Gaslight Magick

by Teel James Glenn

  Now she made sound not unlike a snort. “Why the masquerade? You should be proud of being a warrior.”

  “I am not ashamed of it,” I said. “But there must be more, eh wot?”

  “Not for me,” she said. “I am a fighter, it is what I have trained my whole life for. It is all that matters.”

  “I beg to differ,” I said. When her expression showed confusion I added, “ You serve a noble man who seeks peace; is that not something that makes your ability obsolete? And do you not embrace that idea?”

  She considered it for a moment and then nodded.

  “There is an old saying,” I continued, “that is peace time a fighter becomes a liability to society, but a warrior becomes a doctor, a farmer, a teacher. You are more than a fighter or you would not respect Lord Chichua’s wisdom; you are a true warrior.”

  The stern line of her pretty lips softened to a smile. “You are more than you seem as well, baronet.”

  “I hope,” I said, “I’m still trying to find out what exactly my place is.”

  Unbidden she beamed a bright and alluring smile at me and seemed less like a fierce warrior than a very attractive woman. “Perhaps we can help each other in the search; after all it is my lord’s will to make alliance with you English.”

  Somehow, I suspected that my adventure in Montreal would be very different than I had planned and it was not an unpleasant prospect. Had I known what was to come, I might not have been so light hearted about it all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fire in the Sky

  After our airship was re-crewed over the American city of Memphis we proceeded north with no more incident for the two-day trip to Montreal.

  I had several quiet conversations with Nenetl on the trip, which did not escape Mini’s notice. Auntie, who much admired the copper skinned warrior, contrived several times to leave me and the jaguar time to ourselves.

  I think Chichua took note as well, certainly the Lady Tozi was aware that we two were discovering ‘common’ ground.

  I tried not to pry, but was fascinated by the culture that had spawned such an exceptional warrior. “Trained from a childhood?’ I asked in the midst of our discussion.

  She was in her favourite seat by the window, her wounded leg- now stitched up and heavily bandaged. The moon was bright and the landscape below was dream like, lit in blue.

  “Yes, Baronet,” she said. “My parents were honoured when I was chosen at the yearly games when I was eight. I was a good athlete and my parents were both good and faithful people. The god’s smiled on them and me. And so I trained hard.”

  We had been sitting for a while since dinner ended. The ambassador and his wife had gone to their suite. Mini was playing billiards with Baron von Burton across the salon so that the clacking of the balls and “Yeehaw!” from my aunt punctuated the otherwise quiet of the evening.

  “How long have you been the bodyguard of Lord Chichua?” I asked. Nenetl looked at me, her smile wide and her eyes, sparkling.

  “For two years,” she said. ‘It was an honour to win the position against many of my brothers and sisters in the jaguar clan; many fought in earnest to earn the place.” Her expression darkened and I knew what she was going to say even before she started, “Which is why it is so hard to believe that Eztl-“

  “Don’t say it, Nenetl. He was human and made a bad choice; we cannot wipe out years of valiant service for one mistake. Remember the good.” That won me another smile from her and I saw her let out a breath and tension.

  We sat quietly for a bit and then she asked, “Why did you leave the service of your Queen? Did you not like the way of a warrior?”

  That caught me off guard. I think she sensed it, because she shifted in her seat to turn partway to face me, a move that made her wince. “I did not mean to offend, baronet.”

  That made me chuckle. “You do not offend, my courageous jaguar. It is just that I have been reflecting on my career in uniform myself. I was wounded out of service three years ago.” I tried to keep my voice calm but I am sure my recollections of the time in hospital coloured my tone.

  “I was with my boys on patrol in the Kush when we were attacked by Punjabi rebels in Russian employ. We were outnumbered by ten and out gunned, they had the high ground. My boys were taking heavy fire.”

  As I started to tell her I realized that I had done my best not to think or talk about the incident for years. Years I had spent in gambling or gadding about town, much to Mini’s disgust.

