The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four

by Daniel Lawlis

  He put the lid back on the exposed barrel, made sure it was nice and snug, and then covered up that final hole with as much care and attention as he had to the others. He looked at his garden with shrewd eyes, trying to put himself into the shoes of some snot-nosed brat (or worse) that came traipsing through here. Sure, it was clear there was a garden of some kind here, but even his eagle eyes had difficulty seeing even the slightest traces of a burial in the areas where the barrels were sleeping cozily under the ground.

  Good enough, he told himself.

  When he got home and realized Janie was not there yet, it seemed the stars were aligning in his favor. He changed into a clean pair of clothes, grabbed a few empty barrels from his barn of roughly the same size as the Rog’s, sloshed a little water on his hands and face from a bucket, and then picked up a pen and paper:

  Sorry to miss you, my love. I’ll be back tomorrow. Rog is sending me on a bit of a field trip . . . nothing major, just returning some inventory. But I think it shows his growing trust in me. See you soon.

  Yours forever,

  Richie

  Righty shuddered at what he was about to do next. He picked up the floor plank where they kept their savings and looked at it longingly. He removed most of it. It would be just enough to cover the inventory and . . . a little something else.

  Paranoid that at any moment Janie would appear out of nowhere, her all-too intuitive eyes sensing something much more than a business trip was afoot, Righty sprinted out to the wagon, gave the horses a nice slap with the reins and got them moving.

  Chapter 15

  Richie was glad he knew a route around Ringsetter because, while it wasn’t exactly a one-horse town, it was small enough that it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility to run smack dab into Rog himself or (almost as bad) ride past someone who knew Rog and would just happen to mention to him in good-natured conversation, Hey, I saw your ex-boxer of a store clerk driving your wagon around yesterday evening. What do you make him work so late for? Hahahaha.

  It wasn’t likely, but Righty wasn’t interested in “not likely” right now. He knew when you’re already pushing your luck to the breaking point any avoidable small risks need to be avoided like the plague. Sure, it would take him an hour to go around Ringsetter, but that was a price he was willing to pay.

  Then, suddenly he realized he was going to have some serious making up to do as far as time was concerned. He was expected back in a couple days, and he had already spent the better part of today doing a little gardening work.

  He felt in his pockets and experienced mixed feelings as he realized he had a little Smokeless Green there. He hadn’t used it since his first time, but going off a hunch he had kept the remainder with him as well as the small measuring spoons the botanist had given Janie. He had them marked by the hour. Seeing that it was long past 1 p.m. (which the botanist had recommended as the latest time during the day when one should take it), and in fact the sun looked like it was around the 8 p.m. position, he realized that per the botanist’s advice he shouldn’t have any today.

  But this was no ordinary day. In fact, he knew perfectly well that this was a defining moment of his life, and he had no choice but to ride all night. He decided to compromise. After bringing the horses to a halt, he took out the biggest measuring spoon—the one the botanist had said corresponded to a 6 a.m. dose. He marveled at how small it was, as he was tempted to just sniff whatever could fit into his nostrils.

  Instead, he stuck the measuring spoon into the little pouch he had of Smokeless Green, pulled it out, and then sniffed.

  POWWW!!

  It hit him almost instantly, but he realized—partly to his relief—that this wasn’t like the last time, which had made him feel like he was shot out of a catapult and went flying amongst the stars. He felt a raw, powerful energy pulsating through his body and a sharp mental focus coming on. He felt more in control than he did the last time, when, frankly, he had felt a bit overwhelmed.

  “Yaaaaaa!!” he yelled out the horses and gave them a slap with the reins.

  They took off.

  He rode all night, and the next day he arrived in Sivingdel, which was northeast of Ringsetter and about a thousand times bigger. He hadn’t been there for years, the last time being for one of his major boxing matches, which had been just shortly before the fateful Oscar Peters fight.

  He arrived into the downtown area at around 8 a.m. and realized he was starting to feel pretty sleepy. That wouldn’t do. He had some tricky business ahead, and he needed to look alert and sharp, not like some half-asleep zombie that drove all night. He looked at the measuring spoons.

  The 8 a.m. spoon was just a tad smaller than the biggest spoon. What the hell—the 6 a.m. spoon suited me fine yesterday, so let’s stick with what works, he told himself, serving himself a spoonful, sticking it to his nose, and then sniffing.

  He felt the fireworks go off in his head right away, and he realized to his immense pleasure that he wouldn’t even need to look at the map again. He could see clearly in his mind all the streets he had studied on it the previous day.

  He meandered through a confusing series of disorganized streets on his wagon almost without blinking an eye, calmly taking one turn after another as if he’d traveled the route to the point of boredom. He started getting to an industrial area of the city and began to see large buildings with various company names on them. When he got to his destination, he parked in front of the building, took a deep breath, and got out of the wagon with a confident look on his face and then tied the horses.

