A\N: I am pleased to announce I have a couple of adult oriented threads now up in Questionable Questing under the username Gremlin Jack, including an uncensored version of this story. The adults among you, feel free to check them out!
Chapter 29
March 11, 1930, Reina del Angel, Unified States
Joe Barrow and Samantha Young shared a long-suffering look. None of them had thought it would be easy chaperoning a high spirited teenager around the decadent world of the movie industry. Samantha in particular had long bitter experiences of this particular teenager from her African expedition. But when their orders included preserving the virtue of a girl who had more experience of the seedy side of life than most gangsters twice her age... well, even Barrow was smart enough to recognize a fool's errand when he got handed one.
The only saving grace had been the travel time between New York and Reina del Angel, which meant their charge Jenny Brown could only spend a few days in the city before she had to go back to New York at the end of spring break.
It would help, Samantha felt, if Jenny hadn't taken it as a challenge to see just how many scandals she could create in the few days she had. Jenny's first trip to Reina del Angel, during winter break, was almost a fond memory. Then she had been too busy with auditioning for Hughes' latest movies to get into too much trouble.
The purpose of this trip, however, was to give Hughes a chance to show off his newest star to various executives and producers - the actual shooting would wait until summer. This meant on her very first day in the city, Jenny had disappeared on Hughes' arm while leaving Samantha and Joe to fight off the crowd trying to follow the pair.
When Jenny had met up with them the next morning, she insisted she hadn't actually had sex with the man, just some 'harmless fun'. But considering how Hughes filed for divorce that very day, Samantha and Joe were both skeptical. The local tabloids were more than skeptical, they were downright accusatory. Not that it slowed down Jenny for a moment. Which led to today, and yet another gala, with Jenny once more on John Hughes' arm.
Well, this time Samantha and Joe weren't going to be fobbed off so easily on crowd control. They could already expect a chewing out from Miss Lydia for letting Jenny out of their sight that first night, they were not going to allow her to make a fool of them a second time. As soon as the gala ended, Joe used his imposing bulk to power through the crowd and get Hughes off Jenny's arm with the sheer force of his glare. The minute he did, Samantha had captured Jenny's hand in her own, and was guiding her towards a cab kept waiting just for them.
To both their relief, Jenny only laughed and didn't resist. At least Samantha could report that whatever Jenny was doing with Hughes, the girl hadn't fallen for the notorious playboy. As the cab traveled through the streets, Joe muttered, "We're being followed."
Jenny glanced behind. "Reporter," she remarked. "Persistent bugger. Seen that car following me around for days."
"Yeah, I recognize it," replied Samantha. That particular reporter was indeed persistent, but was smart enough to keep enough distance that neither she nor Joe had reason to have words with the man.
"Well, I need something to eat," Jenny said. "Those old fogies at the gala kept me so busy gabbing I could barely get a bite. I know a decent pub a few blocks over, come on."
Half an hour later saw them finishing up some decent steak sandwiches and beer when a lone pretty well-dressed woman sat down at the next table over and ordered wine. Then this woman looked around, caught sight of them, and immediately started giving Jenny a death glare.
Samantha took a second look and groaned. She couldn't believe their luck, they'd managed to find a seat right next to Ella Rice, the former Mrs. Hughes.
Jenny must have recognized her as well, because she grinned and skipped over to the woman's table. "Hey Ella, fancy meeting you here," she said cheerfully as she slid into a seat next to the woman.
"Jenny," came the frosty response. "Where's John?"
"Eh, ditched him."
"Really? Color me surprised. I mean, you must have been something special. One night with you and he's filing for divorce the next day."
Jenny snickered. "Aw, you really think that? I mean, you really think sleeping with him would actually do shit? Even when I came by last winter I been hearing all about his girlfriends. None of them got him to file. Naw, if I'd slept with him he'd prolly do jack."
"Oh? Then what?"
