The Drache Girl

by Wesley Allison

  Chapter Six: M&S Coal Company Ltd.

  “I did everything I could,” said Terrence Dechantagne. “I called for a doctor and a priest. A doctor and a priest came. It was just bad luck that he died anyway.”

  “As he was trying to shoot me at the time,” Radley Staff paused to bring the whiskey glass to his lips. “I consider it rather good luck.”

  “Bad luck for him, I meant.”

  Staff nodded.

  “Sometimes bad things just happen,” said Mr. Merchant.

  “Quite,” agreed Mr. Shannon.

  The four men sat at a small table in the first class lounge, sipping their drinks and smoking cigars. Outside, the railings had formed a thick decoration of long, pointy icicles, and the deck was rapidly becoming obscured by a white blanket of snow. The grey day was well on its way to becoming night in spite of the fact that it was only four in the afternoon.

  “Well, I do believe here comes your priest now, Dechantagne,” said Merchant.

  All four men stood up as the severe looking woman approached in a black dress. Her graying hair was pulled tightly back into a long pony tail and her lips were so thin, it seemed as though the pony tail was pulling most of the skin of her face with it. Her black dress was not a robe, not quite, and as was almost all feminine attire, it was endowed with a prominent bustle, but had no brocade or lace, just a priestly collar at her neck, and a thin strip of white running from each shoulder to the floor. She had a large and ornate golden cross on a chain around her neck.

  “Mother Linton,” said Dechantagne. “May I introduce Misters Staff, Merchant, and Shannon?”

  Mother Linton nodded to each. “May I speak to you, Mr. Dechantagne?”

  He shrugged and stepped away with the priest.

  “So what do you say about this weather, Staff?” marveled Shannon. “Whenever I think of Mallon, I think of the jungle. I never expected snow.”

  “I suppose there is a great deal of Mallon that’s tropical,” replied Staff, “but Birmisia is cool, dry, lots of pine trees. Even the summers are not too bad. That’s good from a business perspective, too. Nobody wants to muck around in swamps. That’s probably why Enclep isn’t better developed.”

  “Good man,” said Merchant. “Always keeping business in mind.”

  Dechantagne returned to the table and sat down.

  “What was that all about?” asked Staff.

  “It seems Mother Linton has been pegged by the Bishop of Brech as the High Priest of Birmisia.”

  “And?”

  “And priests are no different than anyone else. They all want something.” He waved to the waiter for another drink.

  “And what does she want?”

  “Oh, it’s all Mother Church this and Mother Church that.” Dechantagne picked up the cigar that he had left smoldering in the ashtray when he had stepped outside with Mother Linton, and he stubbed it out. Then he got up and walked out the door, intercepting the waiter for his drink along the way.

  “So, you don’t think he’s a major player?” wondered Shannon.

  “Oh, he may prove a friend to our business,” said Staff. “But make no mistake, Mrs.… his sister is the one who’s in charge.”

  “Excellent. I’m glad to see you know your way around,” said Merchant. “Have you had a chance to talk to Buttermore?”

  “The office man? I did. I didn’t have a chance to meet all of his staff, or the engineers. Shame they couldn’t be in first class.”

  “My boy, do you know how expensive that would be?” asked Shannon. “There are ten of them, and ten more family members besides.”

  “Don’t you own the ship?”

  “Yes, but that would be twenty first class passages that wouldn’t be available for sale. It’s not like we put them in steerage. Second class is very nice.” Shannon’s face was becoming pink.

  “I know it is. I myself am in second class.”

  “Indeed.”

  “We would have had you bumped up to a first class cabin if we had known,” said Merchant.

  “I don’t have enough baggage to need a first class cabin. I’m fine where I am.”

  “Very sensible,” said Shannon, his face returning to its normal rather jaundiced hue.

  “Well, Buttermore seems like a good man. He knows exactly what we need to do. I’ll handle the connections with the government and then we can get started. Of course, there’s plentiful unskilled labor.”

