City of Suleyman Khan
Azhistan
April 1005 NE
Now what could you say of this city? It was of course not at all a pleasant place, lacking the size and vibrant nature of Ghazni, as well as all the shrines of course for Ghazni was ever known as a great pilgrimage site. What it did have were tens of thousands of souls packed into far too small an area, their sandaled feet trampling the unpaved streets, and everyone gazing cautiously at his neighbour as if wondering if a betrayal was in store.
With so much misery and so many new people, many of them drawn by the power or menace of Suleyman Khan, who could notice another filthy beggar wandering the streets with an equally dishevelled youth to help him? It seemed that every street corner had some beggar, often a quite pitiful creature lacking one or more limbs or else seeming afflicted with some loathsome disease that required him to wrap up his parts in long grey rags with blotches of inflamed skin visible beneath them. They would sit sometimes on a common carpet or blanket, sometimes on the ground or in a small wagon and cry out their chant.
"Alms! Alms! Alms for the Poor and the Needy!"
"Alms for a cripple!"
"Alms for the blind!"
"Alms for the sick! Money for ointments for our inflamed skin!"
In truth there seemed to be more beggars here than in any other city or village that Whitcomb had seen, and when he asked Hasan the youth whispered back "Yes Sir, many beggars, this is a wicked city."
They found an available corner in a decrepit but still quite busy part of the city. Here as elsewhere in the city buildings were two stories high at most and made from brick covered with whitewash or mortar. Of course here as elsewhere the wall covering had begun to peel off I flakes revealing the brick beneath, and near the ground splotches of mud and age had long since discoloured the walls.
The odd pair got dirty looks from some, but they also received several daniks small copper coins which well willing passers by dropped into Whitcombs wooden bowl, indeed Hasan's sweet entreaties "Oh Lord I conjure thee by Allah, give a coin to my old uncle struck dumb and deaf!" occasioned one smiling merchant in native rich garb to give a dirham which is a small silver coin roughly a tenth of an ounce.
After a while however they decided to move from their spot since it did little good to be there and they saw little of any particular note, except for one thing; something that played out whenever a party of armed warriors of the Sultan, for this was how Suleyman Khan now styled himself, was seen, for they were scarcely deserving of being called soldiers. Indeed they were dressed in native garb but also carrying bandoliers filled with shiny cartridges, big scimitars by their side, and one of the automatic rifles by their side with little else to distinguish them from common rabble.
They would walk in large groups lording it over the natives, while he stood by his corner Whitcomb could see many cases where they would walk by some shop or other and extract monies from the shop owner; or else callously pushing bystanders around lording over them while laughing and shouting boisterously. It seemed impossible that a people so savage and freedom loving as the Azhistani would take such treatment, but most seemed to shrug resignedly and move on, though many others gave evil sideways looks to the passing warriors.
When they made the rounds of the bazaar begging from the merchants there Whitcomb was surprised to notice the wide selection of goods that could be found but also the alacrity with which the most precious merchandise seemed to vanish under the table the moment that a soldier was spotted in the distance. Here then was another count against them.
It was now, in the bazaar, that they saw another thing that interested Whitcomb greatly, for as they were walking around the Bazaar begging from the merchants there was suddenly a cry "MAKE WAY! MAKE WAY!" in the distance, and moments later Hasan pulled Whitcomb out of the way. Pushing through the crowd was a group of the local fighters each wielding long thick wooden staffs with which they pushed people out of the way, or else struck them so hard that they were thrown away. Their garb was though somewhat finer than that of the rest, their turbans made from a bright coloured material, their baggy native trousers whole and solid, and their jackets and blouses though baggy gave a hint of concealed chain-mail vests beneath.
These guards, for he perceived they were clearing the way for someone important, were walking line a abreast through the street clearing the path, and behind them, also surrounded by guards, were a magnificent palanquin carried by eight sturdy slaves. Oh this palanquin was a wonder, for the entrances to the palanquin was concealed by thick gold embroidered silken drapes, and there were small windows back and front carved into it like a grille but pattern was elaborate and magnificent. Yet there was more for it was uncommonly large easily large enough for six people to recline within, and yet it seemed light enough for eight men to carry easily despite the gilded carrying poles and the heavily decorated sides.
Whomsoever was within this palanquin they were not popular among the natives who saw them as yet another misfortune, and you might hear words like "O Allah grant us deliverance from these Heathens!" drifting like a whisper in the aftermath of their passing, but always so that you couldn't tell who said it for the people were greatly frightened of them and did not show them any open disrespect.
Watching the Palanquin advance Whitcomb saw that it went straight up the road towards Suleyman Khans palace. Being curious and seeing that the Palanquin moved slowly he decided upon following the palanquin, nor was he the only beggar to do so for a couple more also followed it perhaps hoping for largesse from whatever noble lay within.
As they watched it ascend towards the palace they entered a large public square flanked towards the South by the Mosque and towards the North by the public baths, but here then a most unusual sight greeted them: For though the Palace and the Public Baths were both in good shape, and lavishly decorated, the mosque had fallen into disrepair with its paint peeling and pieces of the mosaics broken off.
"By the Prophet, Peace be Upon Him, how could this be?" Hasan whispered in a shocked tone of voice after seeing what seemed to be near desecration in his eyes; especially when you looked upon the splendid masonry of the palace decorated as it were with magnificent blue glazed tiles and elegant arches stretching across the façade and behind that two elegant raised domes one large and one small; or if you looked upon the bath house here too there were fine arches in the Mohammedan keyhole like style leading into the baths, though it lacked the expensive glazed tiles on the exterior, and steam rose from it too revealing that a great fortune was spent in firewood.
So with the wealth of the master of the city clear it was a shock to see the Mosque empty and decrepit, oh certainly it was not wrecked deliberately but rather allowed to decline. It has an impressive dome rising from it, and two tall minarets which oddly enough were part of the main building rather than freestanding, both of them towered oh so high above all the other buildings in the city. It was ever thus in an Mohammedan city buildings with tall walls to prevent outsiders from peering in, and the mosque standing tall above all other buildings with none permitted to exceed it.
Upon the palace the persistent beggars were rewarded, for as the palanquin approached the gates the captain of the guards that surrounded it approached the palanquin and received from within, though no one saw from whom, a small purse of monies. This captain then, who was a handsome dark man, tall and athletic, with a dark beard and dark eyes like an ancient pool he approached the beggars and reaching into the purse gave to each a single Dirham bidding them "Go now and be satisfied!" Whitcomb too received a Dirham, for which he bowed graciously and made gestures of thanks. He and Hasan then retired from the scene as the palanquin was escorted into the palace, and passed from the eyes of common men.
Walking down the alley they pondered where to head next but their feet naturally carried them down from the palace towards the mosque, which should by any means be the natural meeting place of the city.
Entering the mosque they left their sandals in the small niches on the inside wall, there were basically no other footwear there right now, and when they came inside the mosque they found that it was indeedalmost empty, outside of the prayer times this might be understandable but the decrepitude of the interior mirrored that of the outside. The Minbar, the pulpit of the mosque, was still lavishly decorated with semi-precious gems, and the Mihrab the sacred niche indicating the ritual direction of Mecca, that too was still untouched. Yet the rest of the mosque was a filthy place like it had not been swept out in ages, there was a scent of stale urine, and there was no sense of it being a great place of worship.
There were but two men inside the mosque's prayer hall, neither of them seemed to be the local imam, one of them lay sleeping upon a plain carpet that he had spread out on the ground, in his filthy torn garb he seemed like a common beggar seeking some shelter. It was the other man that seemed interesting, an elderly man with a long white beard and a white turban, and a long white robe too, he had made up a small fire over which he had a pot of some well smelling soup that he was letting simmer while slowly stirring it.
"Salaam Aleikum" he called as the pair approached him.
Hasan bowed and returned the greeting "Aleikum Salaam, O Sheikh, I am Hasan al-Ghazni, this is my uncle Ibrahim al-Ghazni who is deaf and a mute," he said in a most humble and pleasing way.
"And I am Harun al-Ahraam," he said, then he casually dipped his large wooden ladle into the soup and tasted it.
"Oh Sheikh, forgive me, but are you the Imam of this mosque," Hasan asked as they began to approach the strange wizened man.
"There is no Imam here," Harun said "Nor any Mullahs, for they found the clime most inhospitable and vile, a few of them caught a disease of the throat."
"A disease of the throat O Sheikh?" Hasan asked curiously "What disease is that?"
"A very contagious one that cuts of the breath and affects men who speak against the friends of the Sultan," Harun replied shaking his head "It is a most curious and peculiar disease for which there is no certain fail safe other than going to healthier climes."
"Oh..." Hasan said, his eyes going very round.
"Do you want some soup? You seem quite famished, and it's good soup," Harun held up his large wooden ladle filled with steaming hot soup.
After they both assented to the soup and gave thanks for his hospitality, Harun walked over and woke the sleeping beggar who looked around confused before he brought his carpet to sit along with the others. They all sat down on their carpets and had their wooden bowls filled with hot soup, it smelled good from the spices and vegetables floating around in it, and amongst those there were a few pieces of meat.
While they ate Harun entertained them all with amusing stories and anecdotes about a man called Nasruddin, and soon Hasan and the beggar laughed greatly while Whitcomb smiled mystified as he could not understand a word, but thereby playing the deaf man far better than if he was simply pretending not to hear.
After eating Harun was kind enough to tell them "There is no Imam, but sometimes I lead the prayers, we have no Muazzin either but... the Faithful know when it is time for prayer."
"How can this be? Is this not the Dar-al-Salaam!" Hasan asked shocked, but the beggar seemed frightened at this question.
"We are in the House of Peace, but we have here in our city a house of war," Harun said quietly "O ye Fateful take not protectors among the Christians or the Jews, for they are but protectors for themselves," he muttered as he began to pack down his pot and stamp out the fireplace. Of course Whitcomb not speaking the language did not hear any of this before later.
Whitcomb and Hasan now gave their thanks for the meal, and got up to explore the mosque a bit further, and now they made an interesting discovery. The mosque was built like most mosques on Azhistan with a large prayer hall, a pulpit and the Mihrab the prayer niche, but in the rear there were several arches supported by columns and above this there lay a gallery of sorts. There was a stairway into this gallery, and Hasan whispered "Sir, it is the womans gallery."
Looking at the dusty dirty stairs Whitcomb scratched his beard for a moment "No one has been here in ages, they must keep the women away."
"It is pious of women to pray at home," Hasan said, then he frowned a bit and added "If the soldiers bother women that come to pray, then their family would keep them away, but this would be most impious."
"Piety doesn't bother these people," Whitcomb whispered "Let us find the way to the minarets, they would give us a good view of the entire city."
After a few moments of searching they found a brass hinged wooden door, it seemed to have been a long time since anyone had opened it. Whitcomb kneeled down next to the door and studied the lock, it looked quite sturdy but had a keyhole so big that he could easily get a finger inside if "Pfft," he said dismissively as he pulled out a narrow blade from inside of his scruffy robe and slid it into the lock. After a few moments of fumbling there was a satisfying cliiiiick and he peered at Hasan whispering "I could probably have picked this with my finger."
They now entered a narrow winding staircase, the steps of which were covered in dust, and the path to the top was also covered in cobwebs barely visible in the light peering in from the tiny window slits. Whitcomb stopped briefly to close the door behind him and lock it again, and then they ascended the minaret tower to the top.
At the top they soon found the spot where the Muazzin would normally stand, it gave an unbelievable view of the city, but most specifically of the main square and its surroundings. Here then they had a most exquisite view of the Sultans palace, or Suleyman Khans palace rather, and from this perch you could peer down into the gardens surrounding the palace and even into some of the windows. Surprised by this good fortune, but also keen to avoid detection, they remained out of sight while Whitcomb scanned the buildings ahead with his powerful binoculars.
"By Jove! Not for all the world could I have purchased such a perch," Whitcomb muttered as he zoomed in on one of the gardens next to the Sultans palace. There were in truth two palaces, one with twin domes belonging to the Sultan, and another somewhat to the side belonging to his Vizier. In this garden he saw something very interesting, very interesting indeed, there was a man in fine native garb with an elaborate blue robe with embroidered flowers on it, a blue turban with peacock feathers in it, and equally blue trousers; but the more interesting thing was the two men with him both of whom wore dark green uniforms with prominent red stars on them. They were sitting on a marble bench talking to one another, and Whitcomb wished he was a mage to hear what they were saying, but at the very least he now had a good observation spot.
Of course there wasn't much to see, there were alas a dearth of nubile harem girls frolicking in the park, at least when outsiders were there, but he could see some domestic scenes inside the palaces though only in fits and glances too. After a while it got tiresome though, and Whitcomb satisfied himself with impressing to his memory everything that he had seen before carefully once more hiding his binoculars inside his robes and they then descended.
Outside the downstairs door Whitcomb gently halted Hasan before kneeling down and producing a small mirror, he carefully angled it and peered till he was sure that no one was outside and then he picked the lock once more before they scurried back into the main hall.
Once this was done there was only two places left to check on, the two places where all gossip is exchanged in any Azhistani city, aside from the Bazaar, and that was of course the Inns and the Public Baths. Alas the public baths were possibly out of bounds for Whitcomb who would run a very real chance of his uncircumcised nature being revealed and this he was not willing to risk.
Hasan however had no such risk to run, and could perchance go there aside running the risk of being mistaken for a bumboy, "But Sir," he pleaded "When men speak to a pretty boy they say things they should not to impress him of their importance, and I could gather information without impropriety Sir." Though Whitcomb did not approve entirely he gave his assent before finding a place to wait until Hasan returned.
He missed quite a delightful event for there is nothing quite like the Public Baths in a Mohammedan city for therein there is much delight with warm and cool baths, steam room, fine marble decorations and much gossip for it is a great social place as well. It was thus a long time before Hasan returned, and in the meantime Whitcomb lay down on a mat in the Mosque half asleep.
In the back of his mind he noticed footsteps coming closer, he instinctively woke up but feigned to still be asleep, they were footsteps from someone wearing footwear even inside the mosque damnation he thought as he wondered who it might be. There's a trick to looking without seeming to open your eyes, you look through your eyelashes but for a man there is little he can see this way even if his head is leaning forward making the task a little easier. He saw glimpses of boots, the lower piece of a bandolier, swinging down was the stock of a rifle damnation he thought again.
Moments later someone screamed into his ear, it was a loud yell sounding something like "YAAAHAHAHAA!" he did not stir a muscle, pretending not to notice it one little bit. There was a second scream and someone laughed, then apparently Harun arrived and said something which Whitcomb did not understand, something which caused much mirth but also a minor scuffle.
The next sound however was much more ominous cliiiiick half reminding him of the sound that the doorlock had made but he knew what it really was, this was an automatic rifle being loaded. Long shallow breaths now, as if he was firm asleep just a poor deaf man unable to hear a thing even though he could sense the barrel being near him and hear the laughter of the other fighters.
K-THNK the sound of the rifle being fired was unbelievably loud and he almost broke character, the noise echoed through the mosque and his hears rang like the chimes of heaven went off inside of them. Then bits of mortar and dust fell into his face, he stirred softly and made half grunting sounds as he brushed his face, then he sneezed from the dust part a real sneeze part faking it and his eyes shot open to reveal that a smoking barrel was aimed at him.
Whitcombs eyes shot wide open and his mouth opened too, the perfect image of a beggar being woken up to seeing men with guns threatening him. They yelled something at him but he patted his ears and then his mouth and shook his head, repeating it over and over till they started laughing, at which point he smiled and nodded wildly. Then they started saying things, which Whitcomb judged to be insults, but they kept smiling so he did so as well.
Eventually they tired of their sport, or the yells from the few other people in the mosque, Harun in particular, persuaded them that the fun was over. One of them though seemed to take pity on him and threw him three daniks which Whitcomb snatched up with alacrity something which caused yet more laughter as the warriors walked away. Vile wretches the lot of you he thought even as he leaned up against the wall, seemingly too terrified to fall back asleep.
Sometime just before the afternoon prayers Hasan returned, they found a private spot to speak a little and Hasan whispered "Sir, I've found something you may like the fellow who troubled you at the gates is known, I did not have to pry before people spoke for he is a wicked man who uses his position to do wicked things." Hasan looked around nervously and then added "blackmailing merchants and having his way with a young woman whose decrepit husband is too weak to stop it!"
"What news is here," Whitcomb said "Then again a man who beats cripples can be relied upon to be wicked in other ways too..."
"A man who loses his fear of the Almighty," Hasan said "Who knows what he can do?"
"True, true, the godless are like a plague upon the world, but we O Hasan," Whitcomb said with a smile "Shall effect at least one cure tonight, if we are lucky."
It was then time for prayer, finding their place near the back of the assembly as the richer merchants pushed to the fore Hasan and Whitcomb could still observe them. Harun led the prayers, and in this he was quite skilled and did the task better than most Imams, or so Hasan would claim later on. However the way they looked at the few men of the Sultan that were present, the dark looks, the sullen mood, and the way that even a brief sermon, on the subject of not being one of the transgressors, would make people stir uneasily. Whitcomb wondered if this Suleyman Khan realised that only the weapons of his allies kept him place most likely he does at that. Then once the prostrations and prayers were complete everyone left leaving the mosque empty aside from a few beggars who found shelter here during the evening.
In the evening the pair went outside once more, wondering how to deal with the officer from the gates, sneaking through the shadows they found a vantage point outside the married mans house and there they waited. They had found a dark alcove with some trees that thus gave them much cover, and as night came they became quite invisible. As luck would have it they need not wait for too long for the officer to arrive, and now the events became most peculiar, for he stood outside a wall and began to whistle and suddenly a rope was thrown over the wall which he then climbed with great alacrity.
"Here then is our luck," whispered Whitcomb "If he takes the same route back as he did, so let us see if there is some good spot there."
Luck was with them that night once more, for they found an alley, not too narrow mind but abandoned at this time of the night, through which their man must by necessity pass. Whitcomb studied it carefully and then he could smile "Hasan, go onto my shoulders and loosen some stones from that roof over there."
"Yes Sir," Hasan said as he climbed on top of Whitcombs shoulders, then he recovered several stones from the roof pulling at them in a spot where they were weak.
Whitcomb picked one of the rocks, and then they found hiding places along the route, but now alas they had to wait for the longest time for apparently the lady was not pleased with simply deceiving her husband in his very home, but she desired the time to fete her lover as well. Yet eventually they heard footsteps upon the pavement and they clutched the wall as the man came walking down the alley apparently quite satisfied with himself.
Oddly enough he stopped and looked down upon the roof tiles when he reached the place that Whitcomb was in ambush, and his head turned slightly as Whitcomb moved but it was alas far too late! There was a soft thud as the roof tile smacked into his head and he collapsed onto the street.
Moments later Whitcomb kneeled next to him and quickly searched him, there wasn't much of value on him and Whitcomb initially avoided taking any items of any value but instead concentrated on the papers he might be carrying. These then were not many, there were a couple of letters which smelled sweetly of perfume and which Whitcomb presumed to be love letters, but what was interesting was some forebodingly professional looking documents part printed and part written by hand.
"Sir, we should not tarry!" Hasan said nervously.
"Do urchins strip bodies in this city?"
"Of course Sir, they do this everywhere yes?"
"Good, then no one will notice if we start early on this one," Whitcomb said as he quickly removed several objects from the dead officer and this time he took the love letters too studying their paper and finding the quality to be near identical to that of the papers. He quickly folded them up and then finding a nearby lit lamp, surprising even in a good part of town, he showed the papers in letting them burn enough that only a few fragments of paper remained and now the thief, having found the papers to be worthless, burns them leaving behind only a few scraps.
Then the two of them vanished into the night carrying their ill-gotten gains, and leaving the body of the officer to be picked clean by the youngsters when they snuck out in the early morning. There would of course be an investigation, but Whitcomb had high hopes that it would leave no evidence that might hurt the validity of the papers he had acquired.
They didn't go back to the mosque, fearful that someone might notice their late return and put it in connection with the death of the officer, instead they found a secluded spot to sleep suitably far away from any thoroughfares and there they spent the rest of the evening. The next day they woke early and Whitcomb roused Hasan whispering "Time for the morning prayers," then they both headed for the mosque.
Once there they attended the prayers once more, and performed them with the serenity and honest of two men who had done their duty to Almighty Allah, for as Hasan would later say "Jehad is for the locals now Sir." They decided against leaving on that very day, for the simple reason that it might look most suspicious, instead they spent the day at beggary and prayer.
During the next few days they heard a few more rumours, and Whitcomb confirmed that the minaret was a most excellent perch to spy upon the palace, but aside from this they learned nothing of particular value. This did then sadden Whitcomb a bit, but he was delighted to find that the death of the officer was judged to be an accident, and aside from an outraged quest for the villains that stripped him of his very clothes there were no repercussions.
Two days after that again a filthy dirty beggar and his helping boy wandered out the South gate, none of the guards recognised him from when he went in but they levelled some abuse on him all the same. They wandered down the dirt road along with many other wanderers, some beggars, some merchants, some just struck with wanderlust, and behind them the walls of Suleyman Khans city slowly vanished...
Pendleton Fic: Allan Whitcomb's Adventure in Azhistan
Moderator: LadyTevar
Another great chapter 
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Allan Whitcomb's Adventure in Azhistan Part XIII
The Geode Mines
Azhistan
April 1005 NE
It was a hillside in the dry, parched Azhistani highlands, it was perhaps five to seven miles away from the City of Suleyman Khan and the relatively lush area directly around the river lush, well. This however was quite different, as if a little piece of hell had been spat up to Earth and left to fester, as he saw it he muttered an old verse that came to his mind for some reason.
"Ransacked the centre, and with impious hands
Rifled the bowels of their mother Earth
For treasures better hid. Soon had his crew
Opened into the hill a spacious wound,
And digged out ribs of gold..."
There really wasn't any better way of describing it the mine itself consisted of two large drifts opened in the side of the hill, large openings supported by heavy stone pillars. At first it puzzled him that these people, obviously not too concerned with the quality and safety of the mine, would use such an expensive method for shoring up the walls and roof, but immediately he realised that timber and wood of any type would be expensive here whereas rock was cheap and plentiful.
Another thing that was evidently cheap and plentiful were the workers, their quarters consisted of low and small houses made from roughly carved rock and sun dried brick, all of which were of noticeable worse quality than any that Whitcomb had seen before. Here and there tiny streams of smoke escaped from cut holes in the roofs, surrounding the houses there were the odd woman carrying water or wood, looking about nervously and scurrying into cover as one of the guards came near.
Other evidence of foul treatment was of course clear from the scaffold, Whitcomb didn't know if that was the right word for her were a row of men tied to chairs and then slowly garrotted before being left there with signs tied around their necks. Their clothes were filthy and ragged, and though they were puffed up now and slightly bloated Whitcomb wondered how ragged and hungry they had looked in life.
There was of course also a whipping post, a simple pole with a pair of manacles at the top for restraining prisoners, the ground around it was a rusty brown suggesting frequent and brutal usage. There was no evidence of other devices, which made sense though novelist liked to talk about dozens of means of torture professionals accepted that beatings and whippings were the simplest and most effective.
From what he could see of the other workers, the ones visible above ground, he realised that treatment of the workers here seemed quite harsh as many of the workers moving rock around in large baskets or carrying it out from the mines, seemed very worn indeed. Wrapped around their legs were long leggings of a dull grey or brown cloth, from the way many of them walked Whitcomb could almost smell the gangrene and other infections, and their clothes were equally wretched. Yet though they were skinny they didn't look too emaciated, this of course made sense since you cannot get work out of starvelings, but it could also be that they were recent captives.
Turning his attention back to the mine itself he studied the groups of men carrying the baskets up from the mines, the procedure was interesting as each time they came up with a basket they would pour it into a trough of sorts where a group of men with chisels would begin to treat the materials. Every now and again they would pry loose a bright green stone from the matter, a stone that would at once be taken away by some scowling guard or other.
Which brought him to the guards, the camp was relatively well guarded with a tall wooden guard tower in each corner surrounding it, and in each tower there sat a machine-gunner. The entrance to the camp was protected by another pair of wooden towers with a walkway above the gate itself linking the two together, this gatehouse also had a pair of machine-guns. Other than that there was a stone fence surrounding it with a ditch filled with sharpened stakes on the other side, it lacked something in terms of sophistication but if you could shrug off the odd escape it would do to keep the slaves from rioting and keep the majority from running away.
The guards barracks themselves were located inside the mining camp, but surrounded by a second ditch and a set of rather nasty looking thorny brushes. These barracks were far more comfortable looking structures, which made perfect sense of course, four of them side by side made from native rock, a few small windows in the sides, and roofs covered by crude tiles.
From his perch hidden away behind some rocks up in the mountainside, a dark blanket pulled over him so no part of him was visible, Whitcomb had an excellent view of the mines and their routines. It was of course tiring work, laying there all day without moving even in the least, your body cramped and various other urges came to trouble you greatly, but it was not worth it to risk moving until nightfall.
Slowly he made his further observations, committing to memory all the routines that he saw at the camp, its layout and the quality of its security, over all he was not impressed with what he saw. Indeed it was not until the third day of his studies that something happened which changed the everyday lazy routine, the troops seemed to shape up somewhat and Whitcomb wondered what was happening.
The answer was soon made evidently clear as a small convoy of very peculiar looking steamer lorries, they were large and very silent with eight wheels all told, and from what he could see the wheels seemed to move slightly with the contours of the road letting them move quickly even though the road was to say the least very poor. Along with the troops came two queer looking blocky steamer cars as well with what a turret and something that looked suspiciously like a heavy machinegun or light cannon. There was of course little doubt as to whom this little convoy belonged to, the red stars on the doors of the vehicles removed any doubt there, but their purpose puzzled him a bit.
When they reached the gate to the mining camp his puzzlement vanished, the convoy was promptly allowed in with much saluting from the ruffians that passed for guards. The moment the lorries stopped someone important looking disembarked from the lead war car, he had golden shoulder boards big enough to sail a ship on, and a peaked cap with a red star in front. If Whitcomb had been a sniper that one would have been his first target when he opened up. Apparently snipers were not really a worry here though for some reason, and Whitcomb wondered absentmindedly if this was really some low level officer ordered to be sniper bait while his superior stayed inside the war car.
Moments later several crudely crafted wooden crates were brought out from one of the storage houses, between the planks of the crates Whitcomb could see the soft greenish gleam of the geodes. Once by one the crates were stacked up in the rear of the steam no not steam he thought transport lorries of some sort. There was very little conversation between the two groups during this little exchange, and the moment that the last geode crate was loaded onboard the peacock like Communist officer saluted his counterpart once more and then entered his war car again. Moments later the whole convoy was back on the road, kicking up a small cloud of dust as they accelerated down the narrow dirt road moving at quite a surprising clip for such poor roads.