"Told him in very clear terms that I ain't got time for boys who can't keep their word. Real men mean it when they commit. Didn't expect him to go out and get a divorce though." Jenny gave a little laugh. "I hope he don't expect to get into my pants that way."
"You're saying you're not interested?"
"Oh I am, a little bit. Ain't decided yet. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Not gonna make it easy for him, though."
The woman stared at Jenny for a moment, then shook her head. "It's your life. I don't even know why I'm upset. It's not like I wasn't thinking of filing myself. Bastard just beat me to it." She looked up and gave a groan. "Good god a reporter here of all places. Thank goodness I'm heading back to Houston next week, those rats are the one thing I won't miss about this town."
Jenny snickered. "He's got his camera ready in case we start a cat-fight." Her gaze sharpened and she leaned in. "Hey Ella, I kinda feel bad about all this. So, want to mess with John?"
"Oh?"
"I say we give Nosey there something worth taking a picture of."
"I am not starting a fight with you."
"Good, 'cos I'd kick yer ass. No, I was thinking, all the papers are saying John dumped you for me. What say we give 'em a different reason?" As she was speaking, Jenny's hand reached under the table and rested on Ella's thigh.
The woman stiffened, "You cannot be serious."
"Like a heart attack."
"That's absolutely scandalous…"
Jenny's grin was predatory as she leaned in. "That's not a no." Further objections were cut off as she gripped the woman's neck and pulled her in for a kiss, full on the mouth. She held it long enough for the photographer's flash to light the room, then released the speechless lady. "Have a good life, Ella. See ya in the funny papers."
As Jenny and her bodyguards left the pub, Samantha spoke in a voice of suffering, "What. Was. The point. Of that?"
"Well, one thing, I was curious. Big sis seemed to be havin' such a great time with her lady friend, I wanted to see what there was to it." shrugged Jenny.
"And your verdict?" came the dry response.
"Might be fun sometime, still like guys more."
"Praise be. And the other reasons?"
"You been paying any attention to these new regulations on films that this joker Hays been pushing? 'Arenne' couldn't've been shot the way it was if that ass had been around. I figure, if they're gonna be all holier than thou, then I'm gonna really give 'em something to get their knickers in a twist over."
"Thumbing your nose at the powers that be. Of course."
"Well, that, and I figure John could use a little more shaking up to his worldview," snickered Jenny. "And since we're back to New York starting tomorrow, I figure he'll have all the way till summer to stew over it."
"And if he drops you like a hot potato?"
"Then Lydia will be happy. Win-win, huh?"
March 22, 1930, Djibouti, Republican Somaliland
I had to admit, speaking with a Russy accent came easier than expected. Perhaps it was all the time I'd spent around Visha. The matter was complicated slightly by the fact I was speaking Francois, but since I'd used Visha to help me brush up on the language, speaking it in a Russy accent now felt almost natural.
A more difficult matter was lowering my voice to sound like a man. Perhaps I shouldn't have bothered, but now that I had finally touched five feet in height, I couldn't resist the chance to pass myself off as male, if a rather short one. Luckily, years of screaming over a battlefield had lent my voice a rasp that could, with a bit of effort, be turned to this purpose.
"Ah, here comes Svetlana. Put it down, dear, and take a seat." I said, as Visha in her current guise came in carrying a carafe of coffee and three cups.
This particular form of Visha was the closest yet to her natural state, the biggest difference being the strawberry blonde hair replacing her brown locks and a few subtle adjustments to her face. Combined with the very tight and expensive skirt and low-cut blouse, she looked magnificently tempting.
As she set the refreshments down on the table, she very deliberately leaned forward, giving me a clear look down her decolletage. Judging by his flushed face, my distinguished guest had also been caught as collateral damage. I didn't even bother pretending not to enjoy the view, and merely smirked as Visha caught my eye and gave me a saucy smile.
As she turned away from the table, some of the napkins fluttered to the ground. With a soft "Merci", she smoothly bent over and started to pick them up, her delectable derriere strategically pointed at me and my guest.
