people in the village want jobs, I suspect they really don’t know how to work. So you get to stay on top of things until you get your supervision trained.”
Frank watched as visions of eighteen hour days flitted across Marple’s face. “And while we are at it, Mode, Sergeant Jones will be inspecting each of the second floor rooms as they come open again. You will, of course, arrange with him to do that.”
“I have to do all this and still find rooms for the guests next week,” Marple muttered.
“I am paying you a very good salary and took at face value what your resume said about the strength of your reputation as a good hotelier. Are you indeed good at what you do, Modest?”
“I am a very good hotelier, Sir!”
“That’s good.” Frank clapped him on the shoulder. “I am glad to hear my judgment was justified. I am assuming you will figure out a way to fix the items, clean the rooms again, and do it all without disturbing the current guests. Now let’s look at these other rooms.”
Frank turned and marched out of the room, followed by the humbled hotelier and Jones, who let no one see the huge grin on his face.
In the hallway, Frank’s communicator gave a quick, five cycle chirp. He hit the accept key. “Speak.”
Gerry Blakely spoke, “Margrave, the prime minister wishes to speak with you.”
“I knew I was going to regret having that comm relay installed.” He looked up at the people in the hall. “Wait here.” He stepped back into the room and closed the door. “Okay, Gerry, put him on.”
“Margrave Montora.”
“Glenn Foxworth, Margrave.”
“And what can I do for you this fine day, Prime Minister?”
“Our mutual friend is in action again.”
Frank took a deep breath and walked over to the window. In the snow-swept, afternoon twilight the Christmas lights lent a quiet peacefulness to the scene which he knew was illusory.
“Talk to me.”
“The duke has managed to recruit another team. He plans to annex your lowlands under the pretence they have descended into lawlessness.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“It is simple, Margrave. Admiral Krause has charged both of us to keep the duke out of trouble.”
Frank shook his head as he gazed out at the winter scene. “I doubt it is simple, Prime Minister. You are running the government for our beloved duke. If you were not involved in murder and rapine, you surely had knowledge.”
“I cannot deny knowledge, Margrave. He slips around and pulls these little stunts and then demands I fix things for him. For someone fundamentally stupid, he is surprisingly cunning.”
“So why call me? You must know the duke is a dead man if I am given the opportunity.”
“Given the opportunity,” Foxworth said, “I would be sorely tempted to make sure he didn’t wake up in the morning. Unfortunately, I am tied to the him with a contract I signed with his brother. It pays well, but the buyout is beyond my ability. I am still kicking myself for getting into this one.”
“So, you are saying he slipped around you again? Can you not control the exchequer?”
“No, I cannot control the treasury.” Foxworth had a disgusted tone in his voice. “Carlo let him have signature authority, since he is supplying the bulk of the funding for this government. We haven’t paid the employees in two months, and he takes most of the stipend to hire some more thugs. You need to watch out, Margrave.”
“How many people? What kind of people?” Frank asked.
“It looks like locals. None of the mercs will have anything to do with him after the last group disappeared. We had assumed they had gone off-planet, but nobody has heard from them since.” Foxworth paused. “I don’t suppose you could enlighten me about them?”
“I do not know where they are,” Frank said. Not a lie, exactly. Hai didn’t show me where he buried the bodies.
“Consider yourself warned, Margrave. Now I must be about cleaning up behind my duke. Again.”
“Thank you for the warning, Prime Minister.”
“And Margrave,” Foxworth said. “I would greatly appreciate it if this phone call never happened.”
“I understand and will see to it.”
“Thank you.” And he disconnected.
Frank looked down at his hand comm, and looked out at the snow again. It just never stops. He looked down and pressed a key on the comm.
“Yes Margrave,” Blakely said.
“Gerry, please erase the logs of the prime minister’s call and do not talk about it. It never happened, okay?”
“I understand.”
“And give Hai Ciera a tinkle and see if he can come up tonight. If he can make dinner, you will need to let Mrs. Marsden know.”
“Of course. Do you want me to comm you back to confirm?”
“No. I’m heading back to the keep right now.” Frank pocketed the hand comm and walked to the door. When he opened it, Nesmith was still guarding it. Marple and Jones had apparently continued with the inspection. “Where are they, Alex?”
Nesmith pointed down the hallway at an open door. Frank walked quickly down the hall with Nesmith following. He stepped into the room to see Marple writing notes on a tablet and looking disgusted. The bed had been stripped and Jones appeared to have difficulty hiding his triumphant look.
“Margrave, thank you for calling this to my attention. I am very embarrassed to have been caught out like this. I should have known better.” He walked over to the room comm. He punched a number from memory.
“Denis, get the housekeeping staff back in. Yes, all of it. We’ve got to re-do the entire third floor. It is just a mess.” A pause. “I know it is almost dinner time. Tell them to eat and then be in by six. You and I are going to tear a room down and show them how to set it up. And then we will follow them as they do each room on the floor.” Another pause. “Then, I guess you will have to cancel, won’t you?” He punched the disconnect.
He turned to Frank with a grin. “It seems Denis Wagoner’s job has interfered with his hot date for tonight. He’ll be making beds instead of climbing in one.”
“All in a good cause,” Frank said. “Jones, I would suggest you accompany Mister Marple and concentrate on structural issues. It looks like he is getting a handle on the housekeeping. I need to return to the keep.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Frank’s smile disappeared as he headed down the hallway with Nesmith following. They stepped into the lift and the doors closed.
“Alex, I just got word the duke is feeling his oats again.”
Nesmith turned to Frank and his eyebrows raised. “Sir?”
“Gerry Blakely is trying to run down Hai Ciera, to get him out here tonight. Apparently the duke has hired some ruffians to try to grab our low country villages.”
“Sir, why does he keep doing this?”
“Who knows why people act the way they do. Let’s get back to the keep.”
The lift door opened and Frank strode across the lobby of the inn, fastening his coat as he walked. The cold air took his breath away as he stepped into the street. It was well below freezing. A few snowflakes drifted out of the deepening twilight. Looking around he noted the lighted decorations around the square.
Harmon Eckert had gotten the street lights
working and the soft glow heightened the ambiance. Lights shown from most of the shop windows fronting the square. Many were simply where the villagers had chosen to live. Others reflected a growing group of merchants who had opened businesses in Montora Village, drawn by the nascent tourist trade. Everyone was taking advantage of the newly installed electrical power.
Things have been going too well, recently, Frank thought. Be a shame to mess this up.
“The Christmas decorations in the village look great,” Hai Ciera said.
“That would be Wendy’s doing,” Frank said. “She is acting as a one-woman merchants’ guild. She not only has designed the décor, but also she is vetting all the new merchants and issuing the licenses.”