  “I couldn’t have that,” I continued, “so I and one of my Seneca scouts circled the attackers’ emplacement. Guyasuta was killed in a cannon explosion that wounded me, knocked me bloody right out, but when I woke I managed to make it to the emplacement and took the fellows to task. I was a bit out of sorts from that and decided to retire.”

  “Don’t listen to his hogwash, girl,” Aunt Mini interjected. I had not noticed her standing nearby, the baron having left the salon.

  “Mini-“

  “Quiet, nephew,” she said.

  Nenetl scowled at me. “You would tell me an untruth?” She spoke to me in a sharp tone and for a moment I thought the Aztec maid would launch herself at me.

  “He sure is,” Mini said. “He done almost got his fool head shot off-- took pieces of bomb casing in his whole side, got his scalp opened like a Choctaw raiding party been at him and then killed twelve of those jabber fellas with just a sabre and a pistol.”

  “Mini-”

  “Then he turned the dang cannon himself and blew the Hail Columbia out of two other cannon nests while they were trying to do the same to him with shot and shell raining all around him. Saved his whole patrol.”

  “Mini-“

  “And got his self a Victoria Cross for it! Spent near six months in hospital on his back while they picked pieces of metal out of his hide. So don’t be thinking he up and quit cause he was a coward. No Grey, ‘specially none I raised, ain’t no coward.”

  With that Mini stepped over to me, kissed me on the forehead and said, “’night kids, don’t get into too much mischief.” Then she headed off out of the salon leaving us alone.

  There was an uncomfortable silence for a time.

  “Nenetl--” I started but then she cut me off. I was beginning to think I would never finish a sentence again.

  “No, baronet,” she said. “No need to speak, warriors should act, not speak and we are both warriors.” With that she leaned forward to kiss me.

  Then, with some athletic accommodation for our injuries, mischief ensued.

  ***

  Apparently teleglass and telegraph reports of our air battle had preceded us from Memphis so that by the time we reached Montreal we onboard the Pride of Prussia were celebrities.

  Healers, a troop of Dominion Police, a United States Marshal, a delegation from the Mexhican trade legation, a large party from Baron Von Burton’s company, the Prussian ambassador’s entourage, the Mayor of Montreal, a slew of reporters from the wire services and a fair sized crowd of the public were all on hand to greet us. It was a bit overwhelming even in light of the battle we had had on the airship.

  There were many photos, some speeches and then Nenetl and myself were husbanded into a horse drawn ambulance to be taken to hospital. The baron opted to go to his company headquarters first to make arrangements for the disposition of the Prussia going forward.

  “I will be by to see to your care shortly,” Ambassador Chichua said to us in the ambulance. “And again, blessed Nenetl and you, Baronet Grey, you have the deepest thanks, both personally and of the Sacred Empire.”

  Mini wanted to ride with us, but I convinced her to accept the mayor’s invitation to dinner.

  “I’m fine, Mini,” I said. “You sewed me up from worse when I fell out of Lord Wentworth’s loft. The mayor will be terribly disappointed if he can’t show you off.”

  She chuckled. “Okay, nephew. Go and get fixed up and I’ll see you at the hotel.” She looked over at Nenetl and smiled her warmest s
mile. “You heal up good, you rip-snorter of a gal and try not to damage him any more than he is already.”

  The Aztec girl actually blushed. After the previous night’s activity, I hadn’t thought that was possible.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Interlude on Ice

  The female Jaguar-bodyguard for Ambassador Chichua was as tender and giving in bed as she had been ferocious and fatal in battle.

  It was a delightful fact that mesmerized and almost destroyed me.

  A local Merlinian trained healer had worked on her leg wound for the last two weeks, so that she made a remarkably speedy recovery after our pitched battle on the dirigible. That healer had given her the okay for ‘strenuous activity’ less than a week after our arrival in Montreal. She seemed to have taken the diagnosis as a challenge and tested my stamina as a consequence.