Tearing my gaze away from the view, I glanced at the gentleman opposite me, and found myself mildly concerned at his purpling face. The idea was to distract him, not give him a stroke. Reaching out, I gave a sharp slap to her rump. "Sit down already!"
Visha immediately jerked straight with an "Eeep!" before pouting at me. "Oh Boris, you beast!" Then she flounced around to sit down next to me, wrapping herself around my arm.
I should note that until my arrival in Djibouti I'd never witnessed a woman flounce in either life, let alone expect Visha to be so skilled at it.
Ignoring the pouting woman on my arm, I gave my guest my friendliest smile. "Women. Never where you want them to be. Am I right, m'Lord Governor?"
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," came the suave reply from the middle-aged debonair. "In fact, I would say any location would be blessed to contain this delightful creature."
A vapid giggle escaped Visha. "Oh my Lord Governor, you're so sweet! Not at all like this terrible boor who beats me at the drop of a hat!"
"Oh, just wait till we're alone and I'll really give you something to squeal about."
"Ooh, promise?!"
I gave an exaggerated sigh. "Please forgive her, sir. I'm not as young as I used to be and this minx is insatiable."
"Not at all," came the magnanimous response. "Any true man's first duty must be to satisfy his woman, or how can we call ourselves men?"
We shared a smile of understanding between us, two aging but worldly gentlemen that could still show the youngsters a thing or two about pleasing a woman.
Inside, I couldn't help but feel Visha was having way too much fun with all of this. The identity I'd developed was that of a middle-aged boyar who'd fled the Communist Revolution and was now a wealthy globe-trotting businessman, accompanied by his significant other. So far so good. But the idea to make the man an unrepentant lecher and to turn his lady companion into a flirty mistress less than half his age? That was all Visha.
During the weeks we'd spent traveling and establishing ourselves, the hardest part of our new identity was to make our flirting and physical shows of affection look natural. Visha seemed to get a positive thrill out of being as blatantly enticing as possible. I could tell she was pleased to have a chance to let her wild side off the leash. I, on the other hand, had to train myself not to be surprised by her provocations, as well as respond in kind. I can only imagine what my parents would have said if they ever saw their son grope a woman in public.
Not that it wasn't fun for me as well. After two lifetimes of carefully maintained dignity, donning such a crude persona was an entertaining change of pace. The real trouble came from the people around us.
First of course, there was Visha. Even with her normal demure personality, her natural good looks would draw its share of attention. Dressed to kill and throwing come-hithers left and right, she'd drawn a train of drooling fools from one end of the city to the other. Fortunately, it was one of the little hypocrisies of society that a man may have a wandering eye while still demanding fidelity from his partner, so no one raised an eyebrow whenever I would drag 'Svetlana' off in a fit of possessiveness. In fact, I was worried at how easily acting like a jealous lover came to me. Breaking that habit would be a pain once we left these identities behind.
My own situation was sometimes worse. As a short loud crude 45 year old man, you'd think the best reaction I'd get from the women around me would be a few pity chuckles at my inveterate flirting. Instead, far too many times, I'd found women ranging from debutantes younger than Visha to married women almost my illusory age responding to my advances with eagerness rather than disgust. I sometimes wondered if I'd managed to stumble across every desperate woman in this city of 20,000.
Watching me extricate myself from my own unasked for success with the ladies provided Visha with a constant source of amusement. However, one lady proved particularly persistent, a personage no less than the Republican garrison commander's thirty year old wife. For a while I feared I'd have to flee Djibouti entirely, but then Visha came back from a private meeting with the woman to assure me she was no longer interested. Visha refused to elaborate on what had occurred, but the next time we saw the woman she took one look at Visha, blushed furiously, and fled in the opposite direction.
Romantic misadventures aside, our latest disguises had worked out quite well. The European population of the city had immediately accepted us for who we were, and one advantage of being openly rich during an international depression is that the city's notables were falling over themselves to ingratiate themselves with us. Alas, part of passing myself off as a businessman meant when people started talking business, I had to at least pretend to pay attention.