Whitcomb had taken careful notes, including using his gold stopwatch to measure the time that it took them to complete the various tasks, overall they were none too fast and efficient but as good as you could expect from a pack of uncivilized tribesmen.
That night when he trekked back to his camp, a cold camp meaning that there was not a fire to be seen, he found that Hasan was looking quite glum and haggard. Indeed despite his cheerful "Good evening Sir!" Whitcomb could sense that he wasn't really up for camping for nearly a week without a fire. The young native had deteriorated, and though he hid it well he suffered from the usual aches and pains, but even so during these cold nights he was good company.
They sat down to their meal, a can of beef broth and stew that they had ripped open and spooned right out of the can, it was hardly the most pleasant meal especially washed down with lukewarm water. As he ate Whitcomb spoke softly "I think I've seen enough of this place, it's time to move on."
"I am glad to hear this Sir," Hasan said in a very sincere tone of voice "This place it's very bad Sir, I think there are Djinn here."
"Mmmmhmmm," Whitcomb said uncommitted, but it seemed that belief in Djinns was quite universal among all the natives "Aren't there Djinn just about everywhere?"
"Yes but ..." Hasan whispered softly "I saw one."
"Mmmhmmmm," Whitcomb nodded, then he sniffed the air a bit it was getting increasingly colder, looking up he saw a few scattered clouds momentarily blocking out the stars no rain but it was very cold indeed at night. As he stretched Hasan began to prepare their joint sleeping place, without a fire they would have to share so that they would not freeze to death in the bitter Azhistani night.
Mountains of Azhistan
Azhistan
April 1005 NE
The Next Day
Whitcomb woke up just as the first rays of the sun touched the horizon turning it a faint pinkish hue, his eyes shot open and he scooted himself from his sleeping place at once waking up Hasan. Immediately he did some light callisthenic exercises to make sure nothing was overly stretched, this then was part of his every day routine. He then applied some light bath water, of which the natives made a most excellent brand, to remove any lingering foul smells before he grabbed his backpack and prepared for his planned excursion.
Those trucks had to come from somewhere, and if he was right that somewhere would also be where that enormous flying ship came from. After making certain that he had all of his kit he turned back to Hasan "You had better make your way back to the village, I shall try to track those trucks I saw and then meet back up with you there."
"But Sir," Hasan protested "If you meet any natives you shan't be able to speak with them, and then Sir they might kill you."
A faint smile played around Whitcombs lips making his moustache curl a bit "I'll take my chances Hasan, and I need to have my back clear if I'm to sneak past their defences."
"If you say so Sir then I shall do it," Hasan said, though his glum tone of voice revealed that the youngster did not enjoy to be left out of the adventure.
"Send a message to Jeeves that he is to move the slaves back home if I don't return within two weeks," Whitcomb suddenly added.
Hasan seemed quite distressed by this request but assented "Inshallah Sir will return safely!" he said with the inborn fatalism of his race.
Whitcomb now began his arduous and long trek, it was most peculiar he thought as he wandered through the dry parched landscape, feeling his very lips dry out and struggling against the urge to lick them, and then he looked up at the alien star shining down on him a long trek beneath an alien star begins with a single step he thought idly.
Tracking the passage of the lorries was quite easy for their big wide wheels had left an easy to track impression upon the ground. Indeed Whitcomb began to muse if perhaps it was too easy to follow its tracks, for surely if they could be traced so easily then there would be some attempt upon the convoy.
It was not long after he made this musing that he noticed that his foot touched something in the ground, absentmindedly he looked down and then stopped cold, his heart skipping a beat. Then he took a long calm breath it's not the dead you should worry about, but the living he thought as he studied what he had bumped into, it appeared to be a skull, as he kneeled down and shuffled some sand away from it he noticed that there were other bones here too and some scraps of clothing. All of it bore evidence of having been half burned somehow, but Whitcomb could not think of anything that would burn an area and leave everything else untouched.
Leaving the bleached skull of some poor unfortunate behind Whitcomb noticed that there were, in places, burn marks, and more disturbing places where apparently large rocks had been heated until they had cracked. In some places where was the odd bleached bone, or a rusted old Jezail sticking out of the ground some ragged piece of cloth attached to it and flapping in the wind like a banner. Seeing these obvious marks of the proficiency of the convoys defenders Whitcomb mused if not a very large party might still overcome it, until he remembered the lumbering shape of the skyship and the implicit threat it represented to any group large enough to overcome the convoys defences.
The convoys track suddenly lurched away from the road, as it were, and began to move up towards the mountains again, but here the ground grew hard and tracks were nearly impossible to follow. Also for some reason Whitcomb became convinced that it would be most perilous to track the route directly, instead he began to move maybe half a mile to a quarter of a mile on the side of where he assumed the track went. Occasionally he'd use his binoculars discretely to check for some clue, some injured shrub, some rocks pushed out of the way just so, and always he would find it.
Of course now that he was dragging near to the enemy lair he had to be very careful, additionally the day was growing old as the sun was descending. The landscape was extremely rocky, and Whitcomb had no desire whatsoever to be out in the open during the night, after searching for a while he found a convenient crevice in the rock where he could lay hidden during the night, quite invisible once he had pulled his blanket over him. It was of course a bit dusty, enough sand to get into your clothes and make you sneeze, but not enough to create a soft downy bed to lay on. Still he thought it will do for now as he wrapped the carrying strap of his rifle around his arm and then rested his head on his other arm before drifting slowly and fitfully into sleep.
It was pitch dark outside when Whitcomb woke up with a start, slowly and carefully he rose himself up from his protected position and peered up. What he saw was most surprising in the mountains away there was a series of very bright lights, and slowly oh so slowly the vast skyship, or that was what he thought it was, rose up from some distant valley. As it was so dark he could not really see it, all he could see were the big lights on the sides of the sky ship, lights which he followed as the ship ascended higher and higher up into the air.
Then suddenly it began to move in his direction, Whitcomb ducked down into his hole but kept on peering out to watch the bright shape of the ship drawn closer and closer till he could make out the irregular shape of the hull and then the sound hit him, a low brrrrmmm as dust and flotsam was whipped up by the air pressure of the seemingly enormous ship flying by only some two or three hundred feet away from him. Then there was silence again, except for the odd tone from a confused bird who wondered why the sun had made a brief appearance before vanishing again.
Whitcomb sighed a bit, then he stretched a bit and lay back down draping his blanket over himself, moments later he was sound asleep again. Like many experienced soldiers he had acquired that rare gift of waking up at any least sound and then effortlessly falling back asleep wherever he found himself. He woke up just once more during that night, and that was when the sky ship returned along the same route from whatever nefarious errand it had been on.
The Next Day, Approaching the Hidden Valley
Waking at the crack of dawn Whitcomb roused himself once more, shaking of the dust that had fallen on him during the night, but as he rose from the small crevice he wondered if it was thus that Lazarus had looked when he left the tomb still ashen faced no doubt and wrapped in his shroud.
After rolling his blanket up and tucking it back into this backpack Whitcomb peered into the distance, remembering what he had seen last night. In the distant mountains he could see the top of a mountain that looked much like that which had been momentarily bathed in light the night before, and the distance and direction also seemed right. Bearing this in mind he decided to move maybe a mile away from the track leading there, since he suspected there would be more security around it the closer he came to the hidden valley.
The terrain grew rougher as he proceed upwards and he now perceived that the track of the steamer lorries were going through a distant pass, where there would surely be guards. However a single man can often find a passage where a larger group or vehicles would be stumped, carefully he examined both sides of the pass with his binoculars, scanning further and further away from the pass itself till suddenly he spotted an unexpected sight. It was a white goat of some sort leaping sure footed from crevice to crevice, and indeed there seemed to be a small tribe of them in the mountain side, naturally Whitcomb was modest enough not to credit himself with the same climbing skills as a mountain goat but still it seemed the best way up.
Taking great care not to be seen Whitcomb nevertheless made good speed as he approached the mountainside, as he came closer he realised why this valley had been chosen by the Communists. The sides of the mountains surrounding it was quite sheer at least for the first few hundred feet, and there was probably only two entrances one at each end so even the natives would have a hard time getting pas this. However once more these were good defences against an army or a raiding party, not against a single man who came purely to satisfy his curiosity.
The climb was a rough one, in many cases the footholds and the tiny crevices were so small that he thought he'd never get a good grip, but slowly he pulled himself further and further up the mountainside. On occasion he had to stop when his fingers pulled loose a stone or some sand, and he watched the rock fall towards the bottom of the mountainside bouncing several times on the way before shattering as it hit the bottom.
Swallowing he continued his climb, around three quarters of the way up he had an encounter with a mountain goat, the creature stood on a tiny ledge maybe three feet away from him. Looking at it he couldn't quite understand how it could perch itself there, but it too seemed quite surprised that one of the hairy two leggers would dare enter its domain, for a while they looked into each others eyes before the mountain goat suddenly spun around and skipped effortlessly away.
It was several hours climb before he began to reach the top, and by then he was perspiring heavily, a thin film of sweat had formed over his brow and every unscratched itch grew to epic proportions. However the sheer side now flattened out and he found himself on the ridge running alongside the valley, slowly and carefully he moved alongside it keeping a keen eye on his surroundings as he did.
What he saw didn't really encourage him, walking along the ridges on either side was a small patrol, an under strength platoon really, of Communist soldiers, though they seemed rather lax and bored. He quickly hid behind some rocks and slowly moved to avoid them, the task wasn't too arduous but it was yet another added difficulty that any attacker would have to deal with if they wanted to avoid raising the alarm. Their weapons didn't look like much, but of course what lay in the valley itself meant that their real purpose was to be a tripwire and for that they were quite enough.
Down in the valley there was a Communist encampment of a most dangerous sort, the buildings were spread out but he could see what had to be the barracks in one section, they were very similar to what he was used to at home. Indeed he could identify the purpose of the vehicle garages as well without too much trouble, but other areas defied recognition. There were a couple of winged vehicles on the ground, aeroplanes he realised with a start but of a design far more advanced than any he'd seen before.
The true threat though, as far as he could tell, was the large sky ship whose menacing shape was now resting on the ground near a couple of large silos which Whitcomb would hazard contained Ethernol. It was quite shocking to see it laying there, surrounded by servicemen that crawled over it like so many ants, there were large cables and tubes linking it to the silos so apparently it was being serviced.
It was not the only ship though, there was another a smaller boxier one around which the six wheeled steamer lorries had gathered, they were moving crates to and fro the freighter apparently this was a rather common supply shipment and if Whitcomb guessed right this freighter would take the geodes back to the Communist home world.
In short the Communists had set up quite a sturdy little operation on this war torn world extracting the precious geodes and expanding their power for a very little effort of their own. Now how can I throw a spanner into their works Whitcomb wondered as he slowly began to retreat the same way that he came down only to notice something else that was most worrying along the side of the ridge there were several tiny very regular shaped rocks, and they were at very regular intervals now what foul thing is here? Magic perhaps? Or some technological trap? though he was not at all certain he decided to give them a wide berth just in case.
The climb downwards was of course much tougher than climbing up, but slowly he made it down, but then it happened his boot slipped on a ledge and he felt himself shoot downwards with appalling speed! Suddenly he stopped, not at the bottom of the rocky wall but as his foot slammed into an outcropping and somehow he managed to clutch the rocky surface, the palm of his hand worn raw and a trickle of blood running down his cheek as he hugged the mountain side and slowly waited for his heart to calm down.
Finally after what seemed an eternity he resumed his climb downwards, but by the time he reached the bottom of the mountain side the sun was already going down, and indeed the last fifty feet he had to hurry as he could scarcely see where he was going. Finally though through luck and perseverance he made it to the bottom, and there he staggered away from the cliff wall before sitting down and looking up towards the top again by the grace of God, he thought as he found some convenient spot behind a rock, pulled his blanket over himself and fell soundly asleep.
The City of Ghazni
The City of Ghazni is surrounded by many a shrine commemorating great Sufi Shaykhs and Saints, and it was not uncommon for a man to pass by each of them piously touching his heart, mouth and forehead asking for the intercession of the man within the sacred tomb. Thus when a huge bearded man in a tattered cloak, closely accompanied by a handsome young lad, came walking past the Shrines, stopping by each one of them to pray and offer up thanks there was none that saw anything peculiar about this.
Whitcomb memorized the location and peculiarities of each shrine since he knew that on Rum the people who had made a pilgrimage to Ghazni were held in high regard, but that they were also required to answer certain questions about the place to verify that they had in truth been there. To assuage any doubts Whitcomb also bought several ornate rosaries from the white robed Sufi teachers that protected the shrines, these holy men made quite a profit in this trade and in selling protective charms from various misfortunes.
The latest great misfortune to affect this area was a plague of beard stealing Djinns, indeed every other man that Whitcomb spotted had braided into his beard a protective charm consisting of a strip of parchment inscribed with a pious Sufi prayer. Wherever they went they were told in great detail about these horrid creatures that would sometimes leap forth and take a mans beard away in the middle of the street leaving him as smooth faced as a boy or a slave. Suspicions were of course running high, and any foreigner risked instant accusation of being a sorcerer in collusion with the Djinn, and therefore Whitcomb had to be especially careful now.
However they were not accused as they ambled towards the ship, Whitcomb took a deep breath of relief as he recognised Jeeves, despite his native garb, standing outside the Rumish ship and arguing with the Captain. As they drew nearer Jeeves suddenly turned around and his expression changed from an upset one to one filled with relief.
"God be praised that you are safe Sir," Jeeves said as he and Whitcomb met on the half way, they exchanged greetings in the Mohammedan fashion before continuing their discussion "the Captain wished to leave for as he said he was long since done with all he wanted to do here, but I persuaded him to tarry a bit longer though lately it has grown most difficult to do so Sir."
"You're a good man Jeeves," Whitcomb replied "however we can leave right away."
"I am glad to hear this Sir, but I should beg permission to remain behind."
"What now then?"
"Sir, I have learned the language somewhat and I believe that I should be able to learn even more if I stay, for here is great opportunity in that I've met several merchants that have some interest in foreign curiosities."
Whitcomb scratched his beard slowly, finally he gave a nod "you're right Jeeves, our Great Republic is based on trade and surely it is better I make do without my manservant for a month than that our republic suffer a lack of trade!"
"Right glad I am to hear you say this Sir."
They then made the preparations for the departure, both Charles and Diana were delighted to see Whitcomb again, and for that matter so were the children who were also very glad to have been re-united with their old friends whose freedom Whitcomb had purchased upon his arrival at Ghazni.
Whitcomb was also most glad to see them, though of course he had little time for the pleasant re-union until they were safely in space, till then he was not only busy but also required to maintain the pretence of holding the Gosfordians as his personal slaves. It was of course a most unpleasant illusion, but he dared not risk even the slightest chance of the truth leaking out amongst the natives.
Naturally he had no such scruples in regards to the Communist she pilot and her male compatriot, both of whom were as far as he could see his legitimate property and a potentially invaluable source of information. However due to security it was imperative to keep them bound and gagged least they somehow, someway, managed to alert their compatriots. This of course rather limited the possibility for extracting information, though it did not prevent other things during the night to help soften them up.
Fortunately at the crack of dawn the very next day Jeeves left the ship, bowing deeply to his master and outwardly offering the blessings of a Mohammedan, but privately whispering "I shan't disappoint you Sir, I'll prepare the ground for whatever action Jarman Street wants."
"Good man Jeeves," Whitcomb whispered as he too pretended to complete the Mohammedan formalities "God willing we will meet again soon."
Whitcomb then moved back inside the ship and the metal door closed behind him before he walked down the hallway to his personal quarters, and of course the quarters of the Gosfordians he rescued.
Diana rushed forward looking at him pleadingly "Mr, Sir, are we really leaving? Is it over?"
"Ms Westley you can call me Lieutenant or Sir," he said with a smile "however yes it's over, we're going to Rum, and from there to Pendleton and there you will be safe."
"Thank heavens," Diana cried as she hugged her saviour "God bless you Lieutenant," she said between sobs as the mighty merchantman shuddered as the etheric propellers began to spin at full speed and the ship slowly lifted itself from the ground and began the long journey to Rum.
Azhistan
April 1005 NE
It was a hillside in the dry, parched Azhistani highlands, it was perhaps five to seven miles away from the City of Suleyman Khan and the relatively lush area directly around the river lush, well. This however was quite different, as if a little piece of hell had been spat up to Earth and left to fester, as he saw it he muttered an old verse that came to his mind for some reason.
"Ransacked the centre, and with impious hands
Rifled the bowels of their mother Earth
For treasures better hid. Soon had his crew
Opened into the hill a spacious wound,
And digged out ribs of gold..."
There really wasn't any better way of describing it the mine itself consisted of two large drifts opened in the side of the hill, large openings supported by heavy stone pillars. At first it puzzled him that these people, obviously not too concerned with the quality and safety of the mine, would use such an expensive method for shoring up the walls and roof, but immediately he realised that timber and wood of any type would be expensive here whereas rock was cheap and plentiful.
Another thing that was evidently cheap and plentiful were the workers, their quarters consisted of low and small houses made from roughly carved rock and sun dried brick, all of which were of noticeable worse quality than any that Whitcomb had seen before. Here and there tiny streams of smoke escaped from cut holes in the roofs, surrounding the houses there were the odd woman carrying water or wood, looking about nervously and scurrying into cover as one of the guards came near.
Other evidence of foul treatment was of course clear from the scaffold, Whitcomb didn't know if that was the right word for her were a row of men tied to chairs and then slowly garrotted before being left there with signs tied around their necks. Their clothes were filthy and ragged, and though they were puffed up now and slightly bloated Whitcomb wondered how ragged and hungry they had looked in life.
There was of course also a whipping post, a simple pole with a pair of manacles at the top for restraining prisoners, the ground around it was a rusty brown suggesting frequent and brutal usage. There was no evidence of other devices, which made sense though novelist liked to talk about dozens of means of torture professionals accepted that beatings and whippings were the simplest and most effective.
From what he could see of the other workers, the ones visible above ground, he realised that treatment of the workers here seemed quite harsh as many of the workers moving rock around in large baskets or carrying it out from the mines, seemed very worn indeed. Wrapped around their legs were long leggings of a dull grey or brown cloth, from the way many of them walked Whitcomb could almost smell the gangrene and other infections, and their clothes were equally wretched. Yet though they were skinny they didn't look too emaciated, this of course made sense since you cannot get work out of starvelings, but it could also be that they were recent captives.
Turning his attention back to the mine itself he studied the groups of men carrying the baskets up from the mines, the procedure was interesting as each time they came up with a basket they would pour it into a trough of sorts where a group of men with chisels would begin to treat the materials. Every now and again they would pry loose a bright green stone from the matter, a stone that would at once be taken away by some scowling guard or other.
Which brought him to the guards, the camp was relatively well guarded with a tall wooden guard tower in each corner surrounding it, and in each tower there sat a machine-gunner. The entrance to the camp was protected by another pair of wooden towers with a walkway above the gate itself linking the two together, this gatehouse also had a pair of machine-guns. Other than that there was a stone fence surrounding it with a ditch filled with sharpened stakes on the other side, it lacked something in terms of sophistication but if you could shrug off the odd escape it would do to keep the slaves from rioting and keep the majority from running away.
The guards barracks themselves were located inside the mining camp, but surrounded by a second ditch and a set of rather nasty looking thorny brushes. These barracks were far more comfortable looking structures, which made perfect sense of course, four of them side by side made from native rock, a few small windows in the sides, and roofs covered by crude tiles.
From his perch hidden away behind some rocks up in the mountainside, a dark blanket pulled over him so no part of him was visible, Whitcomb had an excellent view of the mines and their routines. It was of course tiring work, laying there all day without moving even in the least, your body cramped and various other urges came to trouble you greatly, but it was not worth it to risk moving until nightfall.
Slowly he made his further observations, committing to memory all the routines that he saw at the camp, its layout and the quality of its security, over all he was not impressed with what he saw. Indeed it was not until the third day of his studies that something happened which changed the everyday lazy routine, the troops seemed to shape up somewhat and Whitcomb wondered what was happening.
The answer was soon made evidently clear as a small convoy of very peculiar looking steamer lorries, they were large and very silent with eight wheels all told, and from what he could see the wheels seemed to move slightly with the contours of the road letting them move quickly even though the road was to say the least very poor. Along with the troops came two queer looking blocky steamer cars as well with what a turret and something that looked suspiciously like a heavy machinegun or light cannon. There was of course little doubt as to whom this little convoy belonged to, the red stars on the doors of the vehicles removed any doubt there, but their purpose puzzled him a bit.
When they reached the gate to the mining camp his puzzlement vanished, the convoy was promptly allowed in with much saluting from the ruffians that passed for guards. The moment the lorries stopped someone important looking disembarked from the lead war car, he had golden shoulder boards big enough to sail a ship on, and a peaked cap with a red star in front. If Whitcomb had been a sniper that one would have been his first target when he opened up. Apparently snipers were not really a worry here though for some reason, and Whitcomb wondered absentmindedly if this was really some low level officer ordered to be sniper bait while his superior stayed inside the war car.
Moments later several crudely crafted wooden crates were brought out from one of the storage houses, between the planks of the crates Whitcomb could see the soft greenish gleam of the geodes. Once by one the crates were stacked up in the rear of the steam no not steam he thought transport lorries of some sort. There was very little conversation between the two groups during this little exchange, and the moment that the last geode crate was loaded onboard the peacock like Communist officer saluted his counterpart once more and then entered his war car again. Moments later the whole convoy was back on the road, kicking up a small cloud of dust as they accelerated down the narrow dirt road moving at quite a surprising clip for such poor roads.
Whitcomb had taken careful notes, including using his gold stopwatch to measure the time that it took them to complete the various tasks, overall they were none too fast and efficient but as good as you could expect from a pack of uncivilized tribesmen.
That night when he trekked back to his camp, a cold camp meaning that there was not a fire to be seen, he found that Hasan was looking quite glum and haggard. Indeed despite his cheerful "Good evening Sir!" Whitcomb could sense that he wasn't really up for camping for nearly a week without a fire. The young native had deteriorated, and though he hid it well he suffered from the usual aches and pains, but even so during these cold nights he was good company.
They sat down to their meal, a can of beef broth and stew that they had ripped open and spooned right out of the can, it was hardly the most pleasant meal especially washed down with lukewarm water. As he ate Whitcomb spoke softly "I think I've seen enough of this place, it's time to move on."
"I am glad to hear this Sir," Hasan said in a very sincere tone of voice "This place it's very bad Sir, I think there are Djinn here."
"Mmmmhmmm," Whitcomb said uncommitted, but it seemed that belief in Djinns was quite universal among all the natives "Aren't there Djinn just about everywhere?"
"Yes but ..." Hasan whispered softly "I saw one."
"Mmmhmmmm," Whitcomb nodded, then he sniffed the air a bit it was getting increasingly colder, looking up he saw a few scattered clouds momentarily blocking out the stars no rain but it was very cold indeed at night. As he stretched Hasan began to prepare their joint sleeping place, without a fire they would have to share so that they would not freeze to death in the bitter Azhistani night.
Mountains of Azhistan
Azhistan
April 1005 NE
The Next Day
Whitcomb woke up just as the first rays of the sun touched the horizon turning it a faint pinkish hue, his eyes shot open and he scooted himself from his sleeping place at once waking up Hasan. Immediately he did some light callisthenic exercises to make sure nothing was overly stretched, this then was part of his every day routine. He then applied some light bath water, of which the natives made a most excellent brand, to remove any lingering foul smells before he grabbed his backpack and prepared for his planned excursion.
Those trucks had to come from somewhere, and if he was right that somewhere would also be where that enormous flying ship came from. After making certain that he had all of his kit he turned back to Hasan "You had better make your way back to the village, I shall try to track those trucks I saw and then meet back up with you there."
"But Sir," Hasan protested "If you meet any natives you shan't be able to speak with them, and then Sir they might kill you."
A faint smile played around Whitcombs lips making his moustache curl a bit "I'll take my chances Hasan, and I need to have my back clear if I'm to sneak past their defences."
"If you say so Sir then I shall do it," Hasan said, though his glum tone of voice revealed that the youngster did not enjoy to be left out of the adventure.
"Send a message to Jeeves that he is to move the slaves back home if I don't return within two weeks," Whitcomb suddenly added.
Hasan seemed quite distressed by this request but assented "Inshallah Sir will return safely!" he said with the inborn fatalism of his race.
Whitcomb now began his arduous and long trek, it was most peculiar he thought as he wandered through the dry parched landscape, feeling his very lips dry out and struggling against the urge to lick them, and then he looked up at the alien star shining down on him a long trek beneath an alien star begins with a single step he thought idly.
Tracking the passage of the lorries was quite easy for their big wide wheels had left an easy to track impression upon the ground. Indeed Whitcomb began to muse if perhaps it was too easy to follow its tracks, for surely if they could be traced so easily then there would be some attempt upon the convoy.
It was not long after he made this musing that he noticed that his foot touched something in the ground, absentmindedly he looked down and then stopped cold, his heart skipping a beat. Then he took a long calm breath it's not the dead you should worry about, but the living he thought as he studied what he had bumped into, it appeared to be a skull, as he kneeled down and shuffled some sand away from it he noticed that there were other bones here too and some scraps of clothing. All of it bore evidence of having been half burned somehow, but Whitcomb could not think of anything that would burn an area and leave everything else untouched.
Leaving the bleached skull of some poor unfortunate behind Whitcomb noticed that there were, in places, burn marks, and more disturbing places where apparently large rocks had been heated until they had cracked. In some places where was the odd bleached bone, or a rusted old Jezail sticking out of the ground some ragged piece of cloth attached to it and flapping in the wind like a banner. Seeing these obvious marks of the proficiency of the convoys defenders Whitcomb mused if not a very large party might still overcome it, until he remembered the lumbering shape of the skyship and the implicit threat it represented to any group large enough to overcome the convoys defences.
The convoys track suddenly lurched away from the road, as it were, and began to move up towards the mountains again, but here the ground grew hard and tracks were nearly impossible to follow. Also for some reason Whitcomb became convinced that it would be most perilous to track the route directly, instead he began to move maybe half a mile to a quarter of a mile on the side of where he assumed the track went. Occasionally he'd use his binoculars discretely to check for some clue, some injured shrub, some rocks pushed out of the way just so, and always he would find it.
Of course now that he was dragging near to the enemy lair he had to be very careful, additionally the day was growing old as the sun was descending. The landscape was extremely rocky, and Whitcomb had no desire whatsoever to be out in the open during the night, after searching for a while he found a convenient crevice in the rock where he could lay hidden during the night, quite invisible once he had pulled his blanket over him. It was of course a bit dusty, enough sand to get into your clothes and make you sneeze, but not enough to create a soft downy bed to lay on. Still he thought it will do for now as he wrapped the carrying strap of his rifle around his arm and then rested his head on his other arm before drifting slowly and fitfully into sleep.