  For much of the last week her brown skin had contrasted with my pale British flesh in an endless tableau. It was no wonder I was still in a state of delightful euphoria as we stepped into the near blinding sunlight of the Rue Peel.

  “I don’t understand why the weather mages don’t do something about this infernal white stuff and the damp cold here in Montreal,” I said, blinking at the reflected sunlight of the fresh snowfall. We were both bundled up in bearskin coats and beaver hats, looking like furry creatures.

  Nenetl giggled like a schoolgirl at the snow. We headed into Parc Mont Royal for her to play in the snow.

  “But it is so beautiful!” She said as she scooped it up and juggled the fluffy snow like it was a living thing.

  “You’ve never seen it before?” I asked. I was smiling so hard to see this fiercesome warrior so delighted that my face hurt seeing her play with it.

  “Of course I have seen it on the mountains in my homeland, and seen paintings of it,” she said as if I were a simpleton, “But I have never actually been in it!”

  It was even more of a delight to see her squeal with glee at the sight of the ice skaters on the man-made Beaver Lake on the top of the hill in the centre of the park.

  The steambots had cleared a path into the park already, despite a storm fall of the night before. Beaver Lake had been cleared for the skaters who had already flocked to the glassy surface, following their own puffs of frosty breath around the ad hoc rink.

  “To think that people can actually stand on water and slide around on it-” she said.

  “It is ice,” I pointed out, “ and it is called skating.” That drew a wrinkled nose scowl at me and she stuck out her tongue in a schoolyard gesture.

  Though we were watching the skaters while dressed in layers enough to pass for polar bears the locals were considerably less encumbered. I had endured the cold of the Crimea and had been raised with the damp cold of English winters, though wet they were never quite so snowy, but Nenetl was in her glory at the newness of it all.

  The shadow of a cargo airship passed overhead, crawling along the whiteness of the snow heading east and intersecting with the shadow of a passenger ship heading west that floated low over the hill. Both ships moved lumbering speed as the cold air constricted the gasbags within.

  “I know what ice and ice skating are, Baronet Grey,” she said with a girlish giggle. “But it is still so amazing to see it all in person.” She had elongated earlobes that were visible beneath her beaver hat from which dangled Jade orbs. The gold ring in her nose caught the light and glinted, contrasting with the reddened tip of her nose from the cold.

  The caste system in her culture was such that, even though we had been intimate she never called me by my Christian name, Athelstan, outside of the boudoir. It was all the more astounding to me that she allowed for our intimacy, though I imagined she viewed me more as a warrior--having seen me fight-- than a nobleman, like the ambassador she was sworn to protect.

  Her Lord had visited us in hospital before he had to go to Ottawa for secret meetings with my Prince Edward and we had not seen him since then. He was returning to the city that very evening to a formal dinner with Prince Edward where, we both hoped, a signed treaty would be announced.

  “Would you like a hot chocolate?” I asked as we strolled along the edge of the lake watching the graceful locals whiz around the frozen surface. They were as nimble and swift as dancers and really quite impressive.

  Nenetl would have readily attempted to skate if her leg was still not bothering her, and I was just as glad we did not take to the ice-- any illusion she had of me as a dashing hero would have fallen when my posterior hit the ice -– I was terrible on skates.

  “Hot chocolate would be perfect,” she said. “Though I think I am becoming used to the tea you drink each afternoon as well.”

  “Well, it is one of the birth rights of the Albion Empire,” I said, “Having our afternoon tea- but for occasions like this, when I am freezing my noble nose off, Swiss chocolate is an acceptable substitute.”

  I walked to a kiosk where a jolly, bearded fellow, in what looked to be a light jacket, was selling warm mugs of the dark drink. I purchased two tankards from him and handed one to Nenetl, who held the drink under her chin to inhale the fumes.

  We stood in a little roofed shelter off to the side of the lake to watch the skaters, enjoying a wordless commune while the drinks warmed us inside. Couples strolled by, the locals seemingly immune to the chilled air, or perhaps simply warmed internally by the beauty of the scene.