  He walked into the office and said to the receptionist confidently, “Hello, I’m here on behalf of Roger Wilson, a retailer of Mr. Hoffmeyer’s. Mr. Wilson sent me to deliver a message to Mr. Hoffmeyer.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, ma’am, I apologize; I don’t. Mr. Wilson said I might have to wait a while but that as long as Mr. Hoffmeyer knew I was here on Mr. Wilson’s behalf he would see me.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Richard Simmers. I’m an employee of Mr. Wilson’s.”

  “Wait just a moment.”

  The pretty brunette rose from her seat and disappeared down a hallway.

  Righty went ahead and took a seat.

  The receptionist came back about ten minutes later.

  “Mr. Hoffmeyer will see you now,” she said and beckoned Righty to follow her.

  He did so, and after traversing several minutes of hallways, they arrived at a considerably large office.

  “Right in here, sir,” the receptionist said.

  “Thank you.”

  He entered.

  “Mr. Simmers, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” Mr. Hoffmeyer said, extending a hand.

  “Thank you, sir,” Righty said, grasping the man’s hand firmly and making steady eye contact.

  “I haven’t seen Roger for a while . . . you say you’re an employee of his?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, that’s great because Roger’s been an outstanding customer of mine for over a decade, and he’s a straight shooter. I understand he sent you to deliver me a message . . . .”

  “Yes, sir,” Righty began and then looked slyly over his right shoulder.

  “If it’s something delicate, I can close the door.”

  “It might be for the best.”

  Mr. Hoffmeyer closed the door.

  “It’s about the seeds you sent him.”

  “I figured it would be that, but I didn’t want to sound presumptuous. I apologize for the bad timing on that. Who would have thought it . . . legal Monday, illegal Tuesday? I thought I saw some serious potential in the sale of that product. I’m frankly rather miffed about the whole thing.

  “And it’s unconstitutional as hell too! I can tell you that! I’m tempted to keep what I’ve got from my wholesaler rather than sending it back. After all, I don’t think this law will survive a constitutional challenge. If it doesn’t violate Article 8, I’ll be d
amned!”

  Righty liked the man instantly. Not just because he happened to agree with the man’s sentiments entirely but also because the man had the guts to speak his mind.

  “Well, sir, I believe this matter is pretty straightforward then.” Roger pulled out a wad of money. “Sorry it’s in such an assortment of bills. Mr. Wilson sent me on short notice.”

  He placed them on the desk of Mr. Hoffmeyer.

  “This is payment in full for the seeds.”

  “Haaaa!”

  Righty had been about to proceed with his carefully thought-out explanation before this interruption took place.

  “Roger’s got more guts than I’ve given him credit for,” Mr. Hoffmeyer said laughing. “Let me guess—he knew these things would sell the minute they hit the shelves, and they did, but yet that’s not supposed to happen, at least not on paper. Am I right?”

  Righty forced a blush. He liked the man’s perspicacity and candor, even though he was misguided about the nature of the mischief afoot.

  “Well, Mr. Hoffmeyer, Mr. Wilson just told me to go see you, tell you the seeds were damaged, and to give you full payment for the inventory, since it was due to his negligence.

  “But, and you didn’t hear this from me, you hit the nail on the head. I unloaded the barrels of seeds myself, and they were gone within two hours. I’ve probably said too much already, but they weren’t damaged. Please don’t tell Mr. Wilson about my frankness, should you ever see him. Frankly, the subject irritates him considerably. He even told me, ‘We don’t ever talk about this again.’ He’d fire me on the spot if you even hinted to him you know what really happened.”

  While Righty was talking, Mr. Hoffmeyer was making notes in a book of some kind. “All right, Mr. Simmers, I’ve just recorded twelve damaged barrels of Smokeless Green seeds by retailer Roger Wilson, full compensation for inventory provided via his agent Richard Simmers acting on his behalf.

  “The whole thing seems pretty cut and dry to me. Am I missing anything?”

  “No, Mr. Hoffmeyer. I believe my employer will be glad to know that this has been cleared up. He expressed the concern that it might look suspicious for an item that has overnight been deemed contraband to suddenly be damaged, rather than being returned to the wholesaler or perhaps even being turned over to the police. I know he’ll be really appreciative if the subject is simply never brought up again. He’s usually such a calm guy, but he looked like the proverbial cat in a room full of rocking chairs when he was talking about this. He told me to give you this just for being so understanding about the whole thing.”

  Righty proffered a handful of falons.

  “Look, you don’t have to do that. As far as I can tell, this whole thing was a simple damaged inventory case for which the damages have been paid in full. And frankly, it was perhaps a godsend for me because had Roger returned those to me, it would have been just one more headache. My lawyers have already missed some sleep just analyzing the issue of what we should do with the Smokeless Green still here in our warehouse. Some of them think we can sue the government for compensation for any that we obtained before the law went into effect, if we can’t get a refund from our supplier.”

  Then Mr. Hoffmeyer looked at Righty with a shrewd glance, “But, in all seriousness, Mr. Simmers, I’m proud of Roger. It just goes to show some people have more guts than you would have guessed.”

