The Mountains of Montora (The Chronicles of Montora Book 1)

by Ward Wagher

  “But the message he received today from the margrave should cause him to pause, at least for a bit.”

  Foxworth shrugged and scratched his chest. “I’ve given up trying to guess what that idiot in Cambridge Castle is going to do next. And he’s getting worse. I would just as soon drown in the bottle.”

  She stretched up again and kissed him. “Bunny, could you, at least, not spend this evening making love to that bottle of Glenlivet? Spend the evening with Monica instead.”

  “Now I like that invitation. Best thing that happened all day. Are we having dinner, or skipping to the dessert?”

  Frank stood on the edge of the plateau and watched the earthmoving equipment level out the Regimental headquarters area. It was early enough in the winter that the ground had not yet frozen hard. He had no idea what would happen next spring during the thaw. Harmon Eckert bounded around between the machines, offering advice and guidance. If Eckert was convinced their foundations would not disappear in a sea of mud next spring, the people of the Baltic Regiment probably had nothing to worry about.

  Father Edmund Tracy Riggs scrunched up through the snow to stand next to Frank.

  “Hello Father. Long walk up here in the snow.”

  “Margrave,” he nodded. “The wife is intensely curious about the goings on up here. So I am making a pastoral inspection and will report back to her every detail I can remember after the trek.”

  “That’s impressive, Father, especially since your pastoral duties vis a vis the regiment are back in the village.”

  Colonel Putin had rapidly unloaded his combat transport in order to return to Addison’s Planet as soon as possible. Rather than have the people living in tents through the winter on site, Frank had quartered them in the empty buildings in the village. While the houses and storefronts were unfinished inside, they at least kept the people out of the weather. The Regiment had an ample supply of portable heaters and a small self-propelled fusion plant, which supplied the necessary energy. Otherwise the load would have been greater than the hydro plant could have supported.

  The regimental dependents were healthy and hardy as a group, but there were some elderly and frail members too. Wendy had seen them and immediately opened several apartments in the keep for them. The wives and retirees had immediately bonded with the village people by pitching in to help with snow removal, building renovation and other things which otherwise stretched the village resources. Justin Vos’s wife, Gloria, had also been indispensable in coordinating between the Regiment and the keep. Vos had requested her asylum in Montora to protect her from a vengeful duke, but her administrative skills had proven a boon to Frank and Wendy.

  Father Riggs had suddenly seen his flock increase significantly and worked to take advantage of that. The regiment was primarily Lutheran, but had no chaplain. They seemed happy for his attention even if he was of a different communion.

  The Father grinned. “I have my flock in the village and I have my orders from the Missus, whom, as you may know, speaks ex Cathedra.”

  “I thought you Reformed Anglicans didn’t believe in that.”

  “I do not believe it in the case of the Pope. Now, he’s as fallible as the next man. But the missus...”

  Frank laughed out loud and then coughed in the cold air. “Don’t do that to me, Father. You will have me expiring right here in the snow. You don’t do last rites either, do you?”

  “Right again,” Riggs said with a warm smile. “Last Rites would not do you any good either way.”

  “My feelings exactly. Just plug me in the ground where I can do the trees some good. And that’s all she wrote.”

  “Surely you know there is more to it than that. I mean, I enjoy what I do, but I could do the same work for a social agency and spare myself the grief of the liturgy and sermon prep.”

  “To each his own, Father. You know, I’ve knocked about the known universe just a bit. I’ve seen a lot of religions; a lot of churches. And I’ve seen a lot of religious people who would knife you for what was in your pocket; or simply because you looked like an infidel. But I’ve never seen God.”

  “Have you looked?”

  “How do you look for God? By definition He would be… what’s the word, transcendent.”

  “Turn around. What do you see?”

  “The Mountains of Montora, the forest. Nice view. One of the things I like about this place. Peaceful, aside from that Cretan in Cambridge.”

  “Who made this?”

  “How do I know, Father. It was here a long time before I came upon the scene.”

  “How did this get here?”

  “What do you want me to say? That Zeus wadded up a ball of mud and threw it out here? Conventional wisdom says an orbiting pile of gravel coalesced.”

  “Do you always trust the conventional wisdom?”

  Frank laughed. “Touché, Father. No, I don’t. I read someone somewhere who, talking about conventional wisdom, said that at one time there was always a reason for doing something. Maybe not a good reason, but a reason.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “How do I know? I wasn’t here.”

  Riggs smiled again. “Precisely. Some highly intelligent people have tried to extrapolate backwards and determine what happened originally. Every fifty to one hundred years something comes along to blow their theories to dust bunnies.”