My current situation had started from a conversation at a party between an executive of the Franco-Abyssinian Railway and a manager of a coffee trading company. The railway executive wanted the coffee company to increase trade volume so their trains didn't run empty, and the coffee manager said there simply wasn't enough demand to justify it. I had casually asked why the coffee company couldn't try and increase demand through aggressive marketing, trade deals, and lowered prices. This had triggered a long litany of woes from both men, and I couldn't resist the intellectual challenge of trying to find some way of solving their problems.
Unfortunately, desperate people also tend to be clingy. Once they realized I might have something approaching a workable idea, they were practically throwing themselves at my feet. Before I knew it, I was being promoted in local business circles as the man with the plan to save the city. And considering how much the brash Boris had talked up his globe-spanning wheeling-dealings, it would have drawn more attention if I'd rejected the extremely favorable deals I was being offered.
All that rigmarole led directly to today's meeting with the Governor of Djibouti. I was here for one very important reason - to convince the man to get rid of the ridiculously high tariff on Abyssinian agricultural products.
A significant chunk of Djibouti's income came from duties levied on Abyssinian goods, as the port was currently Abyssinia's primary gateway to the sea. Recently, thanks to the global depression, trade volume had shrunk significantly. Combine that with slashed budgets thanks to the war the Republic lost, and the colonial administration was badly feeling the pinch.
Convincing a man to further reduce his income when he was already losing money is tricky, but I was confident. The current tariff regime might have been acceptable when the world as a whole had more money to spend, but thanks to the depression markets for certain commodities had become very price-sensitive. The best way to promote a rapid growth in volume would be to cut prices, and reducing duties on the products would be a good first step.
Now that Visha's opening salvo had softened the man up, I started talking numbers. I had fairly concrete figures I could quote on how much potential sales volume was being lost due to the artificially high price point created by the current tariffs. I painted a very rosy picture of the veritable flood of goods that would flow through the port if only the business climate was made a bit more favorable. Not to mention the indirect benefits from increased productivity and employment.
I also pointed out the opportunity for drawing more investment. I promised the Governor that the Railway was ready and waiting to expand the Djibouti-Addis Ababa rail line further west into the Abyssinian agricultural belts, greatly increasing the volume of trade. And I declared that there were companies already interested in aggressively marketing khat to the Middle East and Europe, if only they could get access to the product in sufficient bulk at competitive prices.
Khat was something new to me - a plant whose leaves produced a mildly addictive narcotic that had an effect best described as super-coffee. It was little known in the west but was somewhat popular in the Arabian Peninsula, a surprising fact as this world's Middle East had its own version of Islam in all its restrictive, conservative, misogynistic glory.
I didn't care about the details, but I was certain a suitable marketing campaign could see this drug take off in Europe. If the Albish could do it to Qinese, I pointed out, then there's no reason we couldn't do it to the Albish and the Imperials.
As I had suspected, the Francois gentleman had an eager gleam in his eye at the thought of subjecting the hated Empire to their own Opium Crisis. I did not burst his bubble by reminding him that khat was so mild in its effects that it barely qualified as a narcotic. Or that I fully intended to include Francois in the coverage when they brought khat to Europe.
After pondering over my sales pitch, he remarked, "A lot of these plans rely on expanding the railway lines and the flow of goods from Abyssinia."
"Which is why my next stop is Addis Ababa to speak to King Tafari. The Railway has already secured me an invitation. The man is committed to modernizing his country, he ought to jump at the chance to boost his national infrastructure," I replied.
"Hmm, yes, that is another thing. Where is the Railway going to get the money for all this? I doubt the Abyssinians will be good for much."
"Oh, I'm sure they'll do their best. And what they can't cover… well, there's a reason I'm set to become a big stockholder."
The Governor laughed. "And thus is explained your sudden enthusiasm for lowered tariffs!"