It was pitch dark outside when Whitcomb woke up with a start, slowly and carefully he rose himself up from his protected position and peered up. What he saw was most surprising in the mountains away there was a series of very bright lights, and slowly oh so slowly the vast skyship, or that was what he thought it was, rose up from some distant valley. As it was so dark he could not really see it, all he could see were the big lights on the sides of the sky ship, lights which he followed as the ship ascended higher and higher up into the air.
Then suddenly it began to move in his direction, Whitcomb ducked down into his hole but kept on peering out to watch the bright shape of the ship drawn closer and closer till he could make out the irregular shape of the hull and then the sound hit him, a low brrrrmmm as dust and flotsam was whipped up by the air pressure of the seemingly enormous ship flying by only some two or three hundred feet away from him. Then there was silence again, except for the odd tone from a confused bird who wondered why the sun had made a brief appearance before vanishing again.
Whitcomb sighed a bit, then he stretched a bit and lay back down draping his blanket over himself, moments later he was sound asleep again. Like many experienced soldiers he had acquired that rare gift of waking up at any least sound and then effortlessly falling back asleep wherever he found himself. He woke up just once more during that night, and that was when the sky ship returned along the same route from whatever nefarious errand it had been on.
The Next Day, Approaching the Hidden Valley
Waking at the crack of dawn Whitcomb roused himself once more, shaking of the dust that had fallen on him during the night, but as he rose from the small crevice he wondered if it was thus that Lazarus had looked when he left the tomb still ashen faced no doubt and wrapped in his shroud.
After rolling his blanket up and tucking it back into this backpack Whitcomb peered into the distance, remembering what he had seen last night. In the distant mountains he could see the top of a mountain that looked much like that which had been momentarily bathed in light the night before, and the distance and direction also seemed right. Bearing this in mind he decided to move maybe a mile away from the track leading there, since he suspected there would be more security around it the closer he came to the hidden valley.
The terrain grew rougher as he proceed upwards and he now perceived that the track of the steamer lorries were going through a distant pass, where there would surely be guards. However a single man can often find a passage where a larger group or vehicles would be stumped, carefully he examined both sides of the pass with his binoculars, scanning further and further away from the pass itself till suddenly he spotted an unexpected sight. It was a white goat of some sort leaping sure footed from crevice to crevice, and indeed there seemed to be a small tribe of them in the mountain side, naturally Whitcomb was modest enough not to credit himself with the same climbing skills as a mountain goat but still it seemed the best way up.
Taking great care not to be seen Whitcomb nevertheless made good speed as he approached the mountainside, as he came closer he realised why this valley had been chosen by the Communists. The sides of the mountains surrounding it was quite sheer at least for the first few hundred feet, and there was probably only two entrances one at each end so even the natives would have a hard time getting pas this. However once more these were good defences against an army or a raiding party, not against a single man who came purely to satisfy his curiosity.
The climb was a rough one, in many cases the footholds and the tiny crevices were so small that he thought he'd never get a good grip, but slowly he pulled himself further and further up the mountainside. On occasion he had to stop when his fingers pulled loose a stone or some sand, and he watched the rock fall towards the bottom of the mountainside bouncing several times on the way before shattering as it hit the bottom.
Swallowing he continued his climb, around three quarters of the way up he had an encounter with a mountain goat, the creature stood on a tiny ledge maybe three feet away from him. Looking at it he couldn't quite understand how it could perch itself there, but it too seemed quite surprised that one of the hairy two leggers would dare enter its domain, for a while they looked into each others eyes before the mountain goat suddenly spun around and skipped effortlessly away.
It was several hours climb before he began to reach the top, and by then he was perspiring heavily, a thin film of sweat had formed over his brow and every unscratched itch grew to epic proportions. However the sheer side now flattened out and he found himself on the ridge running alongside the valley, slowly and carefully he moved alongside it keeping a keen eye on his surroundings as he did.
What he saw didn't really encourage him, walking along the ridges on either side was a small patrol, an under strength platoon really, of Communist soldiers, though they seemed rather lax and bored. He quickly hid behind some rocks and slowly moved to avoid them, the task wasn't too arduous but it was yet another added difficulty that any attacker would have to deal with if they wanted to avoid raising the alarm. Their weapons didn't look like much, but of course what lay in the valley itself meant that their real purpose was to be a tripwire and for that they were quite enough.
Down in the valley there was a Communist encampment of a most dangerous sort, the buildings were spread out but he could see what had to be the barracks in one section, they were very similar to what he was used to at home. Indeed he could identify the purpose of the vehicle garages as well without too much trouble, but other areas defied recognition. There were a couple of winged vehicles on the ground, aeroplanes he realised with a start but of a design far more advanced than any he'd seen before.
The true threat though, as far as he could tell, was the large sky ship whose menacing shape was now resting on the ground near a couple of large silos which Whitcomb would hazard contained Ethernol. It was quite shocking to see it laying there, surrounded by servicemen that crawled over it like so many ants, there were large cables and tubes linking it to the silos so apparently it was being serviced.
It was not the only ship though, there was another a smaller boxier one around which the six wheeled steamer lorries had gathered, they were moving crates to and fro the freighter apparently this was a rather common supply shipment and if Whitcomb guessed right this freighter would take the geodes back to the Communist home world.
In short the Communists had set up quite a sturdy little operation on this war torn world extracting the precious geodes and expanding their power for a very little effort of their own. Now how can I throw a spanner into their works Whitcomb wondered as he slowly began to retreat the same way that he came down only to notice something else that was most worrying along the side of the ridge there were several tiny very regular shaped rocks, and they were at very regular intervals now what foul thing is here? Magic perhaps? Or some technological trap? though he was not at all certain he decided to give them a wide berth just in case.
The climb downwards was of course much tougher than climbing up, but slowly he made it down, but then it happened his boot slipped on a ledge and he felt himself shoot downwards with appalling speed! Suddenly he stopped, not at the bottom of the rocky wall but as his foot slammed into an outcropping and somehow he managed to clutch the rocky surface, the palm of his hand worn raw and a trickle of blood running down his cheek as he hugged the mountain side and slowly waited for his heart to calm down.
Finally after what seemed an eternity he resumed his climb downwards, but by the time he reached the bottom of the mountain side the sun was already going down, and indeed the last fifty feet he had to hurry as he could scarcely see where he was going. Finally though through luck and perseverance he made it to the bottom, and there he staggered away from the cliff wall before sitting down and looking up towards the top again by the grace of God, he thought as he found some convenient spot behind a rock, pulled his blanket over himself and fell soundly asleep.
The City of Ghazni
The City of Ghazni is surrounded by many a shrine commemorating great Sufi Shaykhs and Saints, and it was not uncommon for a man to pass by each of them piously touching his heart, mouth and forehead asking for the intercession of the man within the sacred tomb. Thus when a huge bearded man in a tattered cloak, closely accompanied by a handsome young lad, came walking past the Shrines, stopping by each one of them to pray and offer up thanks there was none that saw anything peculiar about this.
Whitcomb memorized the location and peculiarities of each shrine since he knew that on Rum the people who had made a pilgrimage to Ghazni were held in high regard, but that they were also required to answer certain questions about the place to verify that they had in truth been there. To assuage any doubts Whitcomb also bought several ornate rosaries from the white robed Sufi teachers that protected the shrines, these holy men made quite a profit in this trade and in selling protective charms from various misfortunes.
The latest great misfortune to affect this area was a plague of beard stealing Djinns, indeed every other man that Whitcomb spotted had braided into his beard a protective charm consisting of a strip of parchment inscribed with a pious Sufi prayer. Wherever they went they were told in great detail about these horrid creatures that would sometimes leap forth and take a mans beard away in the middle of the street leaving him as smooth faced as a boy or a slave. Suspicions were of course running high, and any foreigner risked instant accusation of being a sorcerer in collusion with the Djinn, and therefore Whitcomb had to be especially careful now.
However they were not accused as they ambled towards the ship, Whitcomb took a deep breath of relief as he recognised Jeeves, despite his native garb, standing outside the Rumish ship and arguing with the Captain. As they drew nearer Jeeves suddenly turned around and his expression changed from an upset one to one filled with relief.
"God be praised that you are safe Sir," Jeeves said as he and Whitcomb met on the half way, they exchanged greetings in the Mohammedan fashion before continuing their discussion "the Captain wished to leave for as he said he was long since done with all he wanted to do here, but I persuaded him to tarry a bit longer though lately it has grown most difficult to do so Sir."
"You're a good man Jeeves," Whitcomb replied "however we can leave right away."
"I am glad to hear this Sir, but I should beg permission to remain behind."
"What now then?"
"Sir, I have learned the language somewhat and I believe that I should be able to learn even more if I stay, for here is great opportunity in that I've met several merchants that have some interest in foreign curiosities."
Whitcomb scratched his beard slowly, finally he gave a nod "you're right Jeeves, our Great Republic is based on trade and surely it is better I make do without my manservant for a month than that our republic suffer a lack of trade!"
"Right glad I am to hear you say this Sir."
They then made the preparations for the departure, both Charles and Diana were delighted to see Whitcomb again, and for that matter so were the children who were also very glad to have been re-united with their old friends whose freedom Whitcomb had purchased upon his arrival at Ghazni.
Whitcomb was also most glad to see them, though of course he had little time for the pleasant re-union until they were safely in space, till then he was not only busy but also required to maintain the pretence of holding the Gosfordians as his personal slaves. It was of course a most unpleasant illusion, but he dared not risk even the slightest chance of the truth leaking out amongst the natives.
Naturally he had no such scruples in regards to the Communist she pilot and her male compatriot, both of whom were as far as he could see his legitimate property and a potentially invaluable source of information. However due to security it was imperative to keep them bound and gagged least they somehow, someway, managed to alert their compatriots. This of course rather limited the possibility for extracting information, though it did not prevent other things during the night to help soften them up.
Fortunately at the crack of dawn the very next day Jeeves left the ship, bowing deeply to his master and outwardly offering the blessings of a Mohammedan, but privately whispering "I shan't disappoint you Sir, I'll prepare the ground for whatever action Jarman Street wants."
"Good man Jeeves," Whitcomb whispered as he too pretended to complete the Mohammedan formalities "God willing we will meet again soon."
Whitcomb then moved back inside the ship and the metal door closed behind him before he walked down the hallway to his personal quarters, and of course the quarters of the Gosfordians he rescued.
Diana rushed forward looking at him pleadingly "Mr, Sir, are we really leaving? Is it over?"
"Ms Westley you can call me Lieutenant or Sir," he said with a smile "however yes it's over, we're going to Rum, and from there to Pendleton and there you will be safe."
"Thank heavens," Diana cried as she hugged her saviour "God bless you Lieutenant," she said between sobs as the mighty merchantman shuddered as the etheric propellers began to spin at full speed and the ship slowly lifted itself from the ground and began the long journey to Rum.
Allan Whitcomb's Adventure in Azhistan Part XIV
Ed Note: This is just a shortie I'm posting right away, I'm too tired to write a complete post and I'll be busy now in the weekend.
Rumish Spaceship
Spaceway from Azhistan to Rum
April 1005 NE
Whitcombs quarters
The Rumish ship travelled serenely through the Deep Sky, the large wooden Æther propellers pushing the wooden ship through the murky reaches of the Starway. On the outside there was no motion other than the movement of the propellers, the occasional flicker from one of the portholes in the side, and the way some of the iron bands riveted onto the wooden hull of the ship would sometimes shift slightly and creak when they struck a buffeting area of Æther.
Within Whitcombs quarters however everything was quite silent, only a couple of oil lamps illuminated the room with a soft flickering light. Sitting by his desk Whitcomb was writing in his journal, the only sound in the room was his breathing and the soft scratching of the fountain pen against the pages of the journal. After finishing the last page Whitcomb took a deep breath, then he laid the pen down by the side of the journal and slowly stretched his wrist a bit as he rose up from the light wicker chair he'd been using.
His quarters were quite cramped of course, all shipboard quarters were, though they were still larger than what was common, but they were heavily decorated as were any officers' quarters. The furniture was similar in function, but with slight differences like the carpets on the ground, or the tendency towards lower chairs and tables, or even beds that were nearly on the floor. All of them were engraved or, in case of wicker furniture, woven with intricate geometric patterns.
On his return to Azhistan he didn't have the quarters to himself, for he shared his with Charles Westley, the young lad he rescued from Azhistan. Charles was already asleep in the bed, the sheets had slid down a bit revealing his athletic torso, he lacked the bulk an adult could acquire but the hardships he had experienced had given him a firm lean look that was quite admirable. He was the very image of the youth on the edge of full manhood, a hint of stubble on his cheek, a firm set jaw, and a few strands of golden hair on his muscular chest, the image of the Greek god was however somewhat disrupted by the fact that he was drooling a bit into his pillow.
Whitcomb smiled a bit as he pulled the sheets up over Charles chest, and then covered up his naked leg that was sticking out from the side of the blanket, the young man remained asleep throughout what a good sleeping heart, ah, what I wouldn't do to have that calm and innocence again? He shook his head a bit and then walked towards the door and opened it, the door swung silently on well oiled hinges and Whitcomb walked out into the corridor.
Walking down the corridor Whitcomb felt annoyed at how his footsteps, though very light, seemed to carry downwards, but of course it was night time on the ship and then even a soldier in kid gloves sounds like he's wearing jackboots. No one seemed awoken though, at least no doors shot open with an irate Mohammedan in a night dress waving some curved dagger. Soon he reached the door to the cargo section where Diana and the children were staying, he slowly opened the door feeling a bit worried that he should perhaps have knocked first but then again it'd only wake them up.
The room was almost completely dark, the floor was covered in thick carpets that were omnipresent in all Rumish houses and quarters, there was little furniture in the room other than a small table with a big wash basin, and a door leading to a cabinet for "errands of nature". What was of note there was the mound of people huddled together, Diana lay there holding her arm protectively around the youngest two children, the young boy and girl that Whitcomb bought earlier. The other children, Sandra and the two boys, lay huddled together on the other side, the two boys together rather and Sandra resting with her head pushed against Diana's shoulders. They all looked so peaceful, the way that the blankets slowly rose and fell, and the almost sweet pleasant smell that filled the room.
He stood for a moment and admired Diana's features, her blonde locks slightly disordered around her head, her pale rosy lips slightly opened as she breathed, she was like some angel at sleep, and indeed the restful children reminded him of cherubs. Of course the rough blankets covering them were a bit primitive, and the carpets they slept on seemed not enough, and even this he had gone through much trouble to acquire, but soon he could provide them with what they deserved.
Slowly he closed the door and continued his walk down the corridor, now he reached the second cargo compartment that was his, this one held his two slaves, the eunuch and the cook, as well as the two captive Krasnayans. Here however he did not bother with being too slow and delicate and instead opened the door and closed it behind him.
The room was the same size as the one he'd been in, but there was far less furniture, indeed there was only a small table that was very low on the floor and which had several rough earthenware plates and some cutlery. Other than that the only carpets were the ones that his two Azhistani slaves were sleeping on, they were thick but quite simple and whitish grey.
The eunuch Ibrahim woke up very swiftly and as he did he drew his scimitar, it glittered wickedly as the light from the door played along the length of the blade, he stood quite tense ready to strike down with great fury anyone who intruded upon his sleep and his masters property. Seeing that it was his master, Whitcomb, who had come he sheeted the scimitar at once and then bowed deeply, in the eastern fashion, to Whitcomb and kissed the sleeve of his robe.
Whitcomb nodded to him and then pointed at the two Krasnayan prisoners, then he explained "you go outside," he said slowly the Eunuch was of course not stupid far from it but he spoke no English though he was learning swiftly.
"Yes master," Ibrahim said in halting English "guard door, no enter," he added as he strapped on his belt with the scimitar hanging from it loosely.
"No one enters," Whitcomb casually corrected him even as he watched the communists begin to stir slightly.
The eunuch woke up the cook, who stirred and complained in their own heathen language, but then sat up slightly and bowed her head as she spoke briefly with the eunuch.
Whitcomb meanwhile walked over to the communists, the she pilots name was was Svetlana Ivanovna Petrova, this he had managed to get out of her earlier. However it was interesting but even the most inconsequential remarks could prove invaluable, so interrogations were most worthwhile, provided you were uninterrupted of course.
They had of course both been stripped out of their uniforms, both for fear of them hiding things in said uniforms, and fear of them being recognised as Krasnayans and that this would get out. Both of them were young and well trained, with features slightly different from those Whitcomb was familiar with, slightly different facial cast, slightly different hair even it was most peculiar.
He kneeled down next to Svetlana, she had now been dressed in clothes more suitable for the fairer sex, that is Mohammedan fashion. First a tight muslin bodice which though it had no décolletage still amply displayed a womans' charms, indeed it displayed a womans torso most admirably while respecting the Mohammedan injunctions against revealing skin. The arms were left mostly uncovered by sleeves which ended little under halfway to the elbow. The skirts, though voluminous still reach only to the ankle allowing clear view of the feet and quite often of the ankle itself, something which Whitcomb found most delightful and of course very suitable given Svetlana's new legal status.
When he stroked her hair gently her eyes shot open, she glared at him with hate and distrust as she pulled away from his touch. Whitcomb sighed, she was a difficult one, but of course he had time and moved a bit closer as she backed into the wall "You could just talk a bit," he told her quietly.
"Capitalist dog! Is it not enough that you dress me up as a whore?" Svetlana wheezed in reply "I will never talk! Never!" her hands were raised protectively trying to cover herself, but the fire in her dark eyes told Whitcomb that she had not given up hope of escape, hopefully killing him in the process.
"You will talk, and you're dressed as a slave not a whore," Whitcomb told her firmly "You must realise that your defiance is not productive."
"I demand the rights due a soldier in a state of war!" Svetlana announced "It is unlawful to enslave a soldier."
"Not on Pendleton Sveta," Whitcomb explained "but we've been over this, your regime is planning on enslaving the people of Azhistan and I'll be damned if I'll see more people sent to work camps like that mine." He shifted slightly and began to prepare for what he had in mind.
"Lies! The revolution will free people, and if people die or starve it is because they are counter-revolutionary elements! Such people and their relatives have no right to live!" Suddenly she stopped and if she could have pushed through the wall she would have "you wouldn't dare!" she said "bastard!"
an hour later
Whitcomb felt much relieved, he had not really gained much in the way of useful information but nevertheless the evening had not been entirely wasted, and as he walked back to his quarters, he felt quite cheerful. He slowly and carefully opened the door to his quarters, as he entered he noticed that Charles must have tossed and turned a bit because the sheets were quite disordered. He was alas a tad distracted for the door closed with a loud CLICK and at once Charles stirred again and seemed to waken.
"Sir," Charles asked as he turned around in bed, sitting up slightly with the sheets draped around his waist and upper thighs, he seemed bathed in sweat and indeed wiped his brow with the back of his hand "it's warm in here," he said.
"Is it?" Whitcomb said, then as he felt the air in the room he nodded "I suppose so, but I thought you'd be used to it by now young Mr Westley?"
"Never got used to it, not at night anyway Sir, can't sleep properly."
"Ah relax you seemed most sound asleep only an hour or so ago."
"I was?" Charles seemed a bit embarrassed by this "I... ah..."
"Yes, so don't worry, go back to sleep now it's late," Whitcomb said as he began to prepare for bed."
"Yes Sir," Charles said as he turned a bit and rested his head on the pillow trying very hard to go back asleep even as his gut churned slightly "Sir? Are we really going to get to your home world?"
"Relax young man," Whitcomb said as he casually patted Charles' leg "I can assure you that these fine merchants will indeed get us to Rum, and from there we will indeed be able to get one of our own merchantmen, or if we're lucky maybe even a frigate, to take us to Erde."
Charles nodded to this, then he turned around again to face Whitcomb "Thank you Sir," he said again glad that Whitcomb didn't seem to get impatient about him asking the same questions over and over again.
Later still, the ship
Within the ship much was transpiring wherever you'd care to look, in the engine room the huge Ætheric coal burning furnace filled the boiler room with a loud drone of the roaring fire, and the flickering light lit up the faces of the blackgang in a near demoniac fashion. These men were the most despised of the workers on any Rumish ship and often recruited among the Christians and the Jews since few Mohammedans would do this work regardless of pay, and the title blackgang was well earned as their skin was as black as that of the purest Zanzibarean, this of course was due to the coal and not their natural complexion which was as fair as any other crewman aboard.
Moving onwards you should find the crew quarters, though quarters is perhaps the wrong expression since most of them had little more than a set of hammocks strung up alongside the walls of the common room. Alongside these hammocks were also sky chests filled with their meagre belongings usually little more than some cutlery, a change of clothes, and a few mementoes from long travels through the ether. The crew in their tattered turbans, pantaloons and vests were naught more nor less than the sailors of ages yore having taken to the Deep Sky rather than plying the oceans.
If you now began to slowly ascend up the ladder of authority you would come to the kitchens, these were not a great priority either but the need for proper Halal cooking meant that only Mussulmen were permissible here. The cook was in fact a former Halal butcher, a big massive fellow with arms like the thighs of an ox and his neck and expression continued that impression. Surrounding him in the busy kitchen were several helping boys that did most of the work, they would scurry among the large black cast iron stoves receiving their heat from the pipes leading up from the engine room, and among the puttering pots of various dishes carrying ingredients and implements to and fro. When it was meal time they would rush to the various departments carrying the meals in large earthenware pots to help keep it warm, if the recipients of the meals mattered they would then have their own plates that the boys would arrange the meals on.
The cook was not a character to be trifled with, you knew that before you knew his former profession, but whenever a new crewman learned that he was a former butcher he would be extra careful to keep his distance. The Halal butchers were of course known to be pious but exceedingly violent men who would use their long butchering knives and meat cleavers to devastating effect if the community should ever need to go to war or if an insult was levelled against them. Indeed onboard the ship he had the same function as a butchers store would on Rum, that is as an informal arsenal if the Infidels would strike at them, in times of trouble he would pass out his knives and cleavers so that the heathen could be struck down.
Then there were the other officers, noted chiefly by that they had their own quarters, however small these might be, and many cabins were naught more than a bed and a foot of space by the side of it in which you might stand, yet they were always a source of pride and dignity. The other thing setting officers apart was that each of them had a servant, in general a slave, who would do those odd chores that the officer was unable or unwilling to do. They were also unfailingly polite and courteous even to whomever they met and thus Whitcomb would credit them as "Mohammedan Gentlemen" though of course they did not truly deserve this appellation.
As for the various officers there were but a handful with whom Whitcomb liked to spend any serious amount of time, for most of them spoke no civilized tongue whatsoever and since he had not yet learned the nuances of Turkic or Arabic they had to speak proper Imperial.
The first of these were the navigator abd-Malik, or shipboard astrologer for the two positions were closely related indeed. With his elaborate brass astrolabe, a clockwork wonder, and sextant abd-Malik would compare the positions of known stars and track the position of the ship. He would also make horoscopes, here he would ask intricate questions about the birthplace and date of whomever he interviewed and then withdraw from his desks elaborate books and maps taking great note of many interesting phenomena affecting their birth. Making up proper horoscopes took little of his time, but as he told Whitcomb it was one of the great pleasures of life to draw the symbols across the vellum and discover the path that a mans life would take.
Yet it was the ships Imam that took up Whitcombs time most of the time, for though he had already learned much about the Mohammedan faith he was determined to learn more. The Imam was thus most helpful in this regard, and though a stereotypical Imam with his long white bears, bushy eyebrows, and long robe he was, as Whitcomb had found out on the way to Azhistan, like most holy men most eager to speak about his religion. However there was little that Whitcomb could learn now, for this Gentleman had no interest in anything outside his religion stating simply "if what is outside the Dar-al-Islaam confirms the Faith then it is superfluous, and if it contradicts the Faith then it is blasphemous." How can you argue against such an attitude?
The Captain that Gentleman was however far beyond the reach of Whitcomb, not least because they shared no language and did naughty beyond exchange polite courtesies each bowing to the other whenever they met. He was a handsome elderly man, and on the few occasions when they had a translator he proved most knowledgeable on a wide variety of subjects but alas he was most often busy.
On some occasions however they had met over a nargile, each taking deep breaths of cool smoke, watching the fruits dance about inside of the nargile bowl. They would sit cross legged upon thick carpets inside the Captains quarters, the interior of the quarters were heavily decorated with calligraphic art and ornate drapes. After sharing a pipe together it was time for the coffee, this was served in tiny porcelain cups, the coffee was always exceedingly sweet and scalding hot, the custom was that you would drink it in one gulp, and then place the cup upside down upon the silver platter. Afterwards they would continue to smoke while exchanging the odd observation, which was laboriously translated, and yet it always gave you time to think of your reply.
From all of these people Whitcomb gathered more information which he duly wrote into his journal, making it a log of his discoveries. He also inserted into it the drawings that he had made earlier, of wildlife and natural formations, both of which would be of great interest for naturalists and military men alike upon his return. At times he regretted that his hand was not the best, so that there were inkblots and repeatedly erased pencil drawings covering his log, but overall it was a good work.
Sitting by his desk in his quarters he slowly and carefully drew out the maps of the sites he had seen, and studied them for the longest time as a plan began to form in his mind. His plan of course was a daring one, but as his family motto "he who dares wins!"
Rumish Spaceship
Spaceway from Azhistan to Rum
April 1005 NE
Whitcombs quarters
The Rumish ship travelled serenely through the Deep Sky, the large wooden Æther propellers pushing the wooden ship through the murky reaches of the Starway. On the outside there was no motion other than the movement of the propellers, the occasional flicker from one of the portholes in the side, and the way some of the iron bands riveted onto the wooden hull of the ship would sometimes shift slightly and creak when they struck a buffeting area of Æther.
Within Whitcombs quarters however everything was quite silent, only a couple of oil lamps illuminated the room with a soft flickering light. Sitting by his desk Whitcomb was writing in his journal, the only sound in the room was his breathing and the soft scratching of the fountain pen against the pages of the journal. After finishing the last page Whitcomb took a deep breath, then he laid the pen down by the side of the journal and slowly stretched his wrist a bit as he rose up from the light wicker chair he'd been using.
His quarters were quite cramped of course, all shipboard quarters were, though they were still larger than what was common, but they were heavily decorated as were any officers' quarters. The furniture was similar in function, but with slight differences like the carpets on the ground, or the tendency towards lower chairs and tables, or even beds that were nearly on the floor. All of them were engraved or, in case of wicker furniture, woven with intricate geometric patterns.