  “I think that is the normal progress of science, Father,” Frank said. “It happens in every area of science. Once upon a time, manipulation of gravity fields and the existence of macro-quantum tunneling were the stuff of fiction. When we figured out how to do it, we demolished a lot of previous work.”

  “What if you had a chance to read an eye-witness account of what happened?”

  “You mean the guys who invented the gravity fields?”

  “You know what I am talking about.”

  “Ha! I have looked through your Bible. It is an amazing piece of work. Considering how it was assembled, it hangs together amazingly well.”

  “There is a reason for that.”

  “I see where you are going, Father, and I’m not prepared to buy into that,” Frank said.

  “You do not think God is capable of speaking to you through these things?”

  Frank shook his head. “If there were a god and he was interested in me, I think he would have reached out and touched me somehow. All I’m getting so far today is frozen! Let’s go.”

  Frank and Father Riggs walked, slid, skidded down the hillside to the shuttle port. “They are going to have a devil of a time cutting a road down here,” Frank said.

  “Not sure I would put it that way,” Riggs said between breaths. “But I see your point.”

  “I am glad it’s not my problem,” Frank said as he opened the door to the trucklet. “Hop in, I’ll give you a ride to the village.”

  “I thought you would never ask.”

  Frank laughed as he switched on the drive. “I wanted to review the provisions we’ve made for the Regiment. Are we doing everything we can reasonably to help them?”

  “Well, Margrave, the conditions they are living in are not great, but they are warm and well fed.”

  “Better to be in a barn than out in tents, right?” Frank grinned.

  “Exactly. Harkening to the season - if it was good enough for the Saviour, etc. They are not complaining. In fact, they have gone out of their way to thank us for the hospitality. Not only that, they are putting our people to shame in the way they have been dispatching the pickup jobs around here. Most of the villagers are content to sit in their houses during the winter and suck down mulberry wine.”

  “So you are saying the villagers are usually not this energetic in the winter.”

  “Right. A high percentage of them are sots. Between the arrival of the Baltic Regiment and the projects you have initiated, it has been gratifying to see the people here put in an honest day’s work.”

  The trucklet bounced along the road through the snow. With the weight of the
accumulators and the electric drive, there was not much risk of getting stuck. They rode in silence for a while before the father spoke again.

  “I suppose you could tell me it is none of my business and I would suppose you were right…”

  Frank looked over at Riggs, who was wearing an expectant face. He waited for him to continue. Finally. “Spill it, Father.”

  “I hear speculation about what happened to a group of scoundrels the duke sent into Montora Village to kill you and your wife.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, the word is they never left the dungeons of Montora Castle. At least not alive.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You are not making this easy for me, Margrave.”

  “Who is your confidant, Father?”

  “What?”

  “Who do you confide in? And don’t give me that nonsense about God alone.”

  Riggs laughed. “Gotcha. I have a wife, who otherwise is everything a man could dream of, but does not know how to keep her mouth shut. So I have learned to keep my own counsel in pastoral matters. Anything you tell me in confidence stays with me and God. It goes with the territory, Margrave.”

  “You seem awfully anxious to hear about this, Father,” Frank said.

  The priest sat in his seat and rolled his tongue around the inside of his cheek for a few moments. “I would be lying if I told you I had no curiosity about some things. But let us say I may be able to head off some problems for you if I were more knowledgeable.”

  “Fair enough,” Frank said. “May I make the assumption that you would notify me of any threats to Montora or to me and my wife if you became aware of them?”

  “Absolutely,” Riggs said. “I view that as one of the clear obligations of my ministry here. But you haven’t told me anything.”

  “I cannot tell you much, Father, and this is for your own good. Let us say I hold the power of high, and low justice in Montora. There are some things I can accomplish judicially as the margrave that I cannot do as a private individual. There may have been some individuals or groups, who came into the margraviate, who might have been sent by someone out on the coast. Such people were not very competent and may not have had good experiences during the visit. And that is all I can say.”

  “I believe I understand.”

  “I believe you do. And here we are at the dooryard of the church.”

  “Thank you for the ride, Margrave.”

  Without another word, Riggs climbed out of the trucklet and made his way to the church door. And I hope I haven’t made a mistake in shooting off my mouth. But for some reason I trust the little priest.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Monica Foxworth climbed out of the aircar into the chill air of the Montora Shuttle Port. She turned to watch as the manager of the Cambridge Arms Hotel maneuvered his way to the pavement.

  “Aircars not made for Woogies,” the voice translator belted around his middle said. The Woogie had difficulty maneuvering through tight spaces, due to its odd shape.

  “Once you managed to wiggle your way inside, I had my doubts as to whether you would be able to squeeze yourself out again, Louie.”