  “Excellent,” said Merchant. “If this all goes as well as I’m expecting it to, we’ll have to send over our short accountant to count all our money.

  The dinner bell rang and Staff said goodbye to his two employers and went to his table. The broken glass had been repaired and the dining room looked none the worse for wear. As usual, the darkly beautiful Amadea Jindra was already seated; her heavily laced white dress was a study in contrast with her dark olive skin. As Staff sat down, he noticed the plunging back left both her shoulder blades sensuously exposed.

  “Miss Jindra,” he said.

  “Good Evening, Mr. Staff.”

  The waiter brought a salad of leaf lettuce and thinly sliced fruit. It was garnished with a peach cut into the shape of a rose. A moment later, he returned with glasses of sparkling wine.

  “You must come from a wealthy family, Miss Jindra,” he said. “To be able to travel first class passage alone to Birmisia.”

  “It’s considered rude to ask a woman about her money.”

  “That is true.” He shrugged. “I’m uncouth.”

  “That’s all right. You were trying to make conversation, Mr. Staff. I think that is a move in the right direction.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re not very good at it, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I’ll wager you’ve not had to do it often.” She speared some lettuce on her fork. “I would suppose you get by mostly on your looks.”

  “Polite dinner conversation is not really a major requirement of naval service,” said Staff. “Neither are looks. But what I was really getting at is whether you might be looking for employment once we arrive in Birmisia. You’re specialty is scrying…”

  “Spying on people?”

  “Perhaps that was unfair.”

  “Perhaps,” she agreed. “I must admit that my finances aren’t what they could be. I spent everything I had for this passage.”

  “Maybe I can help then. I suppose you can use you magic abilities to search for natural resources?”

  “I can find the location of anything,” she said. “I see no reason that…coal?”

  “Yes, coal.”

  “I see no reason that coal should thwart me.”

  The waiter brought out a fine grilled sea bass, with roasted vegetables, and a crisp white wine. The dessert was vanilla ice cream, served with tea. Feeling quite full and satisfied, Staff bid good night to Miss Jindra, and made his way back to his cabin. He peeled off his clothes and hung them on the hook on the back of the cabin door, and then lay down and immediately passed into sleep.

  It was the middle of the night when knocking woke Staff up. He stepped through the darkness and opened the door, allowing the dim light of the hallway to spill inside. Matie Marchond stood outside, looking just as strikingly beautiful in her black mourning dress and veil as she had in evening clothes. She pressed her face close to his.

  “May I come in?”

  “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”

  “Just for a minute.”

  He opened the door enough for her to pass through and then closed it behind her. He found his matches in the dark and lit one of the lamps. Then he turned to face Mrs. Marchond, who was admiring his mostly unclad body.

  “I’m sorry about what happened,” she said.

  “Are you really?”

  She shrugged. “Not really, I suppose.”

  “You had your husband try to kill me.”

  “I was angry,” she said. “No woman likes to be spurned.”

>   “Yes, well…”

  “Now we can be free to enjoy each other’s company. We still need to maintain a sense of decorum, at least until I get back to Brech for the reading of the will. But we can at least continue to see each other.”

  “It’s my general understanding that when a woman tries to have you killed, the relationship has reached a downturn.”

  “I didn’t try to have you killed, not really. Raoul found out from someone that I had been to your room. I told him that you tried to seduce me, but I turned you down. I didn’t know the old idiot would try to shoot you. Still, no harm done.”

  “No harm? He’s dead.”

  “I mean no harm to you. He had been having chest pains for some time. I fully expected him to die sometime on the trip.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that he’s dead?”

  “Bother me? I’m overjoyed. I put in my time. Twelve years I’ve had to live with that old windbag and his disgusting habits. Now I’m finally free.”

  Staff nodded thoughtfully.

  “And here we are.” She turned around and presented him with the long row of shiny black buttons from the top of her neck to the top of her bustle. Staff paused for a moment. Matie Marchond was certainly beautiful. She looked back over her shoulder, and then stuck out her lip when she saw that he wasn’t reaching to unfasten her.