On his return to Azhistan he didn't have the quarters to himself, for he shared his with Charles Westley, the young lad he rescued from Azhistan. Charles was already asleep in the bed, the sheets had slid down a bit revealing his athletic torso, he lacked the bulk an adult could acquire but the hardships he had experienced had given him a firm lean look that was quite admirable. He was the very image of the youth on the edge of full manhood, a hint of stubble on his cheek, a firm set jaw, and a few strands of golden hair on his muscular chest, the image of the Greek god was however somewhat disrupted by the fact that he was drooling a bit into his pillow.
Whitcomb smiled a bit as he pulled the sheets up over Charles chest, and then covered up his naked leg that was sticking out from the side of the blanket, the young man remained asleep throughout what a good sleeping heart, ah, what I wouldn't do to have that calm and innocence again? He shook his head a bit and then walked towards the door and opened it, the door swung silently on well oiled hinges and Whitcomb walked out into the corridor.
Walking down the corridor Whitcomb felt annoyed at how his footsteps, though very light, seemed to carry downwards, but of course it was night time on the ship and then even a soldier in kid gloves sounds like he's wearing jackboots. No one seemed awoken though, at least no doors shot open with an irate Mohammedan in a night dress waving some curved dagger. Soon he reached the door to the cargo section where Diana and the children were staying, he slowly opened the door feeling a bit worried that he should perhaps have knocked first but then again it'd only wake them up.
The room was almost completely dark, the floor was covered in thick carpets that were omnipresent in all Rumish houses and quarters, there was little furniture in the room other than a small table with a big wash basin, and a door leading to a cabinet for "errands of nature". What was of note there was the mound of people huddled together, Diana lay there holding her arm protectively around the youngest two children, the young boy and girl that Whitcomb bought earlier. The other children, Sandra and the two boys, lay huddled together on the other side, the two boys together rather and Sandra resting with her head pushed against Diana's shoulders. They all looked so peaceful, the way that the blankets slowly rose and fell, and the almost sweet pleasant smell that filled the room.
He stood for a moment and admired Diana's features, her blonde locks slightly disordered around her head, her pale rosy lips slightly opened as she breathed, she was like some angel at sleep, and indeed the restful children reminded him of cherubs. Of course the rough blankets covering them were a bit primitive, and the carpets they slept on seemed not enough, and even this he had gone through much trouble to acquire, but soon he could provide them with what they deserved.
Slowly he closed the door and continued his walk down the corridor, now he reached the second cargo compartment that was his, this one held his two slaves, the eunuch and the cook, as well as the two captive Krasnayans. Here however he did not bother with being too slow and delicate and instead opened the door and closed it behind him.
The room was the same size as the one he'd been in, but there was far less furniture, indeed there was only a small table that was very low on the floor and which had several rough earthenware plates and some cutlery. Other than that the only carpets were the ones that his two Azhistani slaves were sleeping on, they were thick but quite simple and whitish grey.
The eunuch Ibrahim woke up very swiftly and as he did he drew his scimitar, it glittered wickedly as the light from the door played along the length of the blade, he stood quite tense ready to strike down with great fury anyone who intruded upon his sleep and his masters property. Seeing that it was his master, Whitcomb, who had come he sheeted the scimitar at once and then bowed deeply, in the eastern fashion, to Whitcomb and kissed the sleeve of his robe.
Whitcomb nodded to him and then pointed at the two Krasnayan prisoners, then he explained "you go outside," he said slowly the Eunuch was of course not stupid far from it but he spoke no English though he was learning swiftly.
"Yes master," Ibrahim said in halting English "guard door, no enter," he added as he strapped on his belt with the scimitar hanging from it loosely.
"No one enters," Whitcomb casually corrected him even as he watched the communists begin to stir slightly.
The eunuch woke up the cook, who stirred and complained in their own heathen language, but then sat up slightly and bowed her head as she spoke briefly with the eunuch.
Whitcomb meanwhile walked over to the communists, the she pilots name was was Svetlana Ivanovna Petrova, this he had managed to get out of her earlier. However it was interesting but even the most inconsequential remarks could prove invaluable, so interrogations were most worthwhile, provided you were uninterrupted of course.
They had of course both been stripped out of their uniforms, both for fear of them hiding things in said uniforms, and fear of them being recognised as Krasnayans and that this would get out. Both of them were young and well trained, with features slightly different from those Whitcomb was familiar with, slightly different facial cast, slightly different hair even it was most peculiar.
He kneeled down next to Svetlana, she had now been dressed in clothes more suitable for the fairer sex, that is Mohammedan fashion. First a tight muslin bodice which though it had no décolletage still amply displayed a womans' charms, indeed it displayed a womans torso most admirably while respecting the Mohammedan injunctions against revealing skin. The arms were left mostly uncovered by sleeves which ended little under halfway to the elbow. The skirts, though voluminous still reach only to the ankle allowing clear view of the feet and quite often of the ankle itself, something which Whitcomb found most delightful and of course very suitable given Svetlana's new legal status.
When he stroked her hair gently her eyes shot open, she glared at him with hate and distrust as she pulled away from his touch. Whitcomb sighed, she was a difficult one, but of course he had time and moved a bit closer as she backed into the wall "You could just talk a bit," he told her quietly.
"Capitalist dog! Is it not enough that you dress me up as a whore?" Svetlana wheezed in reply "I will never talk! Never!" her hands were raised protectively trying to cover herself, but the fire in her dark eyes told Whitcomb that she had not given up hope of escape, hopefully killing him in the process.
"You will talk, and you're dressed as a slave not a whore," Whitcomb told her firmly "You must realise that your defiance is not productive."
"I demand the rights due a soldier in a state of war!" Svetlana announced "It is unlawful to enslave a soldier."
"Not on Pendleton Sveta," Whitcomb explained "but we've been over this, your regime is planning on enslaving the people of Azhistan and I'll be damned if I'll see more people sent to work camps like that mine." He shifted slightly and began to prepare for what he had in mind.
"Lies! The revolution will free people, and if people die or starve it is because they are counter-revolutionary elements! Such people and their relatives have no right to live!" Suddenly she stopped and if she could have pushed through the wall she would have "you wouldn't dare!" she said "bastard!"
an hour later
Whitcomb felt much relieved, he had not really gained much in the way of useful information but nevertheless the evening had not been entirely wasted, and as he walked back to his quarters, he felt quite cheerful. He slowly and carefully opened the door to his quarters, as he entered he noticed that Charles must have tossed and turned a bit because the sheets were quite disordered. He was alas a tad distracted for the door closed with a loud CLICK and at once Charles stirred again and seemed to waken.
"Sir," Charles asked as he turned around in bed, sitting up slightly with the sheets draped around his waist and upper thighs, he seemed bathed in sweat and indeed wiped his brow with the back of his hand "it's warm in here," he said.
"Is it?" Whitcomb said, then as he felt the air in the room he nodded "I suppose so, but I thought you'd be used to it by now young Mr Westley?"
"Never got used to it, not at night anyway Sir, can't sleep properly."
"Ah relax you seemed most sound asleep only an hour or so ago."
"I was?" Charles seemed a bit embarrassed by this "I... ah..."
"Yes, so don't worry, go back to sleep now it's late," Whitcomb said as he began to prepare for bed."
"Yes Sir," Charles said as he turned a bit and rested his head on the pillow trying very hard to go back asleep even as his gut churned slightly "Sir? Are we really going to get to your home world?"
"Relax young man," Whitcomb said as he casually patted Charles' leg "I can assure you that these fine merchants will indeed get us to Rum, and from there we will indeed be able to get one of our own merchantmen, or if we're lucky maybe even a frigate, to take us to Erde."
Charles nodded to this, then he turned around again to face Whitcomb "Thank you Sir," he said again glad that Whitcomb didn't seem to get impatient about him asking the same questions over and over again.
Later still, the ship
Within the ship much was transpiring wherever you'd care to look, in the engine room the huge Ætheric coal burning furnace filled the boiler room with a loud drone of the roaring fire, and the flickering light lit up the faces of the blackgang in a near demoniac fashion. These men were the most despised of the workers on any Rumish ship and often recruited among the Christians and the Jews since few Mohammedans would do this work regardless of pay, and the title blackgang was well earned as their skin was as black as that of the purest Zanzibarean, this of course was due to the coal and not their natural complexion which was as fair as any other crewman aboard.
Moving onwards you should find the crew quarters, though quarters is perhaps the wrong expression since most of them had little more than a set of hammocks strung up alongside the walls of the common room. Alongside these hammocks were also sky chests filled with their meagre belongings usually little more than some cutlery, a change of clothes, and a few mementoes from long travels through the ether. The crew in their tattered turbans, pantaloons and vests were naught more nor less than the sailors of ages yore having taken to the Deep Sky rather than plying the oceans.
If you now began to slowly ascend up the ladder of authority you would come to the kitchens, these were not a great priority either but the need for proper Halal cooking meant that only Mussulmen were permissible here. The cook was in fact a former Halal butcher, a big massive fellow with arms like the thighs of an ox and his neck and expression continued that impression. Surrounding him in the busy kitchen were several helping boys that did most of the work, they would scurry among the large black cast iron stoves receiving their heat from the pipes leading up from the engine room, and among the puttering pots of various dishes carrying ingredients and implements to and fro. When it was meal time they would rush to the various departments carrying the meals in large earthenware pots to help keep it warm, if the recipients of the meals mattered they would then have their own plates that the boys would arrange the meals on.
The cook was not a character to be trifled with, you knew that before you knew his former profession, but whenever a new crewman learned that he was a former butcher he would be extra careful to keep his distance. The Halal butchers were of course known to be pious but exceedingly violent men who would use their long butchering knives and meat cleavers to devastating effect if the community should ever need to go to war or if an insult was levelled against them. Indeed onboard the ship he had the same function as a butchers store would on Rum, that is as an informal arsenal if the Infidels would strike at them, in times of trouble he would pass out his knives and cleavers so that the heathen could be struck down.
Then there were the other officers, noted chiefly by that they had their own quarters, however small these might be, and many cabins were naught more than a bed and a foot of space by the side of it in which you might stand, yet they were always a source of pride and dignity. The other thing setting officers apart was that each of them had a servant, in general a slave, who would do those odd chores that the officer was unable or unwilling to do. They were also unfailingly polite and courteous even to whomever they met and thus Whitcomb would credit them as "Mohammedan Gentlemen" though of course they did not truly deserve this appellation.
As for the various officers there were but a handful with whom Whitcomb liked to spend any serious amount of time, for most of them spoke no civilized tongue whatsoever and since he had not yet learned the nuances of Turkic or Arabic they had to speak proper Imperial.
The first of these were the navigator abd-Malik, or shipboard astrologer for the two positions were closely related indeed. With his elaborate brass astrolabe, a clockwork wonder, and sextant abd-Malik would compare the positions of known stars and track the position of the ship. He would also make horoscopes, here he would ask intricate questions about the birthplace and date of whomever he interviewed and then withdraw from his desks elaborate books and maps taking great note of many interesting phenomena affecting their birth. Making up proper horoscopes took little of his time, but as he told Whitcomb it was one of the great pleasures of life to draw the symbols across the vellum and discover the path that a mans life would take.
Yet it was the ships Imam that took up Whitcombs time most of the time, for though he had already learned much about the Mohammedan faith he was determined to learn more. The Imam was thus most helpful in this regard, and though a stereotypical Imam with his long white bears, bushy eyebrows, and long robe he was, as Whitcomb had found out on the way to Azhistan, like most holy men most eager to speak about his religion. However there was little that Whitcomb could learn now, for this Gentleman had no interest in anything outside his religion stating simply "if what is outside the Dar-al-Islaam confirms the Faith then it is superfluous, and if it contradicts the Faith then it is blasphemous." How can you argue against such an attitude?
The Captain that Gentleman was however far beyond the reach of Whitcomb, not least because they shared no language and did naughty beyond exchange polite courtesies each bowing to the other whenever they met. He was a handsome elderly man, and on the few occasions when they had a translator he proved most knowledgeable on a wide variety of subjects but alas he was most often busy.
On some occasions however they had met over a nargile, each taking deep breaths of cool smoke, watching the fruits dance about inside of the nargile bowl. They would sit cross legged upon thick carpets inside the Captains quarters, the interior of the quarters were heavily decorated with calligraphic art and ornate drapes. After sharing a pipe together it was time for the coffee, this was served in tiny porcelain cups, the coffee was always exceedingly sweet and scalding hot, the custom was that you would drink it in one gulp, and then place the cup upside down upon the silver platter. Afterwards they would continue to smoke while exchanging the odd observation, which was laboriously translated, and yet it always gave you time to think of your reply.
From all of these people Whitcomb gathered more information which he duly wrote into his journal, making it a log of his discoveries. He also inserted into it the drawings that he had made earlier, of wildlife and natural formations, both of which would be of great interest for naturalists and military men alike upon his return. At times he regretted that his hand was not the best, so that there were inkblots and repeatedly erased pencil drawings covering his log, but overall it was a good work.
Sitting by his desk in his quarters he slowly and carefully drew out the maps of the sites he had seen, and studied them for the longest time as a plan began to form in his mind. His plan of course was a daring one, but as his family motto "he who dares wins!"
Allan Whitcomb's Adventure in Azhistan Part XV
Istamboul
Rum
May 1005 NE
Spaceport
They had finally landed in the City of Wonders, the place where he had made his initial bet, and Whitcomb had already decided that he was not about to miss the meeting that was sure to occur at Sindbads house! Furthermore he was fortunate in that there was a proper Pendletonian embassy on Rum, wherein he could find shelter and sanctuary.
Now however they were disembarking from the æthership and his charges had the first chance to look at the sky line of Istamboul, and what a sight it was. Everywhere minarets jutted up towards the sky, side by side with the enormous domes of the largest mosques, and the city seemed to stretch on forever with low square houses and teeming masses of people of every walk of life. Nowhere was any building allowed to exceed the height of a mosque, but despite this the Topkapi and other palaces were plainly visible with their competing domes and glittering gilded mosaics and blue tile patterns.
Above the city large airships in bright colours, and often decorated with elaborate calligraphy, serenely plied the skies along with the birds and the occasional lumbering shape of a ship struggling to reach the Deep Sky.
However on ground level, at the port where the party found themselves, it seemed a frightful jumble for here were the rough stevedores in their simple drab trousers and tunics handling the cargoes with cries and curses as they carried and dragged crate after crate away. You had your throngs of merchants, natives in colourful turbans and elaborate robes often flanked by a dozen servants and hangers on, and foreigners too in their own distinctive dress standing out as islands in a foreign sea. All over the port there rose cries in Turkish as orders were made, curses shouted, and work songs sung by sweaty labourers. There were but a few winches and other labour saving devices, and in the main it was manpower and a few beasts of burden that did the work.
Charles and Diana peered out, along with the two older boys who were too imperious to be frightened even by their recent ordeals. Their demeanours however were quite different for Charles assumed his role as head of his family and peered out at the crowd "I say they are a noisy lot aren't they?"
Whitcomb smiled a bit at that remark "Yes they are rather, but take heed now," he pointed towards a spot in the outskirt of the crowd where a group of palanquins were approaching "our transport draws near."
The three palanquins were quite large, each of them carried by no less than eight men, all of whom were tall and quite muscular, they were dressed in colourful clothes with loose trousers and vests as well as bright turbans on their heads. In front of them walked a half a dozen guards similarly adorned, but carrying long thick sticks with which they pushed bystanders out of the way crying out something in their own tongue. The palanquins themselves matched the splendour of the bearers, with the cloth covers being embroidered. The moment that they reached the ship the cloth covers were pulled aside revealing an interior with a soft bottom covered with pillows.
Charles nodded eagerly "I see Sir," he said as he turned to look at Diana.
"I will be so glad when I am inside your embassy," Diana confessed "I don't think I will ever feel safe in the presence of these Mohammedans," she added as she looked on fearfully at the crowds.
"There's no need to worry Ms Westley," Whitcomb was quick to assure her as he motioned towards the palanquins, "if you'd please get onboard the middle one we'll be on our way."
"Of course Sir, and," Diana smiled, it was a lovely smile that lit up her face and showed rows of perfect pearly teeth, her look was one suggesting that she was coming perilously close to an infatuation with her rescuer "we are so very grateful for your aid."
"If not for our cover Ms Westley I should kiss your hand," Whitcomb said "but alas please hurry now."
"Of course, of course," Diana said as she ushered the children to follow her as she approached the second palanquin. The cook and the Eunuch Ibrahim were quick out to help Diana and the children enter, and far from being frightened the children seemed to view this as a glorious adventure in an exotic vehicle.
The cook and the eunuch would travel along with the male soldier, Ivan something, whereas Whitcomb and Charles would take the front palanquin accompanied with Svetlana. The arrangement was of course for safety for if they were moved together there was a fear that they might somehow collude to manage an escape. Of course since both of them were restrained with a gag and their hands tied behind their backs there seemed little danger of this, but you never knew.
As they entered the bearers began to pick up the pace, and the guards would clear a path as they moved through the bustling throngs. The journey took them through the narrow streets of Istamboul, and through disguised holes in the Palanquin the passengers could look out at the crowds and sights that surrounded them. The scenes were quite astounding, the crowds around them had people ranging from nobles to beggars, a swirl of humanity unseen anywhere else
On the street corners you might see some mountebank or performer trying to divest the crowd of their money; a snake tamer in white garb sat in the middle of an open space playing upon his flute, his body swaying softly in tune with the music as the serpent rose up from the woven basket swaying and hissing dangerously as the crowd threw small copper coins into the tamers wooden cup; or a man in a fanciful costume richly decorated with an enormous turban studded with feathers and, no doubt false, gemstones would hold up some queer fashioned bottle and offer it as a cure for whatever ailed you.
Likewise they passed by salesmen in the narrow streets, small stands where fruits or candies were stacked up, or small shops in front of which the owner or his son would hawk his goods or else big windows displaying their wares and often they would be open and let people buy straight from the window without ever entering the store. Wherever you looked there was buying and selling, commerce and entertainment, a dazzling display of wealth and vanity, but also tall fences and forbidding white chalked buildings with big doors but absolutely no windows in the first floor, and if you saw stairs leading up to the flat roofs they were always in alleys somewhat hidden away.
As they approached the embassy the streets seemed to grow a bit wide, and the people in them a bit more scarce and better dressed, there were also more palanquins and even the odd wagon though most people seemed to prefer riding directly or being carried.
The Embassy of the Free Republic of Pendleton
The Embassy itself was a grand and magnificent building surrounded by a tall fence topped with crushed glass, the gate was black cast iron and on the side was displayed the coat of arms of the Republic. The gate swung silently open as the palanquins approached, and the small convoy now entered the paved road through the gardens surrounding the embassy itself. Then as they passed the gate swung shut behind them making Diana and the children jump and stir a bit but they soon calmed down.
Standing in front of the entrance to the embassy was ambassador Delgado himself, he was wearing a civilian suit and a thick blue order band with a starburst medal upon it, an order for long and devoted service. Flanking him were some other dignitaries of the embassy also in their dress finery, though of course Major Anthony Hewith outshone them all in his Army uniform resplendent with bright brass buttons and golden ropes in an elaborate pattern.
As the palanquins came to a halt Whitcomb left his, fighting against the urge to stretch and instead marched up to the assembled people and saluted them, something that looked very odd coming from an apparent Mohammedan tribesman. Ambassador Delgado and Major Hewith acknowledged the salute and Delgado extended his hand "Lieutenant Whitcomb welcome back."
Whitcomb shook the ambassadors hand, the handshake between them was quite firm, "thank you your excellency, I am glad to be back."
"Now then Lieutenant I see you've brought some guests," Delgado noted as he peered at the other palanquins, then back at Whitcomb.
"My apologies your Excellency four slaves," Whitcomb hesitated then said "of which two are of a most peculiar origin that I would like to discuss with you and the Major Excellency," he noticed the surprised expression on Delgado's and Major Hewiths face but both of them gave a nod and Whitcomb then added "Then there is a young man and lady, and five children of extended anglo-saxon heritage, there is a long story behind that Excellency but involves me rescuing them from captivity most foul."
"Good heavens!" Delgado burst out "I was merely here to congratulate you on your return from adventure and perhaps hear some hint of the news, but now it would seem that there is both good dinner stories and important business, so then..." looking at one of the servants he called "Harrison ensure that Whitcombs guests are kept comfortable and that the slaves are kept safe."
Studying the people disembarking from the palanquin Harrison seemed a bit confused, he cast a pleading look at Whitcomb who told him "Ah Harrison the two swarthy ones and the two in gags and manacles are the slaves, the latter pair are the dangerous ones," there was much mirth at this remark as everyone got a good chuckle.
Harrison didn't take this at all badly bowing to Whitcomb "yes Sir, of course," he replied before moving over to help usher everyone into their right place. Obviously he had suspected this already, but in such matters it is better to be the butt of a joke than to make a horrid faux pas.
Office of the Ambassador
The office was the standard for all such places in the Republic, dark and masculine in décor with bookshelves lining the walls, a single large colourful native carpet upon the floor, upholstered leather chairs and paintings of great politicians and events of the past. The ambassador was sitting behind his massive oaken desk, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the roof for a moment.
"Good lord," he said as he looked at the only two other people in the room, aside from one of the servants of course, namely Whitcomb and Hewith "Lieutenant this story you've told me, and of course the evidence you've brought, it brings our worst nightmares to life!" He took a sip from his cognac snifter while waiting for a reply from the others.
"Excellency, this is true, and that is why I ask to be sent back to Pendleton as soon as possible, preferably with my animate and inanimate cargo, as well as the guests," Whitcomb replied.
Major Hewith nodded once "The lieutenant is right Excellency, if you'll forgive me for saying so he's earned a reward and he should be the one to alert Jarman Street."
"Yes of course you're both right," Delgado looked to Whitcomb "Lieutenant I shall write a letter recommending you for promotion, and I shall also ensure that you and your property receive expedited transport on the first of our ships out of here."
"I am most obliged to you Excellency," Whitcomb said and to you Major," he was quick to add "your aid has been a most welcome boon."
Later, the Drawing Room
The drawing room was now the centre of a jolly little party of three, Whitcomb was attending with his two friends and they were already well underway. The drawing room itself was also a nice place with several chairs, upholstered with cloth or leather, and various sundry tables suitable for drinks or playing cards. Right now however they were all sitting, or standing, around a round table filled with wine bottles, to their side stood a couple of discrete servants attending to their orders.
"I say smashing story!" Harold Flowers finally conceded "a toast to our glorious hero!" he cried as he lifted up his wine glass.
"Hear, hear" Walter Chrisman added as he too raised his glass.
Whitcomb naturally acted very modest "Good grief you embarrass me, it was hardly that much, I'm sure any decent chap would have done the same thing were he in my shoes!" he said sounding quite sincere.
"Pish!" Flowers roared "What utter nonsense! You're a hero now whether you want to be or not!"
All Whitcomb could do was laugh somewhat embarrassedly over the fulsome praise his fellows saw fit to shower upon his shoulders.
"Cheers!" they both called and Whitcomb joined them emptying the glass of its strong South Islands wine, sweeter and stronger than the norm but very satisfying then and there, and then they all threw the glasses as hard as they might into a corner where they shattered into sparkling shards.
"I do wish we had a fireplace," Chrisman said "but these poor beggars apparently never heard of them."
"Yes not quite the same smashing glasses in the corner, but I'm sure we can get one brought over from Erde soon enough," Flowers commented "but then again we'd scarcely ever need it!"
"Nonsense! We could use it for smashing wine glasses, and then we wouldn't need to attach a chimney to it either!" Chrisman offered.
Whitcomb let out a little laugh and Flowers soon joined him, "ah yes capital suggestion, to chimneyless fireplaces!" Whitcomb offered up much to the mirth of the others and they once more smashed a set of glasses into a corner.
After toasting a few other things like faithful women, unfaithful women (not belonging to present company), the horse, the rifle, the steamcar, and the butlers birthday, or t'was his birthday, they found themselves in quite high spirits.
"I say what's with that menagerie you brought with you old boy?" Flowers asked as he leaned forward somewhat uneasily "I mean I figure the slaves and the commie slaves, but what's with that woman, I presume a maiden in distress? That boy her brother?"
"Absolutely," Whitcomb said as he stood up "Yes her brother, delightful young chappie."
"Heh, I see Sir," Chrisman replied and winked to Whitcomb "to friends and delightful young chappies!" he said as he emptied another glass and sent it into the corner, this time missing and having it smash into a wall tearing at the wall paper "Damn."
"You're drunk man!" Flowers said annoyed "he does seem capital, and from what you said a splendid man that ought to enter the army!"
"Quite so, and I'll be his patron," Whitcomb announced "hell I'll pay his commission if need be," he added.
"Now there's generosity," Chrisman announced "to the Achilles of Azhistan!" he said as he offered another toast then he added "or perhaps our hero has been struck by lightning?"
"Come of it Chrisman you're drunk!" Whitcomb said suddenly defensive and a bit embarrassed "I merely feel responsible for the lad that's all!"
"Good lord! He's right! You have been struck by lightning!" Flowers announced "I say you could do a lot worse than that, and I'd wager she wouldn't turn you down either!"
Whitcomb squirmed a bit now "now I should do the poor lad a good turn!" he said to deflect the conversation.
"Well if he's going to be ... a gentleman, perhaps we should do what is done for a young gentleman?" Chrisman announced "I am sure that it could be arranged, and then you could take him to the gentlemans club when you reach Pendleton again?"
"Yes..." Whitcomb said thoughtfully "Excellent idea."
Later in the evening, outside Charles' room
Charles was quite happy to be in his room, or rooms actually, it wasn't all that much but it had a entry room, a parlour, a bedroom, a bathroom and an adjourning small room where the servant lived. All the rooms were tastefully decorated, though a tad laden down with knickknacks and decorations, but still after living in austerity for a while even this felt very good.
He particularly liked the parlour, or maybe he should call it a drawing room, for there were a lot of bookshelves here filled with very interesting books, some of them were pulp books really but he found it amusing to look through a few of them. There was also several swords hung up for decoration, they were heavy cavalry models but he found it quite interesting to pick one down and pull it out seeing the heavy blade and swinging it around a bit.
Carrying the sword with him he walked around for a bit exploring the rest of his rooms again, the bedroom was also nice with big clothes chests with thick iron hinges, and a huge canopy bed with little cherubs on top of the popes. Placing the sword on top of the clothes chest he leapt up and landed on the bed, the spring mattress bounced him nearly a foot back into the air "excellent," he said as a big smile spread across his features.
Then suddenly he heard a knock on the door, he frowned a bit and got out of the bed, only when he was almost at the door did he realise he could have shouted for the servant oh well I'm already here he thought as he opened the door and then stopped cold.