  Righty gave him a warm smile and said, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Hoffmeyer.”

  “One more thing, Mr. Simmers.”

  “Sir?”

  This time it was Mr. Hoffmeyer’s turn to take a furtive glance near the door and make sure no busybody was lurking near. Once satisfied on the matter, he said in a voice so low it approached being a whisper (and in fact Righty found himself having to take a step or two towards the man to hear him): “Whoever did get those seeds may not know just how lucky he is. Although the duration of this mysterious product as a legal purchase item was quite short—I asked my supplier once about where this plant comes from, and he told me something about not asking questions so he wouldn’t have to tell any lies, and I’ve worked with this guy for years—it made quite a bang while it lasted, and I don’t think it’s going to go away just because of some law that’s not even going to pass a constitutional challenge, which I can assure you will be coming shortly, and if it doesn’t I myself might have my lawyers file a suit and request a temporary injunction against police enforcement of the law until the constitutionality of it is decided.

  “Anyway, I had a lot of Smokeless Green go out to retailers in the southwest, but it was just recently that I got these seeds. At the time, they didn’t seem to be of any particularly special value, as the Smokeless Green was arriving to me in bulk at cheap rates. However, Roger wrote me a few weeks ago and told me that if any seeds did come in to just go ahead and send him as much I could up to two dozen barrels. Well, one dozen became available, and I shipped them.”

  At this point, Mr. Hoffmeyer began to whisper, and Righty was forced to take a couple more steps closer to the man to be able to hear him.

  “Anyway, whoever bought those seeds off of Roger might soon find himself to be in high demand. After all, there might be a lot of Smokeless Green still in circulation since the law was passed so recently, but what people have bought from stores is going to get used up quick. Then, mark my words, the price is going to skyrocket, and it’s going to be black market time. And, believe me—it’s going to get huge!”

  Mr. Hoffmeyer’s eyes got huge, as if they intended to reinforce the point.

  “Now, I don’t know if the supply will get cut off. My supplier manufactures most of the goods himself, and most wholesalers in this part of Selegania get their goods from him, so either he started growing this himself or he is getting it directly from the people who do. Although he wouldn’t talk about it, I’ve heard a few rumors that this substance comes from out west, perhaps from Sogolia.

  “Anyway, since everything’s been perfectly legal up until this point, I don’t know exactly what the exporters of this product are going to do. They might decide to hell with this mess and stop shipping it here. If that happens, the Smokeless Green in circulation from retailers is going to dry up quick, and most likely wholesalers like myself won’t send retailers any more. And, although I’m going to keep my ear to the ground, I haven’t heard talk of there being a lot of seeds sold, so all of a sudden there could be one heck of a nasty drought with one lucky guy out there holding the seeds to this product.

  “Of course, there is a major wrinkle in this whole thing. Although most newspapers aren’t talking about it yet—they will sooner or later; once one does, the rest will have to fall in line or lose face—there’s actually an exemption. Get this—rich people can still use Smokeless Green under this new law! Haaaa!!!!

  “Or, as they call it: ‘gentlemen.’ Based on my income, I’m considered a gentleman, which frankly rather surprised me! I’m just a businessman; I’m no aristocrat. But get this—even a gentleman cannot sell it to anyone other than a ‘gentleman,’ and I sure as hell don’t use this stuff; so as far as I’m concerned this product may as well be completely illegal to me. I don’t think any of my retailers would qualify as gentlemen under this new law, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be worth my time selling to them alone anyway.

  “So, it remains to be seen whether this exemption for gentlemen will encourage the mysterious exporter of this product to keep sending it in, given that the available clientele will be so limited. Then, there’s the issue of whether any ‘gentlemen’ will sell this to so-called non-gentlemen in order to make an extra falon or two. Or maybe they’ll find some ‘gentleman’ wholesaler that they can legally sell it to and then wash their hands of whatever happens after that.

  “Believe me, this is going to cause more corruption in the next year or two alone than I’ve seen in my entire life put together, or this product is just going to completely go away and fade into a footnote in the history books, but I don�
��t see a chance of it falling anywhere in between.

  “Well, I’ve kept you long enough,” he said returning to his normal speaking volume. “You didn’t come here to listen to me talk about politics and economics.” Then, returning to his prior whisper one last time he stated: “But, mark my words—whoever bought those seeds is going to find out almost overnight that what he bought has increased in value a thousandfold. My gut tells me” (Mr. Hoffmeyer’s eyes grew shrewd, and a sly smile played at his lips) “he knew that, which is why he risked buying them.”

  Suddenly a hand shot out towards Righty, extended for a handshake, but the speed with which it came out caught Righty’s attention. Mr. Hoffmeyer’s booming voice was back: “Anyway, Mr. Simmers, please tell Mr. Wilson I sincerely appreciate his paying for the damaged inventory. He’s a straight shooter and a valuable client.”