  “You’re not still mad at me are you?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why not? I know you find me attractive.”

  “You’re beautiful. But you no longer have the one quality that made you perfect.”

  She frowned. “And what’s that?”

  “You’re no longer married.”

  The next morning, Staff put on his reefer jacket and stood on the icy deck of the Arrow, watching the choppy ocean waves rolling past and reflecting upon the possibility that he might be cursed to know too many interesting women. It was no longer snowing, but the wind was up and it nipped at his face and hands. He looked up and down the length of the ship and saw no other passengers, only one crewmember at the very stern removing some icicles from above a cabin door. So when a voice spoke his name, he nearly jumped. He turned around to find the severe face of Mother Linton peering out of an open doorway.

  “Could you step inside for a word, Mr. Staff?” she asked. “It’s too frigid for me.”

  “Good morning,” he said, stepping inside.

  “Mr. Staff, Mother Church requires your assistance.”

  “Oh?”

  “Are you a religious man, sir?”

  “I…” He paused. “I suppose.”

  “That is good. You are returning to Birmisia to make your fortune, having served there in the navy?”

  “You seem well informed.”

  “I have spoken to a few people about you. That’s all. It’s all in the interest of the Church.”

  “And what exactly can I do for you and Mother Church?” asked Staff.

  “The church in Birmisia has been without priesthood for more than three years. I have been appointed to oversee the colony’s spiritual needs, as High Priest. And those needs are great. There is a large influx of Zaeri from all over Sumir to Birmisia. If the church had been properly represented for the past three years, then perhaps this would not be such a concern.”

  “Is it a concern?”

  “Of course it is a concern. Those who cannot accept the truth of Kafira’s message are a potential threat to our culture and our kingdom, not to mention being an affront to God, and his one true church. Birmisia is supposed to be a Brech colony, is it not? Should the Zaeri population be allowed to grow uncontrolled?” Staff watched to see if this question was rhetorical, and indeed Mother Linton continued on.

  “I tried to bring this issue up with Mr. Dechantagne, but he seemed uninterested in the problems of Mother Church. Knowing him as you do, perhaps you can tell me how to make him realize the dangerous path that the colony is treading.”

  “I doubt you will be able to make him see any such message.”

  “Why not?”

  “First of all, were you aware that his wife is Zaeri?”

  Mother Linton pursed her lips. “I had heard that she was a Zaeri. I would have thought that Mr. Dechantagne would insist upon her conversion.”

  “I doubt it. I don’t think that Mr. Dechantagne cares much for the church, or for the Crown, or the colony. I don’t think he would even be going back to Birmisia, if he did as he really wanted.”

  “But it’s his family’s stake, and he’s the head of the family.”

  “Yes, but he was badly injured in Birmisia. From what I understand, his time there was particularly trying.”

  “A man should be more resilient,” she said, and then quoted. ‘The Lord is my strength and he shall hold me up. He is my salvation and I shall praise him as God. I shall always exalt him and shall never waiver’.”

  “Odyssey 15:2.”

  “I’m glad to see you know your scriptures, Mr. Staff.”

  He shrugged. “I think that you would be best advised to speak to Mrs.… Mr. Dechantagne’s sister. She is the one in charge.”

  “I see.” Mother Linton made a face as though she were sucking on a lemon. “So she is actually serving out her appointment as royal governor. I was hoping that she was acting the part ceremonially and leaving the real duties to her brother. It’s unseemly for a woman to exercise such power.”

  “You don’t approve?” asked Staff. “I’m a bit surprised. After all, you are a woman in a powerful position yourself.”

  “I only do God’s will.” She reached out and touched his shoulder with her fingertips. “Thank you for your aid in this matter, and a blessing upon you. I do hope we will be able to speak again soon.”

  Mother Linton turned and walked down the long corridor. Staff, standing beside the door to the open deck suddenly felt chill and decided that a hot cup of tea and a shot of fortified wine might be in order. He started toward the first class lounge, in the exact opposite direction of that which the female priest had taken.