  The challenge was not all on the Woogie’s side. His overpowering odor of menthol and stinkweed brought her close to retching several times during the short trip from Cambridge. She had carefully refrained from mentioning her reaction to the Woogie’s odor. They were sensitive creatures and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings unnecessarily. Besides there was nothing anyone could do about it but endure, so it was pointless to say anything.

  “I know Woogie essence is strong in a closed vehicle. I thank you for your forbearance.”

  Monica laughed and patted the Woogie on the head(?). The warm, dry, pink skin was at odds with what you would expect with something which a thousand years ago existed only in human nightmares. She managed not to shudder as she touched him. She had worked long and hard to earn Louie’s friendship and trust. She would not allow herself to get rattled.

  “I’m sure there are things about humans which you find disconcerting,” she said. “You are the way God made you and I, for one, would certainly not argue with the Creator about that.”

  The Woogie rotated around on his legs and his three-inch blue eye made a circuit of the surroundings. He gave a keening warble. “Cold here. The Woogie does not like.”

  “I told you to put on something warm,” Monica said. “We are at nearly nine-thousand feet here. It’s much colder than back on the coast.”

  “Should have listened, should have listened.” He gave another warbling trill.

  “Here comes our ride. I hope they have the heat on in that bus.” She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. “It really is cold here.”

  The jitney scrunched through the snow and stopped near the aircar. Modest Marple jumped out when the doors opened.

  “Welcome to Montora Village,” he cried. “I am your host, Modest Marple. I am the manager of the Village Inn.”

  “I am Monica Foxworth and this is Louie. We are from the Cambridge Arms Hotel.” She shook hands with Marple. The Woogie flooped and stuck out a tentacle. Monica watched with some amusement as Marple looked surprised, then shocked and finally took the tentacle in his hand.

  “Pleased to meet you again … uh… Mr. Louie.”

  “You know him?” Monica said.

  “Yes. When I first came to Hepplewhite I visited the hotel in Cambridge and Mr. Louie was at the desk. I asked him for a job. He recommended I check Montora Village. It turned out to be wonderful advice. I have a good position where with great people to work for. Thank you, Mr. Louie.”

  “You are welcome. So happy to worked it.”

  “Yes, and of course, welcome to Montora Village.”

  “Always this cold in Montora?” Louie asked.

  “Just in the winter,” Marple said. “It is quite bracing, actually.”

  “What is this bracing?” the Woogie asked.

  “It means humans find the weather invigorating,” Monica jumped in.

  The Woogie gave another keening trill. “Woogie not invigorated. Woogie cold!” While the translator did not give inflections, Monica was sure there was heavy emphasis on the not.

  “I have the heater going on the bus, if you would like to get aboard.”

  The Woogie skittered past them and moved toward the jitney with startling speed.

  Monica chuckled. “He really does not like the cold weather.”

  “Strange place for a Woogie, if you ask me,” Marple said.

  “Having them pop up on Hepplewhite was not expected,” she said. “There is no question they are good at sniffing out deals. The duke was most distressed when they bought the hotel out from under him.”

  “How many are here?” Marple asked.

  “Just Louie right now. A whole flock – or whatever you call it – came in to put the deal together.”

  They carefully walked over the snow to the jitney. “I have not had the opportunity to visit since my initial arrival in Cambridge, yet, but rumor has it they have made a good start in the hotel business,” Marple said.

  “True. They did a quick refresh of the furnishings and décor and business is picking up. Which is why the trip today, as I mentioned in my call.”

  Marple smiled. “Well, if we can work something out to shuttle guests back and forth, it’ll mean more revenue for all of us. The margrave would be happy about that.”

  “I’m not sure the duke would be happy, but ultimately it helps him too.”

  “Is he really as bad as all that?” Marple raised an eyebrow as he plopped into the driver’s seat.

  “You have no idea how bad. But you cannot quote me on that.” Her elfin face had a pinched look of disgust.

  Marple gaily pointed out the scenery and sights as the jitney moved along the snow covered road to the village. The Woogie had trouble swiveling around in the bus seat to see the things Marple was describing.

  Upon arrival at the Village Inn, the ma
nager led them to his small, overheated office. One of the staff brought in a carafe of coffee and cups on a tray. Marple looked at the coffee and then at the Woogie and was obviously nonplussed.

  “Uh… could I get you some... refreshment, Mr. Woogie… er.. Mr. Louie?”

  Monica smothered a laugh into her scarf as she began to unwind it in the warm office. The Woogie spoke, “Thank you, no. Very kind to offer, yes?”

  “Er.. yes.” Marple slid into the chair behind his desk, leaned forward and folded his hands on the desktop. He looked expectantly at Monica. “And, now, milady, how can we help you today?”