Outside the door was a very surprising sight, her skin was dusky like coffee mixed with lots of cream, but it was smooth and without blemishes, her lips slightly darker than he was used to, her hair was slightly curled and completely black, and her eyes were emphasised by kohl. She smiled as she saw him and batted her eyelashes a bit, only then did he realise that she was dressed in naught more than a vest with a line of cloth covering her breasts, and silken pantaloons, she did have a pair of slippers on and some gemstones in her hair but though the jewellery was lovely and her clothing was decorated with fine embroidery Charles was unable to really notice as he swallowed a bit.
"Are you lost," he asked feeling very silly, desperately wishing he could find some smooth suave thing to say to this vision, convinced she was looking for some smooth talking dashing chap.
She smiled at him and shook her head softly, then she placed her fine hand on his chest, she moved slightly closer to him so he could feel her warm, nay hot, breath on his chest, and then she looked up at him and batted her eyelashes again her dark eyes burning with passion.
"Ah, uhm," Charles said as he took a step back noticing that she followed him closely, licking her lips a bit as she did, as he walked back into his rooms she gently pushed the door with her heel making it slide shut with a nice little click.
The next day, breakfast
The breakfast room was somewhat crowded, it was the ambassadors table and so only the top score or so of the people in the embassy were allowed here, and to their credit Whitcomb and Diana Westley, though none of the children of course, were permitted to sit down here. The table setting was immaculate with a white linen tablecloth, silver cutlery even for breakfast, and lovely simple white porcelain plates. Naturally everyone was dressed in semi-formal, which for Diana meant a nice dress hastily fitted to her by the seamstresses of the embassy.
While the servants were moving to and fro, placing baskets of warm scones on the table, along with plates of fruit, bacon, eggs, and other breakfast foods, Diana was looking worried towards the door. Finally she leaned towards Whitcomb and whispered "its so unlike him to be late!"
Whitcomb seemed to be unable to take this entirely seriously "I'm sure that the ambassador will forgive it, given the circumstances."
Diana however seemed a bit sceptical about this, but she didn't comment, instead pleased that she was allowed to be a proper lady again for the first time in many long years "I hope so Lieutenant," she said and pretended a smile.
Fortunately Charles did indeed arrive moments later, he seemed a bit haggard but still presentable and quietly found his place at the table, with everyone politely ignoring this slight faux pas from his side. Looking at Diana he whispered "Sorry sis, I was, ah, uh, delayed, couldn't sleep I mean."
"Yes I suppose," Diana said with a smile "it does get rather warm here, I know that it's hard to sleep at night, I mean you end up tossing and turning in bed and not getting a wink of sleep all night."
"Yes, quite," Charles said as he turned beet red and rather awkwardly picked at his cutlery, making it cling slightly as he dropped it back onto the table before recovering it with a sheepish smile.
Fortunately the breakfast was quite good and the topic of conversation soon changed to that of the local politics, and of course of the latest books and fashions from home. Neither Diana nor Charles could really participate, but the mention of fashion made Diana pay close attention and she felt greatly relieved when it came to the modesty of Pendletonian dress.
Departure
The stay on Rum had been reasonably pleasant for all of them, but after a few days Whitcombs guests were actually quite keen on leaving, or as Diana said "Lieutenant Whitcomb I scarcely think I shall ever feel safe in the presence of Mohammedans or Communists, and I pray to God every day that we shall soon be out of this place." They were heartfelt and truthful words, for every day she, and the children, would kneel down and say their prayers and among them would be a heartfelt prayer to get away from the Mohammedans!
However the matter was scarcely in their hands, and it was a full four days before the first Explorer class frigate once more entered the system. In the mean time they had acquired quite a bit in terms of clothing and kit, and Whitcomb had provided a set of travel documents for all of his guests, as well as a notarisation and confirmation of his ownership of the four foreign slaves. In short when the frigate arrived they were all ready and rearing to go.
The spaceport was as busy as it had been the first time they got there, but now Diana and Charles stood in the doorway of the shuttle, Diana shuddered a bit as she looked out over the thronging crowds a light veil covering her face to prove her a freewoman and to deflect unwanted attentions. It was quite awful to have to wait, the children were already in the passenger compartment, a rather simple one with hard wooden seats clearly not intended for comfort or long range travel.
Finally though he came, much to their relief, and as he entered the shuttle he bowed to Diana and kissed her hand, gently brushing his lips across her hand as was the custom, his long beard scraping against her soft skin. "My apologies Ms Westley," he told her "I had to see a friend of mine, a merchant of some repute, who lives in this city and with whom I had a small wager."
"I hope then Sir that you won your wager," Diana said even as she looked nervously at the crowd and then at the seat.
"I should think so yes," Whitcomb said at once "I generally do Ms Westley."
"Of course he won!" Charles burst out "I say but this place isn't so bad, but still I shan't be sad to leave," he said excitedly as he paced nervously.
"Relax young Mr Westley, we'll leave when the pilot wants," Whitcomb said as he guided them back into the passenger compartment, talking quietly to them as the steward closed the door firmly behind them. They sat down in the seats and there was a tug that seemed to try to pull their stomachs back as the steam rockets fired up, but then the shuttle moved smoothly up into the air and towards the Deep Sky.
As they left the thick atmosphere of the planet itself Charles looked out through the portholes and suddenly he cried out "I can see the ship!" and there it was a graceful ship with smooth delightful lines reminding you of the clipper ships of old, except made from iron and steel adapted to the modern age.
Slowly the shuttle drew nearer the ship, and then with a loud CLANG and a shudder it docked with the frigate, Whitcomb rose from his seat and offered his hand to Diana who gracefully accepted it "If you would follow me."
The shuttle door was opened and they found themselves in the shuttle bay of the ship, a somewhat dark and unpleasant place, but a green carpet led to the entrance to the corridors beside the shuttle bay. However beside this green carpet stood a row of uniformed men, chief among them the Captain there to greet his new guests.
The Captain approached Whitcomb and after they had exchanged salutes he announced "Lieutenant Whitcomb welcome aboard the FRS Explorer," he turned to Diana and said simply "Ma'am you are also of course most welcome, and the both of you invited to dine at my table tonight."
"I would be delighted to accept your kind offer Sir," Whitcomb replied graciously.
"and so would I Sir," Diana added for herself.
The Captain seemed quite pleased "If you would the follow Midshipman Bellamy here he will escort you to your quarters, I fear I must ask that the children remain there except when specifically permitted to leave as they have a tendency to disrupt operations."
"I see Sir," Diana said feeling a bit disappointed, but hardly about to challenge the Captain on his own ship.
Half an hour later they were all situated within their quarters, Diana and the children received extra-size quarters usually reserved for ambassadors, whereas Charles and Whitcomb were forced to settle for the kind of quarters a pair of junior officers would normally share. However all of them were too busy getting settled and taking in the spectacular view as the ship slowly began its journey towards the starway and from there back to Erde.
Rum
May 1005 NE
Spaceport
They had finally landed in the City of Wonders, the place where he had made his initial bet, and Whitcomb had already decided that he was not about to miss the meeting that was sure to occur at Sindbads house! Furthermore he was fortunate in that there was a proper Pendletonian embassy on Rum, wherein he could find shelter and sanctuary.
Now however they were disembarking from the æthership and his charges had the first chance to look at the sky line of Istamboul, and what a sight it was. Everywhere minarets jutted up towards the sky, side by side with the enormous domes of the largest mosques, and the city seemed to stretch on forever with low square houses and teeming masses of people of every walk of life. Nowhere was any building allowed to exceed the height of a mosque, but despite this the Topkapi and other palaces were plainly visible with their competing domes and glittering gilded mosaics and blue tile patterns.
Above the city large airships in bright colours, and often decorated with elaborate calligraphy, serenely plied the skies along with the birds and the occasional lumbering shape of a ship struggling to reach the Deep Sky.
However on ground level, at the port where the party found themselves, it seemed a frightful jumble for here were the rough stevedores in their simple drab trousers and tunics handling the cargoes with cries and curses as they carried and dragged crate after crate away. You had your throngs of merchants, natives in colourful turbans and elaborate robes often flanked by a dozen servants and hangers on, and foreigners too in their own distinctive dress standing out as islands in a foreign sea. All over the port there rose cries in Turkish as orders were made, curses shouted, and work songs sung by sweaty labourers. There were but a few winches and other labour saving devices, and in the main it was manpower and a few beasts of burden that did the work.
Charles and Diana peered out, along with the two older boys who were too imperious to be frightened even by their recent ordeals. Their demeanours however were quite different for Charles assumed his role as head of his family and peered out at the crowd "I say they are a noisy lot aren't they?"
Whitcomb smiled a bit at that remark "Yes they are rather, but take heed now," he pointed towards a spot in the outskirt of the crowd where a group of palanquins were approaching "our transport draws near."
The three palanquins were quite large, each of them carried by no less than eight men, all of whom were tall and quite muscular, they were dressed in colourful clothes with loose trousers and vests as well as bright turbans on their heads. In front of them walked a half a dozen guards similarly adorned, but carrying long thick sticks with which they pushed bystanders out of the way crying out something in their own tongue. The palanquins themselves matched the splendour of the bearers, with the cloth covers being embroidered. The moment that they reached the ship the cloth covers were pulled aside revealing an interior with a soft bottom covered with pillows.
Charles nodded eagerly "I see Sir," he said as he turned to look at Diana.
"I will be so glad when I am inside your embassy," Diana confessed "I don't think I will ever feel safe in the presence of these Mohammedans," she added as she looked on fearfully at the crowds.
"There's no need to worry Ms Westley," Whitcomb was quick to assure her as he motioned towards the palanquins, "if you'd please get onboard the middle one we'll be on our way."
"Of course Sir, and," Diana smiled, it was a lovely smile that lit up her face and showed rows of perfect pearly teeth, her look was one suggesting that she was coming perilously close to an infatuation with her rescuer "we are so very grateful for your aid."
"If not for our cover Ms Westley I should kiss your hand," Whitcomb said "but alas please hurry now."
"Of course, of course," Diana said as she ushered the children to follow her as she approached the second palanquin. The cook and the Eunuch Ibrahim were quick out to help Diana and the children enter, and far from being frightened the children seemed to view this as a glorious adventure in an exotic vehicle.
The cook and the eunuch would travel along with the male soldier, Ivan something, whereas Whitcomb and Charles would take the front palanquin accompanied with Svetlana. The arrangement was of course for safety for if they were moved together there was a fear that they might somehow collude to manage an escape. Of course since both of them were restrained with a gag and their hands tied behind their backs there seemed little danger of this, but you never knew.
As they entered the bearers began to pick up the pace, and the guards would clear a path as they moved through the bustling throngs. The journey took them through the narrow streets of Istamboul, and through disguised holes in the Palanquin the passengers could look out at the crowds and sights that surrounded them. The scenes were quite astounding, the crowds around them had people ranging from nobles to beggars, a swirl of humanity unseen anywhere else
On the street corners you might see some mountebank or performer trying to divest the crowd of their money; a snake tamer in white garb sat in the middle of an open space playing upon his flute, his body swaying softly in tune with the music as the serpent rose up from the woven basket swaying and hissing dangerously as the crowd threw small copper coins into the tamers wooden cup; or a man in a fanciful costume richly decorated with an enormous turban studded with feathers and, no doubt false, gemstones would hold up some queer fashioned bottle and offer it as a cure for whatever ailed you.
Likewise they passed by salesmen in the narrow streets, small stands where fruits or candies were stacked up, or small shops in front of which the owner or his son would hawk his goods or else big windows displaying their wares and often they would be open and let people buy straight from the window without ever entering the store. Wherever you looked there was buying and selling, commerce and entertainment, a dazzling display of wealth and vanity, but also tall fences and forbidding white chalked buildings with big doors but absolutely no windows in the first floor, and if you saw stairs leading up to the flat roofs they were always in alleys somewhat hidden away.
As they approached the embassy the streets seemed to grow a bit wide, and the people in them a bit more scarce and better dressed, there were also more palanquins and even the odd wagon though most people seemed to prefer riding directly or being carried.
The Embassy of the Free Republic of Pendleton
The Embassy itself was a grand and magnificent building surrounded by a tall fence topped with crushed glass, the gate was black cast iron and on the side was displayed the coat of arms of the Republic. The gate swung silently open as the palanquins approached, and the small convoy now entered the paved road through the gardens surrounding the embassy itself. Then as they passed the gate swung shut behind them making Diana and the children jump and stir a bit but they soon calmed down.
Standing in front of the entrance to the embassy was ambassador Delgado himself, he was wearing a civilian suit and a thick blue order band with a starburst medal upon it, an order for long and devoted service. Flanking him were some other dignitaries of the embassy also in their dress finery, though of course Major Anthony Hewith outshone them all in his Army uniform resplendent with bright brass buttons and golden ropes in an elaborate pattern.
As the palanquins came to a halt Whitcomb left his, fighting against the urge to stretch and instead marched up to the assembled people and saluted them, something that looked very odd coming from an apparent Mohammedan tribesman. Ambassador Delgado and Major Hewith acknowledged the salute and Delgado extended his hand "Lieutenant Whitcomb welcome back."
Whitcomb shook the ambassadors hand, the handshake between them was quite firm, "thank you your excellency, I am glad to be back."
"Now then Lieutenant I see you've brought some guests," Delgado noted as he peered at the other palanquins, then back at Whitcomb.
"My apologies your Excellency four slaves," Whitcomb hesitated then said "of which two are of a most peculiar origin that I would like to discuss with you and the Major Excellency," he noticed the surprised expression on Delgado's and Major Hewiths face but both of them gave a nod and Whitcomb then added "Then there is a young man and lady, and five children of extended anglo-saxon heritage, there is a long story behind that Excellency but involves me rescuing them from captivity most foul."
"Good heavens!" Delgado burst out "I was merely here to congratulate you on your return from adventure and perhaps hear some hint of the news, but now it would seem that there is both good dinner stories and important business, so then..." looking at one of the servants he called "Harrison ensure that Whitcombs guests are kept comfortable and that the slaves are kept safe."
Studying the people disembarking from the palanquin Harrison seemed a bit confused, he cast a pleading look at Whitcomb who told him "Ah Harrison the two swarthy ones and the two in gags and manacles are the slaves, the latter pair are the dangerous ones," there was much mirth at this remark as everyone got a good chuckle.
Harrison didn't take this at all badly bowing to Whitcomb "yes Sir, of course," he replied before moving over to help usher everyone into their right place. Obviously he had suspected this already, but in such matters it is better to be the butt of a joke than to make a horrid faux pas.
Office of the Ambassador
The office was the standard for all such places in the Republic, dark and masculine in décor with bookshelves lining the walls, a single large colourful native carpet upon the floor, upholstered leather chairs and paintings of great politicians and events of the past. The ambassador was sitting behind his massive oaken desk, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the roof for a moment.
"Good lord," he said as he looked at the only two other people in the room, aside from one of the servants of course, namely Whitcomb and Hewith "Lieutenant this story you've told me, and of course the evidence you've brought, it brings our worst nightmares to life!" He took a sip from his cognac snifter while waiting for a reply from the others.
"Excellency, this is true, and that is why I ask to be sent back to Pendleton as soon as possible, preferably with my animate and inanimate cargo, as well as the guests," Whitcomb replied.
Major Hewith nodded once "The lieutenant is right Excellency, if you'll forgive me for saying so he's earned a reward and he should be the one to alert Jarman Street."
"Yes of course you're both right," Delgado looked to Whitcomb "Lieutenant I shall write a letter recommending you for promotion, and I shall also ensure that you and your property receive expedited transport on the first of our ships out of here."
"I am most obliged to you Excellency," Whitcomb said and to you Major," he was quick to add "your aid has been a most welcome boon."
Later, the Drawing Room
The drawing room was now the centre of a jolly little party of three, Whitcomb was attending with his two friends and they were already well underway. The drawing room itself was also a nice place with several chairs, upholstered with cloth or leather, and various sundry tables suitable for drinks or playing cards. Right now however they were all sitting, or standing, around a round table filled with wine bottles, to their side stood a couple of discrete servants attending to their orders.
"I say smashing story!" Harold Flowers finally conceded "a toast to our glorious hero!" he cried as he lifted up his wine glass.
"Hear, hear" Walter Chrisman added as he too raised his glass.
Whitcomb naturally acted very modest "Good grief you embarrass me, it was hardly that much, I'm sure any decent chap would have done the same thing were he in my shoes!" he said sounding quite sincere.
"Pish!" Flowers roared "What utter nonsense! You're a hero now whether you want to be or not!"
All Whitcomb could do was laugh somewhat embarrassedly over the fulsome praise his fellows saw fit to shower upon his shoulders.
"Cheers!" they both called and Whitcomb joined them emptying the glass of its strong South Islands wine, sweeter and stronger than the norm but very satisfying then and there, and then they all threw the glasses as hard as they might into a corner where they shattered into sparkling shards.
"I do wish we had a fireplace," Chrisman said "but these poor beggars apparently never heard of them."
"Yes not quite the same smashing glasses in the corner, but I'm sure we can get one brought over from Erde soon enough," Flowers commented "but then again we'd scarcely ever need it!"
"Nonsense! We could use it for smashing wine glasses, and then we wouldn't need to attach a chimney to it either!" Chrisman offered.
Whitcomb let out a little laugh and Flowers soon joined him, "ah yes capital suggestion, to chimneyless fireplaces!" Whitcomb offered up much to the mirth of the others and they once more smashed a set of glasses into a corner.
After toasting a few other things like faithful women, unfaithful women (not belonging to present company), the horse, the rifle, the steamcar, and the butlers birthday, or t'was his birthday, they found themselves in quite high spirits.
"I say what's with that menagerie you brought with you old boy?" Flowers asked as he leaned forward somewhat uneasily "I mean I figure the slaves and the commie slaves, but what's with that woman, I presume a maiden in distress? That boy her brother?"
"Absolutely," Whitcomb said as he stood up "Yes her brother, delightful young chappie."
"Heh, I see Sir," Chrisman replied and winked to Whitcomb "to friends and delightful young chappies!" he said as he emptied another glass and sent it into the corner, this time missing and having it smash into a wall tearing at the wall paper "Damn."
"You're drunk man!" Flowers said annoyed "he does seem capital, and from what you said a splendid man that ought to enter the army!"
"Quite so, and I'll be his patron," Whitcomb announced "hell I'll pay his commission if need be," he added.
"Now there's generosity," Chrisman announced "to the Achilles of Azhistan!" he said as he offered another toast then he added "or perhaps our hero has been struck by lightning?"
"Come of it Chrisman you're drunk!" Whitcomb said suddenly defensive and a bit embarrassed "I merely feel responsible for the lad that's all!"
"Good lord! He's right! You have been struck by lightning!" Flowers announced "I say you could do a lot worse than that, and I'd wager she wouldn't turn you down either!"
Whitcomb squirmed a bit now "now I should do the poor lad a good turn!" he said to deflect the conversation.
"Well if he's going to be ... a gentleman, perhaps we should do what is done for a young gentleman?" Chrisman announced "I am sure that it could be arranged, and then you could take him to the gentlemans club when you reach Pendleton again?"
"Yes..." Whitcomb said thoughtfully "Excellent idea."
Later in the evening, outside Charles' room
Charles was quite happy to be in his room, or rooms actually, it wasn't all that much but it had a entry room, a parlour, a bedroom, a bathroom and an adjourning small room where the servant lived. All the rooms were tastefully decorated, though a tad laden down with knickknacks and decorations, but still after living in austerity for a while even this felt very good.
He particularly liked the parlour, or maybe he should call it a drawing room, for there were a lot of bookshelves here filled with very interesting books, some of them were pulp books really but he found it amusing to look through a few of them. There was also several swords hung up for decoration, they were heavy cavalry models but he found it quite interesting to pick one down and pull it out seeing the heavy blade and swinging it around a bit.
Carrying the sword with him he walked around for a bit exploring the rest of his rooms again, the bedroom was also nice with big clothes chests with thick iron hinges, and a huge canopy bed with little cherubs on top of the popes. Placing the sword on top of the clothes chest he leapt up and landed on the bed, the spring mattress bounced him nearly a foot back into the air "excellent," he said as a big smile spread across his features.
Then suddenly he heard a knock on the door, he frowned a bit and got out of the bed, only when he was almost at the door did he realise he could have shouted for the servant oh well I'm already here he thought as he opened the door and then stopped cold.
Outside the door was a very surprising sight, her skin was dusky like coffee mixed with lots of cream, but it was smooth and without blemishes, her lips slightly darker than he was used to, her hair was slightly curled and completely black, and her eyes were emphasised by kohl. She smiled as she saw him and batted her eyelashes a bit, only then did he realise that she was dressed in naught more than a vest with a line of cloth covering her breasts, and silken pantaloons, she did have a pair of slippers on and some gemstones in her hair but though the jewellery was lovely and her clothing was decorated with fine embroidery Charles was unable to really notice as he swallowed a bit.
"Are you lost," he asked feeling very silly, desperately wishing he could find some smooth suave thing to say to this vision, convinced she was looking for some smooth talking dashing chap.
She smiled at him and shook her head softly, then she placed her fine hand on his chest, she moved slightly closer to him so he could feel her warm, nay hot, breath on his chest, and then she looked up at him and batted her eyelashes again her dark eyes burning with passion.
"Ah, uhm," Charles said as he took a step back noticing that she followed him closely, licking her lips a bit as she did, as he walked back into his rooms she gently pushed the door with her heel making it slide shut with a nice little click.
The next day, breakfast
The breakfast room was somewhat crowded, it was the ambassadors table and so only the top score or so of the people in the embassy were allowed here, and to their credit Whitcomb and Diana Westley, though none of the children of course, were permitted to sit down here. The table setting was immaculate with a white linen tablecloth, silver cutlery even for breakfast, and lovely simple white porcelain plates. Naturally everyone was dressed in semi-formal, which for Diana meant a nice dress hastily fitted to her by the seamstresses of the embassy.
While the servants were moving to and fro, placing baskets of warm scones on the table, along with plates of fruit, bacon, eggs, and other breakfast foods, Diana was looking worried towards the door. Finally she leaned towards Whitcomb and whispered "its so unlike him to be late!"
Whitcomb seemed to be unable to take this entirely seriously "I'm sure that the ambassador will forgive it, given the circumstances."
Diana however seemed a bit sceptical about this, but she didn't comment, instead pleased that she was allowed to be a proper lady again for the first time in many long years "I hope so Lieutenant," she said and pretended a smile.
Fortunately Charles did indeed arrive moments later, he seemed a bit haggard but still presentable and quietly found his place at the table, with everyone politely ignoring this slight faux pas from his side. Looking at Diana he whispered "Sorry sis, I was, ah, uh, delayed, couldn't sleep I mean."
"Yes I suppose," Diana said with a smile "it does get rather warm here, I know that it's hard to sleep at night, I mean you end up tossing and turning in bed and not getting a wink of sleep all night."
"Yes, quite," Charles said as he turned beet red and rather awkwardly picked at his cutlery, making it cling slightly as he dropped it back onto the table before recovering it with a sheepish smile.
Fortunately the breakfast was quite good and the topic of conversation soon changed to that of the local politics, and of course of the latest books and fashions from home. Neither Diana nor Charles could really participate, but the mention of fashion made Diana pay close attention and she felt greatly relieved when it came to the modesty of Pendletonian dress.
Departure
The stay on Rum had been reasonably pleasant for all of them, but after a few days Whitcombs guests were actually quite keen on leaving, or as Diana said "Lieutenant Whitcomb I scarcely think I shall ever feel safe in the presence of Mohammedans or Communists, and I pray to God every day that we shall soon be out of this place." They were heartfelt and truthful words, for every day she, and the children, would kneel down and say their prayers and among them would be a heartfelt prayer to get away from the Mohammedans!
However the matter was scarcely in their hands, and it was a full four days before the first Explorer class frigate once more entered the system. In the mean time they had acquired quite a bit in terms of clothing and kit, and Whitcomb had provided a set of travel documents for all of his guests, as well as a notarisation and confirmation of his ownership of the four foreign slaves. In short when the frigate arrived they were all ready and rearing to go.
The spaceport was as busy as it had been the first time they got there, but now Diana and Charles stood in the doorway of the shuttle, Diana shuddered a bit as she looked out over the thronging crowds a light veil covering her face to prove her a freewoman and to deflect unwanted attentions. It was quite awful to have to wait, the children were already in the passenger compartment, a rather simple one with hard wooden seats clearly not intended for comfort or long range travel.
Finally though he came, much to their relief, and as he entered the shuttle he bowed to Diana and kissed her hand, gently brushing his lips across her hand as was the custom, his long beard scraping against her soft skin. "My apologies Ms Westley," he told her "I had to see a friend of mine, a merchant of some repute, who lives in this city and with whom I had a small wager."
"I hope then Sir that you won your wager," Diana said even as she looked nervously at the crowd and then at the seat.
"I should think so yes," Whitcomb said at once "I generally do Ms Westley."
"Of course he won!" Charles burst out "I say but this place isn't so bad, but still I shan't be sad to leave," he said excitedly as he paced nervously.
"Relax young Mr Westley, we'll leave when the pilot wants," Whitcomb said as he guided them back into the passenger compartment, talking quietly to them as the steward closed the door firmly behind them. They sat down in the seats and there was a tug that seemed to try to pull their stomachs back as the steam rockets fired up, but then the shuttle moved smoothly up into the air and towards the Deep Sky.
As they left the thick atmosphere of the planet itself Charles looked out through the portholes and suddenly he cried out "I can see the ship!" and there it was a graceful ship with smooth delightful lines reminding you of the clipper ships of old, except made from iron and steel adapted to the modern age.
Slowly the shuttle drew nearer the ship, and then with a loud CLANG and a shudder it docked with the frigate, Whitcomb rose from his seat and offered his hand to Diana who gracefully accepted it "If you would follow me."
The shuttle door was opened and they found themselves in the shuttle bay of the ship, a somewhat dark and unpleasant place, but a green carpet led to the entrance to the corridors beside the shuttle bay. However beside this green carpet stood a row of uniformed men, chief among them the Captain there to greet his new guests.
The Captain approached Whitcomb and after they had exchanged salutes he announced "Lieutenant Whitcomb welcome aboard the FRS Explorer," he turned to Diana and said simply "Ma'am you are also of course most welcome, and the both of you invited to dine at my table tonight."
"I would be delighted to accept your kind offer Sir," Whitcomb replied graciously.
"and so would I Sir," Diana added for herself.
The Captain seemed quite pleased "If you would the follow Midshipman Bellamy here he will escort you to your quarters, I fear I must ask that the children remain there except when specifically permitted to leave as they have a tendency to disrupt operations."