  The next several days were even colder, windier, and the waves became even larger. Staff saw few people out and about, even at meals. Indeed the dining room was almost empty and those few people who were there didn’t look as though they really wanted to be. Having been at sea since he was fifteen years old, and having weathered all manner of storm from gale to hurricane, he was not the least bothered. If anything, the cold weather fueled his appetite even more. It was well past lunch, but he was still hungry, so he decided to have tea in the common lounge, just inside from the sun deck. He found a group of people sitting at one of the large round tables in the otherwise empty room.

  He knew one of the men at the table. Edin Buttermore had been hired by Merchant and Shannon to run the office for M&S Coal in Birmisia. He was a chubby man in his late thirties with thinning golden hair, parted just above his right ear, and bright blue eyes. Staff had spoken with him several times during the past week. Today he sat wearing a rather bright blue suit, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a scone in the other. When he saw Staff, he jumped up and waved him over.

  “Mr. Staff,” he said. “What a pleasure. Please join us. There are some people here for you to meet. Everyone, this is Mr. Staff, our new boss.”

  There was one other man, along with four women at the table. The man was tall and gaunt, with a long, hawk-like nose. He was mostly bald, though the hair he did have was jet black, as was his rather cheap suit. Buttermore introduced him as Mr. Saul Rutan. The women he introduced as Mrs. Caitleen Harper, Mrs. Rosalyn Fandice, Miss Theadora Vanita, and Miss Franka Rocanna. Mrs. Harper was a sturdy looking woman in her early fifties. Though somewhat heavy, with streaks of grey in her brown hair, she had the demeanor of a woman who had once had her fair share of admirers. She wore a simple, though attractive white day dress. Mrs. Fandice was about the same age. She was thin, with tight skin stretched unflatteringly across her thin nose and sunken cheeks. Her lips were so thin that they almos
t did not exist. Her dress was so dripping in lace, brocade, and artificial flowers that it clashed with itself. Miss Vanita was a heavily built woman that looked as though she could have punched the lights out of most sailors that Staff knew. Her heavily applied make-up made her look less feminine, rather than more so, and she looked to have purchased her dress in the same store that Mrs. Fandice shopped. Miss Rocanna was quite pretty, with very dark eyes, full lips, and dark red hair cut very short. She wore a pink dress with a darker rose mock waistcoat.

  “Won’t you sit down and join us, Mr. Staff?” asked Mrs. Harper. “We were just discussing how excited we were, moving to Birmisia and starting new lives.”

  “And of course, starting a new company,” added Buttermore.

  “This looks like our entire office,” said Staff, sitting between Mrs. Harper and Mrs. Fandice.

  “Yes indeed,” said Buttermore. “I will be managing the office, with Mrs. Harper as my secretary. Mr. Rutan is the shipping manager. Mrs. Fandice is his secretary. Miss Vanita is our file clerk, and Miss Rocanna is our receptionist.”

  “Well, I’m certainly glad you’re all here,” said Staff. “Don’t we have four more employees?”

  “Oh yes, our four engineers.”

  “They usually have tea together on a forward deck,” said Miss Vanita, handing Staff a small plate with a buttered scone while Miss Rocanna poured him a cup of tea. “Though I doubt they are today with the seas as high as they are.”

  “Yes,” agreed Mrs. Harper. “Hardly anyone is up and about today.”

  “I wouldn’t be either if Mr. Buttermore hadn’t insisted,” said Miss Rocanna, and she did look slightly green around the edges of her pretty face.

  “I will want to meet with the engineers. I hope you can set that up for me Buttermore.”

  “I will be happy to.”

  “Two are married, aren’t they?”

  “They are all married,” said Mrs. Fandice. “Two are married to each other.”

  “That’s right,” said Buttermore. “Mr. and Mrs. Kane. Then there are Mr. Mouliets and Mr. Glieberman.”