  After a time she said, “Do you think your Prince Edward will sign the treaty with Lord Chichua?” she asked.

  It was the first time she had mentioned the reason for her trip to Montreal in several days. Ambassador Chichua had spent the week meeting with much of the movers and shakers of Canada, as much a cultural ambassador as a trade emissary.

  Two new Iroquois guards now traveled with him, men who had been posted at the legation previously; duly sworn in with a religious ceremony that I was honoured to attend.

  Thus Nenetl had been given license to spend recovery time and felt less guilt about not being able to protect her lord. And thus my pleasant exhaustion.

  Now the ambassador was to meet openly with Prince Edward that night for the state dinner that was to be given in honour Our Crown Prince who was visiting the provinces.

  “It is hard to say,” I said, sipping my hot chocolate as if it were the tastiest of single malt. “It would certainly be an advantage to your empire to have the Albion Navy keeping an eye out for the pirates preying on your shipping, and give the navy the bases in the south they have wanted for a long time on the isthmus - but-”

  “But?” She held her cup up and let the warm fumes heat her chilled cheeks.

  “It will depend whether the concessions Prince Edward can get for any help will be approved by all the factions in your own government.”

  “Like that naval base on the mainland?” She said, “ I believe that my people will accept Lord Chichua’s proposals; even those who have opposed him will come to see he is right.”

  “It is to be hoped so,” I observed then shrugged. “But the Pendragon line are known to be hard negotiators as well so nothing is a surety.”

  She blew on the drink and sipped it in deep thought. Her charcoal eyes sparkled with intelligence and her brow furrowed with thought. “I wish Lord Chichua had let me go to the negotiations; but I understand that I would not have been very useful should his or his wife’s life been threatened.” I could see she was reproaching herself for not being in full fiddle and was not about to have that.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Snow Devils

  “You really should stop worrying about Lord Chichua’s security, Nenetl,” I said. “Your trade legation here supplied those Iroquois guards. They are sworn to protect the ambassador and his wife with their lives-- “I saw her eyes and so quickly added, “they are not jaguars, true, but the Iroquois Federation has good relations with your Empire and they are noble warriors-- I know, I fought with a full regiment of them in the Crimea against the Russians.”

  I saw a look of c
onfusion flash across her face and I think welcomed the chance to divert the conversation. “I still wonder at how you were in the army yet you are a nobleman.”

  “It is believed that all must do their part in the Albion Empire, Nenetl,” I said with a smile. “Noble birth in my country does not excuse one from serving, though there is some concern that many positions were purchased rather than earned until recently; I worked for my commission and spent several years in India and the Middle East doing detached duty for some of that to serve the Foreign Office besides my actual time in battle.”

  She gave a little giggle again, an endearing thing in so self possessed a woman. “Even though I have seen you fight and there is no doubt you are a warrior, I still can not imagine a dandy like yourself in a uniform.”

  “I looked rather splendid, I will have you know,” I said as I straightened up to full Sandhurst posture. We were in a little hollow, just below the crest of the hill, partly hidden from the sight of the skaters. I took an elaborate, old-fashioned bow for Nenetl, feeling quite giddy. “Though I did miss the silk and lace when in kit,” I announced.

  She laughed at my gesture and I laughed with her, completely lost in the moment, lulled into unawareness, which is, of course, the moment the brigands attacked!

  I can only conclude that my enchantment with Nenetl had clouded my senses and befuddled my survival instincts, else how could I ever explain, least of all to my Aunt Minerva, that I failed in my gentlemanly duties and allowed common ruffians to waylay us?

  The attackers appeared, literally in an eye-blink as they threw off cloaks of concealment. They were forbidden magicks that only ‘Rounders were supposed to have access to under court order anywhere in the Empire or Commonwealth. Somehow the men had obtained them, however so that where there had been only the bare bushes and trees of the park five husky men abruptly appeared all around us.