"I see Sir," Diana said feeling a bit disappointed, but hardly about to challenge the Captain on his own ship.
Half an hour later they were all situated within their quarters, Diana and the children received extra-size quarters usually reserved for ambassadors, whereas Charles and Whitcomb were forced to settle for the kind of quarters a pair of junior officers would normally share. However all of them were too busy getting settled and taking in the spectacular view as the ship slowly began its journey towards the starway and from there back to Erde.
Well that's a very interesting question and I think I'll answer it with a quote from a relevant and venerable authority.Junghalli wrote:A technical question: how does one airproof something made of wood? Also, how does it survive re-entry (I take it they descend very slowly)?
I think that about covers itIf you're wondering how he eats and breathes,
And other science facts
Just repeat to yourself, "It's just a show,
I should really just relax".
For... MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATRE 3000!
I shall do my best, but I can't help thinking that the heat of re-entry is going to obliterate anything made of wood.Norseman wrote:Well that's a very interesting question and I think I'll answer it with a quote from a relevant and venerable authority.Junghalli wrote:A technical question: how does one airproof something made of wood? Also, how does it survive re-entry (I take it they descend very slowly)?If you're wondering how he eats and breathes,
And other science facts
Just repeat to yourself, "It's just a show,
I should really just relax".
For... MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATRE 3000!
Then again, I swallowed a coal-based power plant on a spaceship so I guess this is nothing.
Edit: I just made Master! Much wo0tage!
Allan Whitcomb's Adventure in Azhistan Part XVI
Deep Sky
Approaching Erde
May 1005 NE
PRS Explorer
The journey back to Erde, home of the Free Republic of Pendleton, had been an uneventful one other than what few social events had taken place aboard the Frigate. Certainly though the young Gosfordians found it a delightful and novel experience, for it had been years since they'd last been in such comfortable shipboard quarters.
Charles was in the observation lounge looking wistfully at the purple haze of the starway, it was a beautiful sight the mist like Etheric tendrils of the starway lit up by the twinkling stars themselves. He rather like the observation lounge actually, it was furnished quite comfortably and it had a great views, and of course it meant that he could spend time around off duty Pendletonian officers whom he was greatly admiring. It was here that Whitcomb found him, reclined in a balsawood chair and looking through the enormous mage-hardened window that dominated the observation lounge.
"Good afternoon Westley," Whitcomb greeted him.
Charles started a bit and then rose from the chair "you startled me Sir, I suppose I was daydreaming."
"Well now there is nothing wrong with that Westley, so long as you don't make a habit out of it, but," Whitcomb held out a bundle of newspapers and a magazine "I thought you might find these of interest to help teach you more about your new home."
"I am most grateful Sir," Charles said as he eagerly accepted the reading material, and it was true too since he had really been a little bored.
They spoke together for a while on various issues, which Charles' did appreciate as he always had several questions to ask about his new home and the circumstances found therein. However after some time spent in pleasant discussion they had to separate for Whitcomb was called away, leaving Charles to read his newspapers and magazine in peace. What he had received was two copies of the "Monitor" and the magazine "Young Gentlemans' Review".
Charles began thumbing through the "Monitor," taking note of interesting articles and advertisements as he went a few of whom did leap to his attention.
Some of the advertisements naturally also attracted his attention, of which there were many extolling the virtues of their product promising cures and relief for various issues.
Of course much of this was not very interesting for him, and after reading through the Monitor noting many names and places that meant little for him he began to study the "Young Gentlemans' Review", here an advertisement positively leapt to his eyes.
Now that would have been good Charles thought as he pondered the many times that having a stout revolver, especially one of good manufacture, could have saved him and his family from peril! Indeed he still felt most embarrassed at his inability to protect them, but despite his youth he knew that a good pistol is a great equalizer and just the thing a gentleman or honest worker needs to protect his life and property, and his loved ones.
It was then that Lt Jimmerson sat down on the chair next to him, noticing him Charles remembered that Jimmerson had earlier been quite helpful and so didn't feel too awkward as he asked "Good afternoon Lieutenant, say I hope it's no bother but do you know anything about the Adams Revolvers?"
Jimmerson looked up and smiled "No, no bother at all Mr Westley, a revolver you say?" he looked at the add with some interest "thinking of buying one?"
"Well yes, perhaps," Charles said, then after a moments hesitation he asked "I really can't get over the idea that you can just enter a store and buy one."
A look of confusion crossed Jimmersons face "How else'd you sell one then?"
"I mean where I'm from, that is Gosford, when the Communists came they confiscated most fire-arms and then only allowed people to keep a handful if they had special permits," Charles explained "it was quite awful Sir."
"Well Mr Westley, that is..." Jimmerson struggled to find words "positively obscene! I say if ever you needed evidence of the perfidious nature of socialism that should suffice!" He was getting quite worked up now "I mean what kind of people would deprive the citizenry of the means of protecting themselves."
"They said the police would protect the people," Charles said ruefully "the state would take care of it, they lied of course."
"I should say so! A state that deprives the people of their weapons have no interest in protecting them!" Jimmerson announced quite firmly.
"My father..." Charles hesitated feeling a lump in his throat as he thought about his father "he said that they wanted the people to depend on the state for everything, even their very lives."
"Sounds like they wished to reduce free citizens to children hiding in their nannies petticoats!" Jimmerson announced, but seeing Charles' glum expression he added "Awfully sorry old chap, I ... I remember you telling me about how that escape from the Communists went badly."
"Yes rather, we were..." Charles wondered how he could explain what he had seen, how do you tell that your family lost everything and that most of them were executed after a kangaroo court? Or that you've seen an old farmer hanged and his whole family beaten, their property looted and all because he owned four cows? Or any of the countless and seemingly endless cruelties that accompanied Communism?
He couldn't, instead he said simply "we thought we were lucky when we got aboard that Rumish smuggler, but alas they murdered most of the men and took the boys and women captive."
The conversation turned a bit glum after that announcement, but in his mind Charles determined to try to write as good an account of the events as possible, and perhaps to enlist his sisters aid in this endeavour. Though a young man he still felt it was his duty to express his beliefs and the events he'd experienced somehow.
"I wish I was a proper writer," he finally said part to break the glum silence.
"Why's that then?" Jimmerson asked casually.
"I wish I could write an account of my experiences before Lieutenant Whitcomb came to our rescue, as a warning against Communism and Mohammedanism!"
"Then get yourself a ghost writer" Jimmerson suggested casually.
Charles hesitated, tensing a bit, then he asked "Is that something, uhm, magical Sir?"
Jimmerson suppressed a laugh "Goodness no Mr Westley!" seeing that Charles might be a tad miffed he was quick to add "A ghost writer takes the material you have and makes it exciting!"
"I see!" Charles said with a laugh "You must think me a total inexperienced rube Sir!"
"Of course not Mr Westley, why it's not to be expected that you would know the term, but what with the tale of your travails and escape, and the book I am sure Lt Whitcomb will publish why your and, if you are not offended, your sisters tale would no doubt attract the attention of many publishers," Jimmerson said casually, then in a lower more confident tone making sure that no one was listening he added "also, no offence I hope, if nothing else it should be enough to render you financially independent since I take it you were unable to recover any of your assets during the escape."
Charles went a bit pale, money had literally not entered into his head, as a gentleman of sorts he had belonged to that happy class where money worked for you "I see Sir, I must confess that I never thought about that, but, thank you your advice is greatly appreciated" he said quite sincerely.
"I'm glad to have been of some assistance," Jimmerson said, also quite truthfully, for unlike Whitcomb he was not of the Gentry but had rather advanced from a Bourgeoisie family and his father was an Engineer of some note, as such the issue of money was far more present in his thoughts than those of his peers.
Diana's Quarters
Diana felt quite relieved and relaxed as she took a moments break to peer out the small porthole in their quarters, watching the stars and the mists of the starway drift slowly by them. A soft smile crossed her lips as she wondered briefly what the weather was like on Erde, that peculiar world they were travelling to.
At that precise moment there was a yelp and a complaining screech "MISS WESTLEY MAKE ROBERT STOP PULLING MY HAIR!" it was an ear piercing shriek and all Diana could do was to roll her eyes a bit and go back to attending to the children what wouldn't I give for a nanny right now she pondered as she separated the squabbling children and begun to calm down their youthful spirits.
Of course being cooped up in even large shipboard quarters were making the poor dears misbehave somewhat, and though some rascally behaviour could be correct by the prudent application of a switch there was quite a bit of it that was simply due to being locked up for most of the day. Of course she did understand that a warship could scarcely have a horde of children running amuck in the gun deck or engine room, but it'd be nice to let them move around when they got troublesome.
Fortunately at night a glass of cider or two had a most salutary effect in calming them down, but young legs should really be running about during the day. Which made her relief all the greater when she heard a knock upon the door "Enter," she called "we're all decent I assure you Sir."
The door opened and Whitcomb peered inside "Hello Ms Westley, I thought I'd let you know that the Captain has agreed to let the children step outside a bit," he informed them "the galley and the, ah, observation lounge are free." He smiled at her and noticed that she did return the smile, though she did seem a bit tired.
"I am most pleased to hear this Sir," Diana said as she called to the children "Very well now, you will all stay together now and no running or else the nice officers will be annoyed."
"Yes Ms Westley," the children called out in perfect unison, wiping teary eyes and acting far more angelic and well behaved than they ever did when there weren't strangers about.
As the children were escorted out under the watchful eyes of both Whitcomb and Diana they spoke together quietly "I must say that I am looking forward to leaving this ship, not that I've been treated badly but being thus constrained is getting to my nerves," she sighed and looked quite exhausted.
"I understand Ms Westley," Whitcomb said as he moved by her side, noticing the slight aroma of wild flowers or perfumed soap that seemed to surround her "if it is any consolation you, and your family of course, shall be most welcome guests at my home upon your arrival, until you can find some more suitable accommodations of your own."
"I shall have to speak to my brother as he is, by all rights, the head of the family," Diana said quietly, then she looked at him "by the way Lieutenant Whitcomb, is that beard strictly necessary anymore?" Feeling a bit daring she gently brushed a finger against it for a moment.
Whitcomb was both surprised but in a good way at this somewhat intimate question "why? Do you find it offensive?" he asked as he gently stroked the long beard giving him still the appearance of the Mohammedan.
"I should say that I find beards distasteful, now more than ever," Diana confessed "but far be it for me to suggest anything about your appearance Sir."
"When a woman says that it is an order Ms Westley," Whitcomb said with a smile, then with a slight bow he announced "and if you find it offensive in anyway it is to be eradicated at once!"
Diana blushed a bit and fought her smile, though not successfully "Well not just on my account I hope, it must surely be most uncomfortable and itchy?"
"I suppose it was a tad at first, but not anymore," Whitcomb told her.
"I would certainly find it itchy I think," Diana told him in a casual matter of fact voice as they continued their walk.
Whitcomb stopped a bit, and the right corner of his mouth arched up a little "quite, wouldn't want that after all."
Ships Galley
They were going to the galley, a simple enough place now empty, where there were several long wooden tables with long wooden benches along them, this then was where the crew would eat their meals. The officers had a separate room connected to the main galley but naturally this was off limits to the children, though Diana and her brother of course often invited to dine there. The kitchens were of course part of the galley, and in between meal breaks the cooks were preparing the food for the children.
The meal was very simple really, just some canned beef broth heated up in a big pot with some potatoes and some other vegetables to give it some more consistency. It was served up with fresh bread though, since the ships cooks baked bread every day, even so it was a coarse bread of the kind supposed to strengthen the stomach and the muscles, but when it was freshly baked it was quite serviceable.
The moment the children received their tin plates they began to eat quickly and excitedly, the long lean years they had gone through had made them quite ravenous whenever food was presented, especially wholesome sturdy fare such as this. Thus they were completely enraptured with their dinner, much to the benign amusement of the kitchen staff who might commend "Aye Johnny, if onlie all da others liked it that good, but noe dey complain the ungrateful beggars."
Meanwhile Whitcomb and Diana could speak together without disturbance, the discussion was light and pleasant not really touching on any important subjects, but nevertheless the amiable nature of the conversation was such that the both of them felt quite elated afterwards.
As the children finished their meal a couple of them broke pieces of bread to scrape the tin plates, Diana had to chide them "No Robert, stop that it's uncouth!" and while Whitcomb looked on with forbearance she fuzzed over them making certain they used their napkins right.
Observation Lounge
After the dinner Diana gathered up the children again and ushered them towards the observation lounge "We will be approaching Erde soon, won't it be fun to see the planet?" she asked them.
"Yes Ms Westley," came a ragged chorus back at her, some of them just nodded though, as they all walked towards the lounge.
Within the lounge there were almost no people, it was off limits for the regular crew, and most of the officers were occupied with preparing the approach to the planet. Indeed other than a single solitary waiter standing by the simple bar there was no one there other than Lt Jimmerson and Charles who was sitting by the panorama window and half reading his magazines and half peering through the mage-hardened glass at the approaching world.
The world stood like a blue and green gemstone in the sky, then as if on cue the electric lights were turned off and only the light of the approaching world lit up the observation lounge. IT was an astounding effect, their faces lit up by the light of the world, here they could see the large primary continent and Whitcomb pointed at some islands to the east of it "There, there is Pendleton."
"Really? Those islands," Diana asked as she leaned forward towards the window squinting slightly as she made out the myriad islands of the archipelago.
"Yes those islands, look," Whitcomb leaned a bit close pushing against her ever so slightly as he pointed it out "see the big one is Pendleton, you can almost make out the city even from orbit, and there," he motioned a bit lower "that one is Blaine where the Whitcombs come from."
"Oh I see" Diana said with a smile "how fascinating," she stood there for a moment then she spoke again "it looks quite beautiful I must say."
By now Lt Jimmerson and Charles approached, politely greeting the people present before looking out at the approaching planet. "I say," Charles suddenly interjected "what are those ships?"
The ships were indeed most impressive four of the Pendletonian Battleships were visible, cold haze grey shapes moving slowly through space, their gun turrets and barbettes standing out menacingly from the sleek riveted hull. Surrounding them but in the distance were several similar, but smaller, ships the cruiser force of the Republic.
"Republic Class Battleships," Lt Jimmerson explained immediately reciting the list of statistics for the ships "Each carrying four 12 inch rifled cannon, ten 9.2 inch rifled cannon, twenty four 12 pounder quick firing cannon, two 3 pounders, and of course five rocket launchers. It is quite well protected too with twelve to eight inch armoured belts, twelve inch armour on the barbettes and turrets too."
Diana and the girls seemed rather less than interested instead looking at the pretty stars and the planet, but Charles and the boys were most fascinated as Lt Jimmerson pointed out the various other classes of warship "Drake Class Armoured Cruisers there, and the Apollo Class protected cruiser, both classes are excellent fighting ships."
It was then that a group of most peculiar ships suddenly came into view, the ships were enormous dwarfing even the battleships, and they were sleek and amazingly colourful with huge sails and a pair of enormous eyes painted in the front. A veritable armada of smaller Pendletonian ships seemed to surround them, most of them seemed to be cargo ships of one kind or another.
"Goodness what pretty ships," Diana commented as she studied them with the experienced eye of an aesthete, they were indeed quite beautiful, with much the same shape and size as ancient sailing ships though adapted to travelling through space.
"Phoenicians," Lt Jimmerson announced "we're selling Ether to them."
"Must be a lot of Ether, those ships are big," Charles ventured as he watched them, still astounded by the silent grace of the ships.
"Oh yes, but then again if there is one thing we have enough of then it is Ether," Lt Jimmerson replied.
Approaching Erde
May 1005 NE
PRS Explorer
The journey back to Erde, home of the Free Republic of Pendleton, had been an uneventful one other than what few social events had taken place aboard the Frigate. Certainly though the young Gosfordians found it a delightful and novel experience, for it had been years since they'd last been in such comfortable shipboard quarters.
Charles was in the observation lounge looking wistfully at the purple haze of the starway, it was a beautiful sight the mist like Etheric tendrils of the starway lit up by the twinkling stars themselves. He rather like the observation lounge actually, it was furnished quite comfortably and it had a great views, and of course it meant that he could spend time around off duty Pendletonian officers whom he was greatly admiring. It was here that Whitcomb found him, reclined in a balsawood chair and looking through the enormous mage-hardened window that dominated the observation lounge.
"Good afternoon Westley," Whitcomb greeted him.
Charles started a bit and then rose from the chair "you startled me Sir, I suppose I was daydreaming."
"Well now there is nothing wrong with that Westley, so long as you don't make a habit out of it, but," Whitcomb held out a bundle of newspapers and a magazine "I thought you might find these of interest to help teach you more about your new home."
"I am most grateful Sir," Charles said as he eagerly accepted the reading material, and it was true too since he had really been a little bored.
They spoke together for a while on various issues, which Charles' did appreciate as he always had several questions to ask about his new home and the circumstances found therein. However after some time spent in pleasant discussion they had to separate for Whitcomb was called away, leaving Charles to read his newspapers and magazine in peace. What he had received was two copies of the "Monitor" and the magazine "Young Gentlemans' Review".
Charles began thumbing through the "Monitor," taking note of interesting articles and advertisements as he went a few of whom did leap to his attention.
THREE NEW PROTECTED CRUISERS COMMISSIONED
The three newest of the Republic's replies to the ever-mounting threat to our commerce from the dastardly criminals who prey on our innocent merchant fleets were launched two months ago from the famed yards of Wyckham and Sons, renowned builders of warships to the Republic for many years. After completing their shakedown cruises, as expected PRS Sirius, PRS Spartan and PRS Sybil were found to be perfectly turned out in every detail, a tribute to the builder's attention to detail and the Navy's carefully-crafted design. Presiding over the commissioning ceremony, Admiral Everly, at the peroration of his speech, thundered "Our fair Republic is made safer with every ship that is launched from these yards!" (Full text is available on page 9)
The instant the ships left the slips, work turned with all speed to the completion of their remaining sisters; Terpsichore, Tribune and Astraea are scheduled to launch in less than a month, doubling the size of the newest class of commerce protectors, while the remaining three, Bonaventure, Cambrian and Charybdis are looked for soon as well. We know that, with the efficiency of the Wyckham Yards, these nine ships will soon rid the spacelanes of any threat to the Republic's commerce, as well as play a vital role in screening our proud fleet of twenty ships of the wall and ten larger sisters.
Some of the advertisements naturally also attracted his attention, of which there were many extolling the virtues of their product promising cures and relief for various issues.
CIGARES de Joy cure ASTHMA
JOY'S CIGARETTES afford immediate relief in case of ASTHMA, WHEEZING, WINTER COUGH, and HAY FEVER, and, with a little perseverance, effect a permanent cure. Universally recommended by the most eminent physicians and medical authors. Agreeable to use, certain in their effects, and harmless in their action, they may be safely smoked by ladies and children, All Chemists and Stores ; Box of 35, 2s. 6d., or post free from WILCOX and CO. 239 Bambridge Street, Pendleton City.
Of course much of this was not very interesting for him, and after reading through the Monitor noting many names and places that meant little for him he began to study the "Young Gentlemans' Review", here an advertisement positively leapt to his eyes.
Somewhere Near You Today
Tomorrow's Story
LIFE may be very tranquil and placid for you at the moment. But somehwere near you or your friends the things are happening every day that make the next day's newspaper story.
Possibly - before you leave on your trip - an unpleasant encounter on a lonely automobile road, none-the-less hazardous because it is uncolourful.
Perhaps while travelling abroad. The sudden fury of a beggar in Santiago. Or an incident on a dark street in Gibraltar.
The purchase of a good revolver is a lifetime purchase. Whether you stay at home or whether you travel, no matter how short or sequestered your stay - there's real satisfaction in knowing yourself to be equipped with the most dependable, most scientifically accurate, most easily and safely handled revolver that science and craftsmanship and generations of conscientious development have been able to produce... the modern Adams Revolver.
Don't put it off. Call on the nearest reliable dealer today. Let him show you his splendid stock of Adams Revolvers, including the 32 and 38 calibre Adams Safety. With this modern masterpiece of small-arms, accidental discharge by adult or child is impossible.
* * *
Descriptive Booklet "A" will interest you - Sent free upon request
ADAMS
Pikeshoe, Coorthoppkeel County, Pendleton
THE REVOLVER MANUFACTURER
Now that would have been good Charles thought as he pondered the many times that having a stout revolver, especially one of good manufacture, could have saved him and his family from peril! Indeed he still felt most embarrassed at his inability to protect them, but despite his youth he knew that a good pistol is a great equalizer and just the thing a gentleman or honest worker needs to protect his life and property, and his loved ones.
It was then that Lt Jimmerson sat down on the chair next to him, noticing him Charles remembered that Jimmerson had earlier been quite helpful and so didn't feel too awkward as he asked "Good afternoon Lieutenant, say I hope it's no bother but do you know anything about the Adams Revolvers?"
Jimmerson looked up and smiled "No, no bother at all Mr Westley, a revolver you say?" he looked at the add with some interest "thinking of buying one?"
"Well yes, perhaps," Charles said, then after a moments hesitation he asked "I really can't get over the idea that you can just enter a store and buy one."
A look of confusion crossed Jimmersons face "How else'd you sell one then?"
"I mean where I'm from, that is Gosford, when the Communists came they confiscated most fire-arms and then only allowed people to keep a handful if they had special permits," Charles explained "it was quite awful Sir."
"Well Mr Westley, that is..." Jimmerson struggled to find words "positively obscene! I say if ever you needed evidence of the perfidious nature of socialism that should suffice!" He was getting quite worked up now "I mean what kind of people would deprive the citizenry of the means of protecting themselves."
"They said the police would protect the people," Charles said ruefully "the state would take care of it, they lied of course."
"I should say so! A state that deprives the people of their weapons have no interest in protecting them!" Jimmerson announced quite firmly.
"My father..." Charles hesitated feeling a lump in his throat as he thought about his father "he said that they wanted the people to depend on the state for everything, even their very lives."
"Sounds like they wished to reduce free citizens to children hiding in their nannies petticoats!" Jimmerson announced, but seeing Charles' glum expression he added "Awfully sorry old chap, I ... I remember you telling me about how that escape from the Communists went badly."
"Yes rather, we were..." Charles wondered how he could explain what he had seen, how do you tell that your family lost everything and that most of them were executed after a kangaroo court? Or that you've seen an old farmer hanged and his whole family beaten, their property looted and all because he owned four cows? Or any of the countless and seemingly endless cruelties that accompanied Communism?
He couldn't, instead he said simply "we thought we were lucky when we got aboard that Rumish smuggler, but alas they murdered most of the men and took the boys and women captive."
The conversation turned a bit glum after that announcement, but in his mind Charles determined to try to write as good an account of the events as possible, and perhaps to enlist his sisters aid in this endeavour. Though a young man he still felt it was his duty to express his beliefs and the events he'd experienced somehow.
"I wish I was a proper writer," he finally said part to break the glum silence.
"Why's that then?" Jimmerson asked casually.
"I wish I could write an account of my experiences before Lieutenant Whitcomb came to our rescue, as a warning against Communism and Mohammedanism!"
"Then get yourself a ghost writer" Jimmerson suggested casually.
Charles hesitated, tensing a bit, then he asked "Is that something, uhm, magical Sir?"
Jimmerson suppressed a laugh "Goodness no Mr Westley!" seeing that Charles might be a tad miffed he was quick to add "A ghost writer takes the material you have and makes it exciting!"
"I see!" Charles said with a laugh "You must think me a total inexperienced rube Sir!"
"Of course not Mr Westley, why it's not to be expected that you would know the term, but what with the tale of your travails and escape, and the book I am sure Lt Whitcomb will publish why your and, if you are not offended, your sisters tale would no doubt attract the attention of many publishers," Jimmerson said casually, then in a lower more confident tone making sure that no one was listening he added "also, no offence I hope, if nothing else it should be enough to render you financially independent since I take it you were unable to recover any of your assets during the escape."
Charles went a bit pale, money had literally not entered into his head, as a gentleman of sorts he had belonged to that happy class where money worked for you "I see Sir, I must confess that I never thought about that, but, thank you your advice is greatly appreciated" he said quite sincerely.
"I'm glad to have been of some assistance," Jimmerson said, also quite truthfully, for unlike Whitcomb he was not of the Gentry but had rather advanced from a Bourgeoisie family and his father was an Engineer of some note, as such the issue of money was far more present in his thoughts than those of his peers.
Diana's Quarters
Diana felt quite relieved and relaxed as she took a moments break to peer out the small porthole in their quarters, watching the stars and the mists of the starway drift slowly by them. A soft smile crossed her lips as she wondered briefly what the weather was like on Erde, that peculiar world they were travelling to.
At that precise moment there was a yelp and a complaining screech "MISS WESTLEY MAKE ROBERT STOP PULLING MY HAIR!" it was an ear piercing shriek and all Diana could do was to roll her eyes a bit and go back to attending to the children what wouldn't I give for a nanny right now she pondered as she separated the squabbling children and begun to calm down their youthful spirits.
Of course being cooped up in even large shipboard quarters were making the poor dears misbehave somewhat, and though some rascally behaviour could be correct by the prudent application of a switch there was quite a bit of it that was simply due to being locked up for most of the day. Of course she did understand that a warship could scarcely have a horde of children running amuck in the gun deck or engine room, but it'd be nice to let them move around when they got troublesome.
Fortunately at night a glass of cider or two had a most salutary effect in calming them down, but young legs should really be running about during the day. Which made her relief all the greater when she heard a knock upon the door "Enter," she called "we're all decent I assure you Sir."
The door opened and Whitcomb peered inside "Hello Ms Westley, I thought I'd let you know that the Captain has agreed to let the children step outside a bit," he informed them "the galley and the, ah, observation lounge are free." He smiled at her and noticed that she did return the smile, though she did seem a bit tired.
"I am most pleased to hear this Sir," Diana said as she called to the children "Very well now, you will all stay together now and no running or else the nice officers will be annoyed."
"Yes Ms Westley," the children called out in perfect unison, wiping teary eyes and acting far more angelic and well behaved than they ever did when there weren't strangers about.
As the children were escorted out under the watchful eyes of both Whitcomb and Diana they spoke together quietly "I must say that I am looking forward to leaving this ship, not that I've been treated badly but being thus constrained is getting to my nerves," she sighed and looked quite exhausted.
"I understand Ms Westley," Whitcomb said as he moved by her side, noticing the slight aroma of wild flowers or perfumed soap that seemed to surround her "if it is any consolation you, and your family of course, shall be most welcome guests at my home upon your arrival, until you can find some more suitable accommodations of your own."
"I shall have to speak to my brother as he is, by all rights, the head of the family," Diana said quietly, then she looked at him "by the way Lieutenant Whitcomb, is that beard strictly necessary anymore?" Feeling a bit daring she gently brushed a finger against it for a moment.
Whitcomb was both surprised but in a good way at this somewhat intimate question "why? Do you find it offensive?" he asked as he gently stroked the long beard giving him still the appearance of the Mohammedan.
"I should say that I find beards distasteful, now more than ever," Diana confessed "but far be it for me to suggest anything about your appearance Sir."
"When a woman says that it is an order Ms Westley," Whitcomb said with a smile, then with a slight bow he announced "and if you find it offensive in anyway it is to be eradicated at once!"
Diana blushed a bit and fought her smile, though not successfully "Well not just on my account I hope, it must surely be most uncomfortable and itchy?"
"I suppose it was a tad at first, but not anymore," Whitcomb told her.
"I would certainly find it itchy I think," Diana told him in a casual matter of fact voice as they continued their walk.
Whitcomb stopped a bit, and the right corner of his mouth arched up a little "quite, wouldn't want that after all."
Ships Galley
They were going to the galley, a simple enough place now empty, where there were several long wooden tables with long wooden benches along them, this then was where the crew would eat their meals. The officers had a separate room connected to the main galley but naturally this was off limits to the children, though Diana and her brother of course often invited to dine there. The kitchens were of course part of the galley, and in between meal breaks the cooks were preparing the food for the children.
The meal was very simple really, just some canned beef broth heated up in a big pot with some potatoes and some other vegetables to give it some more consistency. It was served up with fresh bread though, since the ships cooks baked bread every day, even so it was a coarse bread of the kind supposed to strengthen the stomach and the muscles, but when it was freshly baked it was quite serviceable.
The moment the children received their tin plates they began to eat quickly and excitedly, the long lean years they had gone through had made them quite ravenous whenever food was presented, especially wholesome sturdy fare such as this. Thus they were completely enraptured with their dinner, much to the benign amusement of the kitchen staff who might commend "Aye Johnny, if onlie all da others liked it that good, but noe dey complain the ungrateful beggars."
Meanwhile Whitcomb and Diana could speak together without disturbance, the discussion was light and pleasant not really touching on any important subjects, but nevertheless the amiable nature of the conversation was such that the both of them felt quite elated afterwards.
As the children finished their meal a couple of them broke pieces of bread to scrape the tin plates, Diana had to chide them "No Robert, stop that it's uncouth!" and while Whitcomb looked on with forbearance she fuzzed over them making certain they used their napkins right.
Observation Lounge
After the dinner Diana gathered up the children again and ushered them towards the observation lounge "We will be approaching Erde soon, won't it be fun to see the planet?" she asked them.
"Yes Ms Westley," came a ragged chorus back at her, some of them just nodded though, as they all walked towards the lounge.
Within the lounge there were almost no people, it was off limits for the regular crew, and most of the officers were occupied with preparing the approach to the planet. Indeed other than a single solitary waiter standing by the simple bar there was no one there other than Lt Jimmerson and Charles who was sitting by the panorama window and half reading his magazines and half peering through the mage-hardened glass at the approaching world.
The world stood like a blue and green gemstone in the sky, then as if on cue the electric lights were turned off and only the light of the approaching world lit up the observation lounge. IT was an astounding effect, their faces lit up by the light of the world, here they could see the large primary continent and Whitcomb pointed at some islands to the east of it "There, there is Pendleton."
"Really? Those islands," Diana asked as she leaned forward towards the window squinting slightly as she made out the myriad islands of the archipelago.
"Yes those islands, look," Whitcomb leaned a bit close pushing against her ever so slightly as he pointed it out "see the big one is Pendleton, you can almost make out the city even from orbit, and there," he motioned a bit lower "that one is Blaine where the Whitcombs come from."
"Oh I see" Diana said with a smile "how fascinating," she stood there for a moment then she spoke again "it looks quite beautiful I must say."
By now Lt Jimmerson and Charles approached, politely greeting the people present before looking out at the approaching planet. "I say," Charles suddenly interjected "what are those ships?"
The ships were indeed most impressive four of the Pendletonian Battleships were visible, cold haze grey shapes moving slowly through space, their gun turrets and barbettes standing out menacingly from the sleek riveted hull. Surrounding them but in the distance were several similar, but smaller, ships the cruiser force of the Republic.
"Republic Class Battleships," Lt Jimmerson explained immediately reciting the list of statistics for the ships "Each carrying four 12 inch rifled cannon, ten 9.2 inch rifled cannon, twenty four 12 pounder quick firing cannon, two 3 pounders, and of course five rocket launchers. It is quite well protected too with twelve to eight inch armoured belts, twelve inch armour on the barbettes and turrets too."
Diana and the girls seemed rather less than interested instead looking at the pretty stars and the planet, but Charles and the boys were most fascinated as Lt Jimmerson pointed out the various other classes of warship "Drake Class Armoured Cruisers there, and the Apollo Class protected cruiser, both classes are excellent fighting ships."
It was then that a group of most peculiar ships suddenly came into view, the ships were enormous dwarfing even the battleships, and they were sleek and amazingly colourful with huge sails and a pair of enormous eyes painted in the front. A veritable armada of smaller Pendletonian ships seemed to surround them, most of them seemed to be cargo ships of one kind or another.
"Goodness what pretty ships," Diana commented as she studied them with the experienced eye of an aesthete, they were indeed quite beautiful, with much the same shape and size as ancient sailing ships though adapted to travelling through space.
"Phoenicians," Lt Jimmerson announced "we're selling Ether to them."
"Must be a lot of Ether, those ships are big," Charles ventured as he watched them, still astounded by the silent grace of the ships.
"Oh yes, but then again if there is one thing we have enough of then it is Ether," Lt Jimmerson replied.
Allan Whitcomb's Adventure in Azhistan Part XVII
Pendleton
Erde
May 1005 NE
Landing at Croneleigh Spaceport
The single shuttle was moving slowly towards Croneleigh Spaceport, it was a common enough shuttle with riveted sides and a large pane of mage-hardened glass in front for the pilot to see where he was going. First Pilot Stokes pulled back the brass lever controlling the engines and carefully guided the shuttle onto the tarmacadam surface of the spaceport. Within moments the heavy landing skids extended with the low hiss of the hydraulics and then with a loud scraping sound and the skipping of small pebbles torn loose from the tarmac foundation it stopped on the landing field.
Within moments the spaceport dockers came rushing over to the shuttle, they were pushing a small stair mounted on wheels towards the side door of the shuttle. Just after them a pair of rather nice steamers arrive, a couple of Hollingworths by the look of then, one was a pleasant cream colour and with an overbuilt passenger and driver compartment, the other was a black convertible with the custom leather top up.
Now the side door of the shuttle opened up, and the wheeled stair was moved up to it, standing in the doorway was Whitcomb who took a deep breath of air the scent was a mixture of tar, ether and mowed grass, but more than that it was home. Behind him, curious and somewhat timid, there stood Diana who looked with askance at the sight before her.
"I say Ms Westley, Ladies first," Whitcomb gallantly stated as he motioned towards the exit.
Diana shook her head "No please Sir," she pleaded "I would rather you went first, I feel a bit nervous about this."
"This is Pendleton Ms Westley, the fairest most civilized land on all of Erde," Whitcomb assured her.
"Then humour me anyway," Diana insisted "it's just a woman's foolish fears I'm sure, but please."
"Of course, for you anything," Whitcomb said as he easily descended down the stairs to the tarmac surface of the landing area "look Ms Westley my steamer just drove up," he said as he motioned towards the black Hollingworth steamer.
"Is that yours Sir?" Charles spoke up from behind his sister, "I say Diana can't you just go down the stairs," he whispered to his sister in that somewhat annoyed tone of voice brothers use when their sister is being 'girlish'.
"Yes Mr Westley, that is indeed mine," Whitcomb explained "I dare say that's Mallet driving it too."
By now Diana took a few steps down the stair, elegantly accepting Whitcombs offered hand as he supported her while she descended down, "Thank you Sir," she said politely as she reached the bottom of the stairs, and then she looked up "Is the weather always this nice?"
"Why yes, in May and June the weather is usually quite lovely Ms Westley," Whitcomb replied.
While they were leaving the shuttle the chauffeurs of both steamers opened the door and stepped out, the chauffeur of Whitcombs black convertible Hollingsworth Steamer just stood passively by the side of the steamer, his hands folded over his waist.
The chauffeur of the cream coloured steamer however walked to the side of the steamer and opened the door, it slid open with a light click and out stepped a gentleman wearing a white suit with a white hat he was holding to fan himself as no doubt the interior of the steamer had gotten quite warm, and in his other hand he carried an elegant cane with a silver knob. This gentleman was perhaps a few pounds overweight but not obscenely so, and his moustache and confident expression as well as his age being somewhat in the mid forties as the flesh ages, gave him something of a military bearing.
He approached the shuttle and politely tipped his hat to Diana, but his main attention was to Whitcomb "Lieutenant Whitcomb, delighted to see that you made it back safely, when I got the wireless message I rushed out at once to see you," he said in a friendly tone of voice as if addressing a close acquaintance all the while extending his hand.
"Sir Hubert I'm honoured," Whitcomb caught himself about to salute, but instead he extended his hand as well.
As they shook hands, both of them having firm solid handshakes, Sir Hubert looked curiously at the youngsters that were milling out of the shuttle, they looked at him with great curiosity evident and he smiled at them in a quite charming fashion.
"Ms Westley, if I may introduce to you Sir Hubert Westingstoke, a gentleman of some importance," Whitcomb begun his introduction as he motioned towards Sir Hubert, this dignitary at once doffed his hat again, and then to Sir Hubert he said "Diana Westley, gentlewoman from Gosford," he explained.
"Delighted to meet you Ms Westley," Sir Hubert said simply.
Diana curtsied slightly and returned "And I you Sir Hubert."
"Sir Hubert this then is Charles Westley, Ms Westleys brother and a fine young gentleman," Whitcomb continued as he went over to Charles "Mr Westley, Sir Hubert Westingstoke."
"Good, good, pleased to meet you young Mr Westley," Sir Hubert at once said "Now then as we are all introduced," he looked at the children again but decided they were not important "I believe there was some bothersome matter?"
"Ah yes Sir Hubert, two prisoners of mine, slaves, but I am loathe to ask for you Sir Hubert to..." Whitcomb explained feeling tad embarrassed.
Sir Hubert simply smiled and waved his hand "Good heavens no, if there are two prisoners and they are suitably restrained I shan't have any trouble taking care of them, better drive them in my steamer than attract a lot of unnecessary attention eh?"
"Of course Sir Hubert, they're inside the shuttle," Whitcomb explained.
"Excellent, lets have a look then," Sir Hubert announced.
"Of course Sir Hubert," then turning to Diana Whitcomb added "Ms Westley, Mr Westley could you please have the children enter the black steamer?"
"I think that'd be good Sir," Diana replied before turning to the children "Come now all, lets go into the automobile!"
Seeing them mill towards the steamer Whitcomb nodded to his Chauffeur Mallet, and then followed Sir Hubert into the shuttle. The interior of the shuttle was quite dim as the incandescent bulbs in the ceiling had been turned off after landing, the electricity after all was generally produced by the motion of the air or the ether around the shuttle, but there was enough light leaking in through portholes to let them see their way around.
The two communists were tied up quite well, their ankles tied together and their wrists tied up behind their backs, both of them were also gagged, hearing the footsteps both of them looked up at the approaching shapes. The male was dressed in rough common clothes of a more or less Pendletonian cut, the kind that you might expect a common slave to wear, whereas Svetlana the pilot was wearing a long shapeless dress ending just above the ankles, a concession to the modesty of the young ones aboard the shuttle. Standing by their side was the Eunuch Ibrahim and the Azhistani cook which Whitcomb had also purchased.
"My interesting," Sir Hubert said as he looked at the two Azhistanis "Quite exotic really," he added casually "I am certain there'd be a demand eh Lieutenant?"
"Yes I rather hope so," Whitcomb commented casually "certainly Ibrahim here, the Eunuch, is most helpful in keeping the prisoners under control."
"Quite quite, now then the prisoners," Sir Hubert said changing the subject "Commies eh? That's what the coded message said?"
"Yes Sir Hubert, Communists, I was rather hoping they could be taken to a secure area for a proper interrogation, I have prepared a full written report as well but I'd rather have my guests and my new slaves safely ensconced at my town house before I give a personal report," Whitcomb explained apparently ignoring the fact that the Communists were right in front of him.
"That's quite acceptable Lieutenant, yes, now then... I suppose we'll just move them out to my steamer eh?" Sir Hubert inquired as he kneeled down to further study the prisoners, quietly poking them a bit and pulling back their lips to study their teeth "Healthy looking specimens, a pity really."
After this the two communists prisoners had their ankles untied, but before they could get up to any mischief they were pulled up on their feet and marched out of the shuttle with Ibrahim the Eunuch standing close by in case any of them tried something. They looked about dejectedly as they left the shuttle, the air, the temperature, the architecture everything around them told them just how alien the new world was, and for now they were remarkably pliable.
As the door to the cream coloured steamer was opened they were greeted with a blast of warm air which made Sir Hubert fan himself with his hat once more "I say the interior of that thing can get as warm as the Southern Islands," he commented casually, revealing also his birthplace and the reason for his slightly eccentric dress.
After that however the two communists were quickly pushed into the steamer, and once inside their ankles were once more tied up, this time Sir Hubert and Whitcomb improved things a bit by also tying the Communists to each other, thus rendering them completely helpless.
"Much obliged for your aid Lieutenant," Sir Hubert said when they had finally secured the two communists.
"Not at all Sir Hubert, it is I who should be grateful for you taking the trouble to personally transport these two!" Whitcomb replied, then he added "though they could both be troublesome."
"Aha," Sir Hubert said casually "I dare say between my man Humperdink in the drivers seat and my trusty revolver," here he pulled a brightly chromed Collier revolver from his pocket "I shan't be bothered, but say Lieutenant it seems that your car can't handle your guests and your two slaves."
"No, I was thinking of doing two trips, or perhaps calling a cab," Whitcomb admitted.
"Rubbish!" Sir Hubert announced firmly "Lieutenant why waste time when I can take them into my steamer, and your man Ibrahim can help keep these rapscallions under control, it's only a short detour for me if you are still living in your old haunt in Rodney Street!"
"Indeed I am, but I hope that I'm not imposing in any way," Whitcomb protested "after all Sir Hubert I would scarcely want to keep you from your duties."
"Nonsense! I've said so already Lieutenant, it's the least I could do after your great adventure," Sir Hubert begun, then in a lower voice he added "speaking of which that report."
"I can find it right away if you want, it's in my personal trunk," Whitcomb said as he motioned towards the steamer trunk that had already been removed "hand written I fear so you'd need to find someone to interpret my birds scratches."
"I dare say we have some secretary or other who can decipher even doctors notes," Sir Hubert said bemused as Whitcomb recovered the written report from his sturdy iron bound steamer trunk. It consisted of a couple dozen pages written up stiff good paper, interspaced with the odd drawing of the defences and buildings he had seen, and a description of the prisoners too.
"I am most obliged Sir Hubert," Whitcomb said after handing it over "I hope that will suffice for now?"
"Of course Lieutenant, awfully sorry to bother you about it now, but it's rather urgent," Sir Hubert said genuinely apologetic.
"Naturally Sir, wouldn't want to disrupt or delay the deliberations of the Bureau," Whitcomb asserted "to be honest I feel very relieved that it is done and out of my hands."
With that the two slaves were ushered into the cream coloured hardtop, while Whitcomb returned to see how his guests were doing over by his own convertible steamer. Charles and Diana were standing by the side of the steamer while the children had been arranged inside the passenger compartment. SO of course was Mallard.
Journey to Pendleton
When Whitcomb arrived Mallard immediately doffed his peaked cap to him "Welcome home Master," he as he bowed slightly. Mallard was dressed in the standard chauffeurs uniform; a greyish blue jacket from which rose the starched white collar of his shirt, with two rows of bright brass buttons, one on either side. The trousers were of the same colour; tucked neatly into almost knee-high brightly polished black leather boots. In his hands he held the peaked cap of the same grey blue, with a bright leather brim. The man himself was a plain type common looking, a bit thickset perhaps, with stringy thinning brown hair and blue eyes, in short your average middle-aged upper servant.
"It's good to be back too Mallard," Whitcomb returned, then looking at his steamer he gently tapped the hood of the car, hearing the low clang as he did so "So how is the old girl?"
"Most excellent Master, we've cleaned the interior tubing of the boiler, replaced two faulty tubes, and greased and oiled her up real nice, even got a pair of new Willard batteries so we can blue spark fire up Master," Mallard explained carefully with obvious care and affection for his charge.
Whitcomb nodded as he heard this "Excellent Mallard, good man," he said to himself as he looked into the car, smiled and waved at the children who beamed gleefully while looking around the car and poking at the various interesting things inside.
Meanwhile Charles was listening intently and studying the steamer, or automobile as he called it, finding it fascinating, he desperately wanted to crack open the hood and have a look at how everything worked. His father had owned an automobile, but he'd rarely had a chance to study it being rather young when the war came, and afterwards Gosford was so poor as to make automobiles a rare sight indeed.
Whitcomb patted Charles on the back "She's a beauty isn't she?" he asked casually.
"Yes Sir she certainly is," Charles said a big smile on his face as he ogled the dashboard and the half a dozen or so dials on it "Certainly looks very complicated."
"You learn to have one eye on the dashboard and the other on the road, isn't that so Mallard?" Whitcomb said casually while studying Charles.
"Yes Master, that is so," Mallard said amiably enough "but it's not hard for a clever young gentleman to learn how to do it."
Seeing that Charles seemed very excited about this Whitcomb walked around the side of the car and opened the glove compartment of the passenger side, then he pulled out a leather bound book with the text "Instruction Manual for the Hollingworth Model 335 Autosteamer". Casually he offered the tome over to Charles with the words "Why don't you read that and then sometime this week we can go into the countryside and you can try it out."
Charles eagerly accepted the book before they all entered into the car, at Whitcombs instruction the leather top was lowered and the Mallard got into the drivers seat of the steamer. First he carefully unhooked the engine by pressing the round end of the catch pedal until the catch lifted, and then he gently toggled one of the levels on the dashboard to fire up the main burner, there was a low puff and then a whistle at which point he smiled embarrassedly and closed it a bit. After a minute or so he toggled the lever a bit once more and this time there were no annoying sounds.
"Now we're just about ready Ladies and Gentlemen," Mallard announced quietly so they could prepare themselves as he released the handbrake, the big car moved forward a little probably from the uneven ground. Then he quickly unscrewed a block on a level that was on the steering wheel column, this took not at all long and after that he gently toggled the lever a few times before finally the car lurched forward with a sudden holt and a crunching sound as the wheels went over the gravel.
Whitcomb smiled and leaned back in the passenger seat, turning his head a bit to look at Charles who was standing up and hanging between the two seats so that he could see what was happening "I say Sir it's very exciting, is it always this fast to start it up? I mean my fathers old automobile had to be crank started." Charles asked casually.
"Certainly it's always that fast if it's already been steamed up that day," Whitcomb explained "but if you have to build a head of steam that could take fifteen to twenty minutes, but that's usually the first thing that Mallard here does in the morning."
"Quite, I see," Charles said excitedly as the steamer begun to move ahead, past the three large grey stone buildings that dominated Croneleigh Spaceport, and in the distance he could spot the large wooden warehouses so new that they had not yet had a time to paint them properly so that they shone with the golden colour of natural wood.
Then they began their jaunt down the road, the wind blowing through their hair, and everyone, not least Charles and Diana, looking about excitedly as they studied their new home. Certainly if you have deliberately picked the best moment to let them see Pendleton you could not have picked a better one than this, for the landscape was lush and green, the leaves of the trees were gaining the dark green colour of summer, and the tall hedges and boulder fences marking the borders between farms were quite picturesque.
They saw very few other steamers, indeed including the cream coloured steamer right behind them they spotted five other steamers in total. However they did spot quite a few buggies, gigs, and other wagons, including several large horse drawn wagons filled with produce of one sort or another. Certainly steamers had to be a rare sight for whenever they drove by a place where work was being done several of the workers, often the biggest sturdiest fellows, would whoop and rush over to the hedge or the fence to take a look at the people driving by, often waving to them in a friendly fashion despite their superior yelling at them to get back to work.
Occasionally as they drove Mallard would check the pressure gauges to see that the steam and fuel pressure was maintained, and of course the water indicator too. If any of these were disturbed he'd flick a few levers till they stabilized again, but fortunately many of these tasks were now more or less automatic thanks to the advances of Modern Science.
The Imperial Metropolis
Now they began to draw nearer to Pendleton proper, but there seemed to be no clear boundary between the city and the countryside. Instead they began to drive through quaint villages with names like Marleybone, Kesmont, Eldersward and so forth; the closer they came to Pendleton proper the bigger these villages became. Now houses began to line the road with increasing density, and in the distance they could spot Pendleton, a vast imperial metropolis with three million souls in it. A handful of buildings jutted up above the throng of five and six story buildings that seemed to sprawl out endlessly, visible even through the greyish brown haze that surrounded the city.
Even as they drove into the city itself they discovered that the separation of countryside and city was somewhat nebulous towards the edges, for as they passed by large built-up areas of towering buildings, they might suddenly spot an incongruous pig farm or a large barn. Furthermore, large stables, a necessity for life in a modern city, were frequent sights here, as hansom cabs or milk wagons would have their horses attached before going out into the city.
They did not go very far into the city; instead, they turned around into one of the smaller side alleys and suddenly found themselves in a reasonably fashionable neighbourhood lined with four story townhouses with discrete little brass plaques on the doors with the owners' names. There were also a few garages there built into the side of the larger houses, and some houses still had a stable. The townhouses were built in a variety of styles, but most had a vaguely gothic appearance with bay windows slightly above street levels and oriel windows further up, pointed arches and other adornments were also common with a few of the houses having small gargoyles mounted on the gutters.
They drove up to one of the nicer houses and Mallard stopped in front of it, Whitcomb motioned up at the house and announced "Welcome to my humble abode."
Diana and Charles peered up at the house, along with the children, studying it curiously, Charles noticing the exciting features about it like the fierce looking gargoyles jutting out and the rather medieval looking turret tower sticking up in one corner. Diana on the other hand took great notice of the fact that it seemed clean, well maintained, and that the street seemed very tranquil.
Within moments Mallard had arrived by the side doors and opened them up allowing the quality to exit the car, and as they did Whitcomb chatted amiably to them "I think you will like it, we have a few guest rooms I'll be sure to tell the staff to arrange them," even as they stretched somewhat after the long ride.
By now the cream coloured car stopped by their side and the door went up to allow the eunuch and the cook to exit, Sir Hubert however disdained to get out instead slamming the door shut himself and giving a smile and a wave to Whitcomb as the cream coloured steamer once more picked up speed. Whitcomb returned the greeting before starting to walk up the stairs to his house.
Whitcombs House
As they ascended the stairs Mallard was already opening the door to the garage, it rumbled a bit as it slid open revealing in interior with a concrete floor and walls that were filled with various tools and other implements you'd expect to see in a garage.
Whitcomb however was, upon knocking once, let into the house by a young man in footmans liveries, he bowed to Whitcomb and greeted him "Welcome home Master."
"Good to be home Jackson," Whitcomb answered casually as he ushered in the rest "some guests of mine, do tell Jones to come to the drawing room," added casually.
"Yes Master," Jackson the footman replied as he bowed once more, then his eyes grew very big as the eunuch with his scimitar and the almost equally exotic cook came in.
Whitcomb turned back "Ah yes, Jackson show these two to the downstairs quarters, normally they'd go round back but they'd only get lost, my latest acquisitions Ibrahim and Layla I think it was," then he motioned to the two Azhistanis and explained "Follow," pointing at Jackson.
Jackson seemed rather sceptical about the whole thing, his composure being ruined by the shock, but he quickly recovered bowed several times and began showing the two new slaves downstairs visibly relieved when they obeyed him.
Walking through the house they could admire what was, for Pendleton, a rather ordinary officers residence, especially a bachelors officers residence. There were of course the dark oaken walls, there were the parquet floors mixing dark and light woods to create pleasing patterns and also to make the sound of footsteps carry nicely in a very military fashion, and upon the walls there hung pictures of hunting, military scenes and so forth.
The drawing room, being one of the more masculine rooms in the house, emphasised this much more so "My apologies Ms Westley for taking you and the girls into the drawing room, but unfortunately my parlour is being redone and I thought I could have it finished after my return, but now," he shrugged apologetically "I shall have to have it expedited if you do decide to sojourn here."
"It is quite alright Sir," Diana announced "it is a lovely room, and I would hardly want to impose on you to have your home redecorated purely for my sake!" she seemed quite sincere in this desire.
The room was indeed an excellent one with a pair of bookshelves lining the wall, both of them filled with a ragged assortment of books including atlases, memoirs, and admittedly a fair collection of adventure stories. There were also a nice collection of trophies in the form of the stuffed heads of various animals lining the top of the walls, most of them were easily recognisable as deer, moose and others, but there were a few that, though similar to Earth species, were slightly different. Additionally there was a rack holding several rifles, most of them of a rather large calibre, beneath it was a cupboard presumably filled with ammunition.
"The please do be seated," Whitcomb said as he motioned them towards the many chairs that littered the room, they were generally recliner chairs upholstered with leather, the kind suitable for gentlemen to recline and discuss the business of the day with port and cigars.
Moments after they were all seated there was a sound at the door and the butler presented himself bowing deeply "The Master asked me to come," he said simply as he waited for instructions. Here then was a middle-aged man, common with slicked back black hair, and a passive expressionless face, in short the very image of the Pendletonian butler.
"Yes Jones, good man, this is Mr Charles Westley and Ms Diana Westley, and ah, Sandra, George, Robert, Jack and Nancy, please ensure that their needs are met, they are guests of the house so you'll have to prepare the guest rooms," Whitcomb informed him.
Jones the Butler bowed once more "Yes Master," he said as his lips moved silently while he memorized the new names.
Turning to Charles and Diana Whitcomb naturally offered "If you want some refreshments just say so and Jones will arrange it."
"How nice," Diana said modestly "I wouldn't mind some tea, I'm sure the children wouldn't either."
Charles muttered something, then seeing that he wasn't heard he said more loudly "I'll have a brandy," despite Diana's raised eyebrow, Whitcomb however didn't comment this.
After everyone had received their refreshments conversation became muted for a while as they sipped their tea, or in Charles' and Whitcombs case a pleasant brandy. However the awkward moment was soon interrupted when they received word that the guestrooms were ready.
"How wonderful, the children seem quite exhausted," Diana said as she studied them, even though they pretended to be very awake they still seemed a bit tired and she sensed that the children didn't really belong in this inner sanctum "do you mind if I take them to their rooms Sir?"
"Of course not Ms Westley," Whitcomb said pleasantly "Jones kindly show her the way."
"Yes Master," Jones said as he bowed and then opened the door motioning towards the hallway "If you would please follow me Ma'am I will show you the guest chambers."
"Quite," Diana said not quite sure what to make of the situation, everything seemed so new and unusual, but at the very least they were here, they were safe, they were given safe rooms. The expression of relief was clear on her face, but somehow she feared that she would wake up in some damp dungeon with a scowling Mohammedan or Communist peering down at her. The solidity of the corridors and the stairway up to the guest rooms made her feel much more at ease about that though.
Back in the drawing room Charles and Whitcomb were starting a new conversation between the men as it were, speaking frankly and openly as they both sipped from the big brandy snifters. Mind you Charles was feeling a bit woozy, and his tongue was burning from the unfamiliar strong liquor, but he was determined to act an adult and the man of the family.
"Now then Mr Westley," Whitcomb began "I hope you will be comfortable here until you can make your own arrangements."
"Yes Sir, I find your house to be most comfortable," Charles said as he looked around the room, then he pointed at one of the heads on the wall "What's that one Sir?"
Whitcomb turned slightly in his chair, craning his neck to see which one Charles indicated "That one, yes well... it's a large wild boar we shot near Crater Lake," he explained carefully "they grow'em big over there."
"A boar Sir but it is..." Charles looked at it, there was something frightening about it, the tusks seemed to be as thick as his arm, and the bristles of the thing. It was as if some sort of primordial creature was brought back, frightening, but at the same time the excitement rose in him as he thought about hunting them!
"As I told you the Crater Lake, best hunting ground you ever saw, but of course," Whitcomb smiled a bit "well it's haunted."
"Haunted Sir?"
"Just old peasants tales I'm sure, but it is an odd place that much I shall admit to."
"I see, do you... I mean... go there a lot?"
"From time to time, why are you interested Mr Westley?? I could certainly take you along some day."
"Why yes Sir! If I don't impose, I mean ... I know you told me back on the ship, when we travelled here, that you'd support us but I don't want to impose."
"Mr Westley," Whitcomb leaned a bit closer "back on the ship we became friends, and I support my friends," he patted Charles' hand as he said this.
Charles grabbed Whitcombs hand slightly, holding it for a moment "I appreciate it Sir, I really do," he said as he smiled showing his youthful smile "I worried that our friendship might change when we arrived."
"Why would it? You need not worry about that," Whitcomb re-assured him "but for now you may relax here as my guest."
They spoke for a while on several other minor matters, for instance things like hunting, automobiles of various makes, weapons, and a great deal of other things that Charles found enormous fascinating. Indeed they continued this discussion until the room grew dim as the sun sank down beneath the horizon, at that point they each went to their rooms for the night to rest and prepare for the first full day that the Westleys would be on Pendleton.
Erde
May 1005 NE
Landing at Croneleigh Spaceport
The single shuttle was moving slowly towards Croneleigh Spaceport, it was a common enough shuttle with riveted sides and a large pane of mage-hardened glass in front for the pilot to see where he was going. First Pilot Stokes pulled back the brass lever controlling the engines and carefully guided the shuttle onto the tarmacadam surface of the spaceport. Within moments the heavy landing skids extended with the low hiss of the hydraulics and then with a loud scraping sound and the skipping of small pebbles torn loose from the tarmac foundation it stopped on the landing field.
Within moments the spaceport dockers came rushing over to the shuttle, they were pushing a small stair mounted on wheels towards the side door of the shuttle. Just after them a pair of rather nice steamers arrive, a couple of Hollingworths by the look of then, one was a pleasant cream colour and with an overbuilt passenger and driver compartment, the other was a black convertible with the custom leather top up.
Now the side door of the shuttle opened up, and the wheeled stair was moved up to it, standing in the doorway was Whitcomb who took a deep breath of air the scent was a mixture of tar, ether and mowed grass, but more than that it was home. Behind him, curious and somewhat timid, there stood Diana who looked with askance at the sight before her.
"I say Ms Westley, Ladies first," Whitcomb gallantly stated as he motioned towards the exit.
Diana shook her head "No please Sir," she pleaded "I would rather you went first, I feel a bit nervous about this."
"This is Pendleton Ms Westley, the fairest most civilized land on all of Erde," Whitcomb assured her.
"Then humour me anyway," Diana insisted "it's just a woman's foolish fears I'm sure, but please."
"Of course, for you anything," Whitcomb said as he easily descended down the stairs to the tarmac surface of the landing area "look Ms Westley my steamer just drove up," he said as he motioned towards the black Hollingworth steamer.
"Is that yours Sir?" Charles spoke up from behind his sister, "I say Diana can't you just go down the stairs," he whispered to his sister in that somewhat annoyed tone of voice brothers use when their sister is being 'girlish'.
"Yes Mr Westley, that is indeed mine," Whitcomb explained "I dare say that's Mallet driving it too."
By now Diana took a few steps down the stair, elegantly accepting Whitcombs offered hand as he supported her while she descended down, "Thank you Sir," she said politely as she reached the bottom of the stairs, and then she looked up "Is the weather always this nice?"
"Why yes, in May and June the weather is usually quite lovely Ms Westley," Whitcomb replied.
While they were leaving the shuttle the chauffeurs of both steamers opened the door and stepped out, the chauffeur of Whitcombs black convertible Hollingsworth Steamer just stood passively by the side of the steamer, his hands folded over his waist.
The chauffeur of the cream coloured steamer however walked to the side of the steamer and opened the door, it slid open with a light click and out stepped a gentleman wearing a white suit with a white hat he was holding to fan himself as no doubt the interior of the steamer had gotten quite warm, and in his other hand he carried an elegant cane with a silver knob. This gentleman was perhaps a few pounds overweight but not obscenely so, and his moustache and confident expression as well as his age being somewhat in the mid forties as the flesh ages, gave him something of a military bearing.
He approached the shuttle and politely tipped his hat to Diana, but his main attention was to Whitcomb "Lieutenant Whitcomb, delighted to see that you made it back safely, when I got the wireless message I rushed out at once to see you," he said in a friendly tone of voice as if addressing a close acquaintance all the while extending his hand.
"Sir Hubert I'm honoured," Whitcomb caught himself about to salute, but instead he extended his hand as well.
As they shook hands, both of them having firm solid handshakes, Sir Hubert looked curiously at the youngsters that were milling out of the shuttle, they looked at him with great curiosity evident and he smiled at them in a quite charming fashion.
"Ms Westley, if I may introduce to you Sir Hubert Westingstoke, a gentleman of some importance," Whitcomb begun his introduction as he motioned towards Sir Hubert, this dignitary at once doffed his hat again, and then to Sir Hubert he said "Diana Westley, gentlewoman from Gosford," he explained.
"Delighted to meet you Ms Westley," Sir Hubert said simply.
Diana curtsied slightly and returned "And I you Sir Hubert."
"Sir Hubert this then is Charles Westley, Ms Westleys brother and a fine young gentleman," Whitcomb continued as he went over to Charles "Mr Westley, Sir Hubert Westingstoke."
"Good, good, pleased to meet you young Mr Westley," Sir Hubert at once said "Now then as we are all introduced," he looked at the children again but decided they were not important "I believe there was some bothersome matter?"
"Ah yes Sir Hubert, two prisoners of mine, slaves, but I am loathe to ask for you Sir Hubert to..." Whitcomb explained feeling tad embarrassed.
Sir Hubert simply smiled and waved his hand "Good heavens no, if there are two prisoners and they are suitably restrained I shan't have any trouble taking care of them, better drive them in my steamer than attract a lot of unnecessary attention eh?"
"Of course Sir Hubert, they're inside the shuttle," Whitcomb explained.
"Excellent, lets have a look then," Sir Hubert announced.
"Of course Sir Hubert," then turning to Diana Whitcomb added "Ms Westley, Mr Westley could you please have the children enter the black steamer?"
"I think that'd be good Sir," Diana replied before turning to the children "Come now all, lets go into the automobile!"
Seeing them mill towards the steamer Whitcomb nodded to his Chauffeur Mallet, and then followed Sir Hubert into the shuttle. The interior of the shuttle was quite dim as the incandescent bulbs in the ceiling had been turned off after landing, the electricity after all was generally produced by the motion of the air or the ether around the shuttle, but there was enough light leaking in through portholes to let them see their way around.
The two communists were tied up quite well, their ankles tied together and their wrists tied up behind their backs, both of them were also gagged, hearing the footsteps both of them looked up at the approaching shapes. The male was dressed in rough common clothes of a more or less Pendletonian cut, the kind that you might expect a common slave to wear, whereas Svetlana the pilot was wearing a long shapeless dress ending just above the ankles, a concession to the modesty of the young ones aboard the shuttle. Standing by their side was the Eunuch Ibrahim and the Azhistani cook which Whitcomb had also purchased.
"My interesting," Sir Hubert said as he looked at the two Azhistanis "Quite exotic really," he added casually "I am certain there'd be a demand eh Lieutenant?"
"Yes I rather hope so," Whitcomb commented casually "certainly Ibrahim here, the Eunuch, is most helpful in keeping the prisoners under control."
"Quite quite, now then the prisoners," Sir Hubert said changing the subject "Commies eh? That's what the coded message said?"
"Yes Sir Hubert, Communists, I was rather hoping they could be taken to a secure area for a proper interrogation, I have prepared a full written report as well but I'd rather have my guests and my new slaves safely ensconced at my town house before I give a personal report," Whitcomb explained apparently ignoring the fact that the Communists were right in front of him.
"That's quite acceptable Lieutenant, yes, now then... I suppose we'll just move them out to my steamer eh?" Sir Hubert inquired as he kneeled down to further study the prisoners, quietly poking them a bit and pulling back their lips to study their teeth "Healthy looking specimens, a pity really."
After this the two communists prisoners had their ankles untied, but before they could get up to any mischief they were pulled up on their feet and marched out of the shuttle with Ibrahim the Eunuch standing close by in case any of them tried something. They looked about dejectedly as they left the shuttle, the air, the temperature, the architecture everything around them told them just how alien the new world was, and for now they were remarkably pliable.
As the door to the cream coloured steamer was opened they were greeted with a blast of warm air which made Sir Hubert fan himself with his hat once more "I say the interior of that thing can get as warm as the Southern Islands," he commented casually, revealing also his birthplace and the reason for his slightly eccentric dress.
After that however the two communists were quickly pushed into the steamer, and once inside their ankles were once more tied up, this time Sir Hubert and Whitcomb improved things a bit by also tying the Communists to each other, thus rendering them completely helpless.
"Much obliged for your aid Lieutenant," Sir Hubert said when they had finally secured the two communists.
"Not at all Sir Hubert, it is I who should be grateful for you taking the trouble to personally transport these two!" Whitcomb replied, then he added "though they could both be troublesome."
"Aha," Sir Hubert said casually "I dare say between my man Humperdink in the drivers seat and my trusty revolver," here he pulled a brightly chromed Collier revolver from his pocket "I shan't be bothered, but say Lieutenant it seems that your car can't handle your guests and your two slaves."
"No, I was thinking of doing two trips, or perhaps calling a cab," Whitcomb admitted.
"Rubbish!" Sir Hubert announced firmly "Lieutenant why waste time when I can take them into my steamer, and your man Ibrahim can help keep these rapscallions under control, it's only a short detour for me if you are still living in your old haunt in Rodney Street!"
"Indeed I am, but I hope that I'm not imposing in any way," Whitcomb protested "after all Sir Hubert I would scarcely want to keep you from your duties."
"Nonsense! I've said so already Lieutenant, it's the least I could do after your great adventure," Sir Hubert begun, then in a lower voice he added "speaking of which that report."
"I can find it right away if you want, it's in my personal trunk," Whitcomb said as he motioned towards the steamer trunk that had already been removed "hand written I fear so you'd need to find someone to interpret my birds scratches."
"I dare say we have some secretary or other who can decipher even doctors notes," Sir Hubert said bemused as Whitcomb recovered the written report from his sturdy iron bound steamer trunk. It consisted of a couple dozen pages written up stiff good paper, interspaced with the odd drawing of the defences and buildings he had seen, and a description of the prisoners too.
"I am most obliged Sir Hubert," Whitcomb said after handing it over "I hope that will suffice for now?"
"Of course Lieutenant, awfully sorry to bother you about it now, but it's rather urgent," Sir Hubert said genuinely apologetic.
"Naturally Sir, wouldn't want to disrupt or delay the deliberations of the Bureau," Whitcomb asserted "to be honest I feel very relieved that it is done and out of my hands."
With that the two slaves were ushered into the cream coloured hardtop, while Whitcomb returned to see how his guests were doing over by his own convertible steamer. Charles and Diana were standing by the side of the steamer while the children had been arranged inside the passenger compartment. SO of course was Mallard.
Journey to Pendleton
When Whitcomb arrived Mallard immediately doffed his peaked cap to him "Welcome home Master," he as he bowed slightly. Mallard was dressed in the standard chauffeurs uniform; a greyish blue jacket from which rose the starched white collar of his shirt, with two rows of bright brass buttons, one on either side. The trousers were of the same colour; tucked neatly into almost knee-high brightly polished black leather boots. In his hands he held the peaked cap of the same grey blue, with a bright leather brim. The man himself was a plain type common looking, a bit thickset perhaps, with stringy thinning brown hair and blue eyes, in short your average middle-aged upper servant.
"It's good to be back too Mallard," Whitcomb returned, then looking at his steamer he gently tapped the hood of the car, hearing the low clang as he did so "So how is the old girl?"
"Most excellent Master, we've cleaned the interior tubing of the boiler, replaced two faulty tubes, and greased and oiled her up real nice, even got a pair of new Willard batteries so we can blue spark fire up Master," Mallard explained carefully with obvious care and affection for his charge.
Whitcomb nodded as he heard this "Excellent Mallard, good man," he said to himself as he looked into the car, smiled and waved at the children who beamed gleefully while looking around the car and poking at the various interesting things inside.
Meanwhile Charles was listening intently and studying the steamer, or automobile as he called it, finding it fascinating, he desperately wanted to crack open the hood and have a look at how everything worked. His father had owned an automobile, but he'd rarely had a chance to study it being rather young when the war came, and afterwards Gosford was so poor as to make automobiles a rare sight indeed.
Whitcomb patted Charles on the back "She's a beauty isn't she?" he asked casually.
"Yes Sir she certainly is," Charles said a big smile on his face as he ogled the dashboard and the half a dozen or so dials on it "Certainly looks very complicated."
"You learn to have one eye on the dashboard and the other on the road, isn't that so Mallard?" Whitcomb said casually while studying Charles.
"Yes Master, that is so," Mallard said amiably enough "but it's not hard for a clever young gentleman to learn how to do it."
Seeing that Charles seemed very excited about this Whitcomb walked around the side of the car and opened the glove compartment of the passenger side, then he pulled out a leather bound book with the text "Instruction Manual for the Hollingworth Model 335 Autosteamer". Casually he offered the tome over to Charles with the words "Why don't you read that and then sometime this week we can go into the countryside and you can try it out."
Charles eagerly accepted the book before they all entered into the car, at Whitcombs instruction the leather top was lowered and the Mallard got into the drivers seat of the steamer. First he carefully unhooked the engine by pressing the round end of the catch pedal until the catch lifted, and then he gently toggled one of the levels on the dashboard to fire up the main burner, there was a low puff and then a whistle at which point he smiled embarrassedly and closed it a bit. After a minute or so he toggled the lever a bit once more and this time there were no annoying sounds.
"Now we're just about ready Ladies and Gentlemen," Mallard announced quietly so they could prepare themselves as he released the handbrake, the big car moved forward a little probably from the uneven ground. Then he quickly unscrewed a block on a level that was on the steering wheel column, this took not at all long and after that he gently toggled the lever a few times before finally the car lurched forward with a sudden holt and a crunching sound as the wheels went over the gravel.
Whitcomb smiled and leaned back in the passenger seat, turning his head a bit to look at Charles who was standing up and hanging between the two seats so that he could see what was happening "I say Sir it's very exciting, is it always this fast to start it up? I mean my fathers old automobile had to be crank started." Charles asked casually.
"Certainly it's always that fast if it's already been steamed up that day," Whitcomb explained "but if you have to build a head of steam that could take fifteen to twenty minutes, but that's usually the first thing that Mallard here does in the morning."
"Quite, I see," Charles said excitedly as the steamer begun to move ahead, past the three large grey stone buildings that dominated Croneleigh Spaceport, and in the distance he could spot the large wooden warehouses so new that they had not yet had a time to paint them properly so that they shone with the golden colour of natural wood.
Then they began their jaunt down the road, the wind blowing through their hair, and everyone, not least Charles and Diana, looking about excitedly as they studied their new home. Certainly if you have deliberately picked the best moment to let them see Pendleton you could not have picked a better one than this, for the landscape was lush and green, the leaves of the trees were gaining the dark green colour of summer, and the tall hedges and boulder fences marking the borders between farms were quite picturesque.
They saw very few other steamers, indeed including the cream coloured steamer right behind them they spotted five other steamers in total. However they did spot quite a few buggies, gigs, and other wagons, including several large horse drawn wagons filled with produce of one sort or another. Certainly steamers had to be a rare sight for whenever they drove by a place where work was being done several of the workers, often the biggest sturdiest fellows, would whoop and rush over to the hedge or the fence to take a look at the people driving by, often waving to them in a friendly fashion despite their superior yelling at them to get back to work.
Occasionally as they drove Mallard would check the pressure gauges to see that the steam and fuel pressure was maintained, and of course the water indicator too. If any of these were disturbed he'd flick a few levers till they stabilized again, but fortunately many of these tasks were now more or less automatic thanks to the advances of Modern Science.
The Imperial Metropolis
Now they began to draw nearer to Pendleton proper, but there seemed to be no clear boundary between the city and the countryside. Instead they began to drive through quaint villages with names like Marleybone, Kesmont, Eldersward and so forth; the closer they came to Pendleton proper the bigger these villages became. Now houses began to line the road with increasing density, and in the distance they could spot Pendleton, a vast imperial metropolis with three million souls in it. A handful of buildings jutted up above the throng of five and six story buildings that seemed to sprawl out endlessly, visible even through the greyish brown haze that surrounded the city.
Even as they drove into the city itself they discovered that the separation of countryside and city was somewhat nebulous towards the edges, for as they passed by large built-up areas of towering buildings, they might suddenly spot an incongruous pig farm or a large barn. Furthermore, large stables, a necessity for life in a modern city, were frequent sights here, as hansom cabs or milk wagons would have their horses attached before going out into the city.
They did not go very far into the city; instead, they turned around into one of the smaller side alleys and suddenly found themselves in a reasonably fashionable neighbourhood lined with four story townhouses with discrete little brass plaques on the doors with the owners' names. There were also a few garages there built into the side of the larger houses, and some houses still had a stable. The townhouses were built in a variety of styles, but most had a vaguely gothic appearance with bay windows slightly above street levels and oriel windows further up, pointed arches and other adornments were also common with a few of the houses having small gargoyles mounted on the gutters.
They drove up to one of the nicer houses and Mallard stopped in front of it, Whitcomb motioned up at the house and announced "Welcome to my humble abode."
Diana and Charles peered up at the house, along with the children, studying it curiously, Charles noticing the exciting features about it like the fierce looking gargoyles jutting out and the rather medieval looking turret tower sticking up in one corner. Diana on the other hand took great notice of the fact that it seemed clean, well maintained, and that the street seemed very tranquil.
Within moments Mallard had arrived by the side doors and opened them up allowing the quality to exit the car, and as they did Whitcomb chatted amiably to them "I think you will like it, we have a few guest rooms I'll be sure to tell the staff to arrange them," even as they stretched somewhat after the long ride.
By now the cream coloured car stopped by their side and the door went up to allow the eunuch and the cook to exit, Sir Hubert however disdained to get out instead slamming the door shut himself and giving a smile and a wave to Whitcomb as the cream coloured steamer once more picked up speed. Whitcomb returned the greeting before starting to walk up the stairs to his house.
Whitcombs House
As they ascended the stairs Mallard was already opening the door to the garage, it rumbled a bit as it slid open revealing in interior with a concrete floor and walls that were filled with various tools and other implements you'd expect to see in a garage.
Whitcomb however was, upon knocking once, let into the house by a young man in footmans liveries, he bowed to Whitcomb and greeted him "Welcome home Master."
"Good to be home Jackson," Whitcomb answered casually as he ushered in the rest "some guests of mine, do tell Jones to come to the drawing room," added casually.
"Yes Master," Jackson the footman replied as he bowed once more, then his eyes grew very big as the eunuch with his scimitar and the almost equally exotic cook came in.
Whitcomb turned back "Ah yes, Jackson show these two to the downstairs quarters, normally they'd go round back but they'd only get lost, my latest acquisitions Ibrahim and Layla I think it was," then he motioned to the two Azhistanis and explained "Follow," pointing at Jackson.
Jackson seemed rather sceptical about the whole thing, his composure being ruined by the shock, but he quickly recovered bowed several times and began showing the two new slaves downstairs visibly relieved when they obeyed him.
Walking through the house they could admire what was, for Pendleton, a rather ordinary officers residence, especially a bachelors officers residence. There were of course the dark oaken walls, there were the parquet floors mixing dark and light woods to create pleasing patterns and also to make the sound of footsteps carry nicely in a very military fashion, and upon the walls there hung pictures of hunting, military scenes and so forth.
The drawing room, being one of the more masculine rooms in the house, emphasised this much more so "My apologies Ms Westley for taking you and the girls into the drawing room, but unfortunately my parlour is being redone and I thought I could have it finished after my return, but now," he shrugged apologetically "I shall have to have it expedited if you do decide to sojourn here."
"It is quite alright Sir," Diana announced "it is a lovely room, and I would hardly want to impose on you to have your home redecorated purely for my sake!" she seemed quite sincere in this desire.
The room was indeed an excellent one with a pair of bookshelves lining the wall, both of them filled with a ragged assortment of books including atlases, memoirs, and admittedly a fair collection of adventure stories. There were also a nice collection of trophies in the form of the stuffed heads of various animals lining the top of the walls, most of them were easily recognisable as deer, moose and others, but there were a few that, though similar to Earth species, were slightly different. Additionally there was a rack holding several rifles, most of them of a rather large calibre, beneath it was a cupboard presumably filled with ammunition.
"The please do be seated," Whitcomb said as he motioned them towards the many chairs that littered the room, they were generally recliner chairs upholstered with leather, the kind suitable for gentlemen to recline and discuss the business of the day with port and cigars.
Moments after they were all seated there was a sound at the door and the butler presented himself bowing deeply "The Master asked me to come," he said simply as he waited for instructions. Here then was a middle-aged man, common with slicked back black hair, and a passive expressionless face, in short the very image of the Pendletonian butler.
"Yes Jones, good man, this is Mr Charles Westley and Ms Diana Westley, and ah, Sandra, George, Robert, Jack and Nancy, please ensure that their needs are met, they are guests of the house so you'll have to prepare the guest rooms," Whitcomb informed him.
Jones the Butler bowed once more "Yes Master," he said as his lips moved silently while he memorized the new names.
Turning to Charles and Diana Whitcomb naturally offered "If you want some refreshments just say so and Jones will arrange it."
"How nice," Diana said modestly "I wouldn't mind some tea, I'm sure the children wouldn't either."
Charles muttered something, then seeing that he wasn't heard he said more loudly "I'll have a brandy," despite Diana's raised eyebrow, Whitcomb however didn't comment this.
After everyone had received their refreshments conversation became muted for a while as they sipped their tea, or in Charles' and Whitcombs case a pleasant brandy. However the awkward moment was soon interrupted when they received word that the guestrooms were ready.
"How wonderful, the children seem quite exhausted," Diana said as she studied them, even though they pretended to be very awake they still seemed a bit tired and she sensed that the children didn't really belong in this inner sanctum "do you mind if I take them to their rooms Sir?"
"Of course not Ms Westley," Whitcomb said pleasantly "Jones kindly show her the way."
"Yes Master," Jones said as he bowed and then opened the door motioning towards the hallway "If you would please follow me Ma'am I will show you the guest chambers."
"Quite," Diana said not quite sure what to make of the situation, everything seemed so new and unusual, but at the very least they were here, they were safe, they were given safe rooms. The expression of relief was clear on her face, but somehow she feared that she would wake up in some damp dungeon with a scowling Mohammedan or Communist peering down at her. The solidity of the corridors and the stairway up to the guest rooms made her feel much more at ease about that though.
Back in the drawing room Charles and Whitcomb were starting a new conversation between the men as it were, speaking frankly and openly as they both sipped from the big brandy snifters. Mind you Charles was feeling a bit woozy, and his tongue was burning from the unfamiliar strong liquor, but he was determined to act an adult and the man of the family.
"Now then Mr Westley," Whitcomb began "I hope you will be comfortable here until you can make your own arrangements."
"Yes Sir, I find your house to be most comfortable," Charles said as he looked around the room, then he pointed at one of the heads on the wall "What's that one Sir?"
Whitcomb turned slightly in his chair, craning his neck to see which one Charles indicated "That one, yes well... it's a large wild boar we shot near Crater Lake," he explained carefully "they grow'em big over there."
"A boar Sir but it is..." Charles looked at it, there was something frightening about it, the tusks seemed to be as thick as his arm, and the bristles of the thing. It was as if some sort of primordial creature was brought back, frightening, but at the same time the excitement rose in him as he thought about hunting them!
"As I told you the Crater Lake, best hunting ground you ever saw, but of course," Whitcomb smiled a bit "well it's haunted."
"Haunted Sir?"
"Just old peasants tales I'm sure, but it is an odd place that much I shall admit to."
"I see, do you... I mean... go there a lot?"
"From time to time, why are you interested Mr Westley?? I could certainly take you along some day."
"Why yes Sir! If I don't impose, I mean ... I know you told me back on the ship, when we travelled here, that you'd support us but I don't want to impose."
"Mr Westley," Whitcomb leaned a bit closer "back on the ship we became friends, and I support my friends," he patted Charles' hand as he said this.
Charles grabbed Whitcombs hand slightly, holding it for a moment "I appreciate it Sir, I really do," he said as he smiled showing his youthful smile "I worried that our friendship might change when we arrived."
"Why would it? You need not worry about that," Whitcomb re-assured him "but for now you may relax here as my guest."
They spoke for a while on several other minor matters, for instance things like hunting, automobiles of various makes, weapons, and a great deal of other things that Charles found enormous fascinating. Indeed they continued this discussion until the room grew dim as the sun sank down beneath the horizon, at that point they each went to their rooms for the night to rest and prepare for the first full day that the Westleys would be on Pendleton.