"Well, what can I say? I'm a man who puts his money where his mouth is. I told them it could be done, and I got a few million francs I'm willing to put down on it. If my plan works, you'll make money, I'll make money, the merchants will make money, the Railway will make money. Hell, even the Abyssinians might pick up some change. But the first step has to come from the Government."
He hemmed and hawed a bit, but ultimately an agreement was struck. The moment work started on expanding the railway line west of Addis Ababa would be the moment the colony's import and export duties would undergo significant revision. As I foresaw, the Franco-Abyssinian Railway was just too important to Djibouti's prosperity. The prospect of a big investment into the company was too valuable to ignore.
Of course, I didn't tell him about the steep discount the Railway was offering me on their stock - my consultant's fee, as it were. It didn't really matter if trade picked up the way I'd promised, as long as it wasn't a complete failure I stood to break even on the deal. And that wasn't even counting all the other concerns that stood to benefit from lowered duties, and all of whom had offered me the most generous lobbyist's fees.
Admittedly, these fees were generous only on paper, coming as they did mostly in the form of stock in a truly random assortment of businesses, most of whom were on the verge of bankruptcy. It did however get me the space I needed to form a holding company to organize the various khat traders under one banner. That company would eventually sell out to Sunrise Botanicals and hopefully the Colombian company's expertise in international drug-dealing would translate to a wider global acceptance of the plant. Not, as I explained to Visha that evening, that I particularly cared if any of this succeeded or not. It was all just to maintain my cover, and as long as I didn't lose too much money on the deal I didn't care what happened.
"You just can't turn it off, can you?"
"Turn what off?" I looked up at Visha from where I was resting my head in her lap. My current position was all part of our persona of Boris and Svetlana, as Visha had insisted the need to never fully drop our characters. I'd never realized she was such a devotee of method acting, but one couldn't argue with the results.
"All this. Our plan was to quietly blend in with the well-off European community and lay low while we wait for the others to get in touch. And yet tomorrow we're on our way to an audience with an African King as you get ready to rewrite the entire country's economic policy."
"Might I remind you that it is you who proposed Boris' aggressive attitude? All this is just in keeping with his personality!"
"Even then, you didn't have to work on this nearly as hard as you have. You could have simply put in a token effort, have the governor turn you down, and then gone back to the regular social circuit. Instead you've been running pillar to post for the last two weeks making sure everything is perfect."
"Well, so many people had already paid me, I think they'd have been a bit put out if I phoned it in."
"You're the one who told me most of those fees weren't worth the paper they were written on. No, your trouble is you have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility."
I scoffed. A sense of responsibility? I literally hadn't cared if my country won the war, as long as my health and safety could be assured. Since I couldn't say that out loud, I instead said, "Do you remember that I'm even now planning to further expand a company that makes most of its money through the international dealing of forbidden drugs? Or that the very first company I founded has a client list comprised almost exclusively of criminals?"
"That just raises another question: Why are you still doing all this? You're already rich. You can do anything! Go anywhere!"
"I'm an internationally wanted fugitive, Visha. Everything I have could be taken away at a whim the first time they figure out where I keep my stash. It's why I can't afford to get complacent." I reached up and took Visha's hand within my own. Taking a deep breath, I screwed up my courage and gave voice to the question that I'd been afraid to ask for a while now. "And what about you Visha? You're a millionaire now. And not wanted by the Empire. You could go back home. To your friends, your family…" I had to pause a moment to keep my voice from choking. The mere thought of losing her hurt, but it had to be said. "You'd be rich, successful, and safe. You don't need me anymore. So why are you still here?"
It was true as well. When I'd given the order to Emilie to pass off the fake king's very real gold as product from Cold Steel's mines, I hadn't anticipated the effect it would have on Cold Steel's stock as the company went public in the Empire. The estimates I'd read had so ridiculously overvalued the stock that I'd had no choice - I ordered the liquidation of Manpower's shares. Not only would it reduce my exposure to my one company most blatantly involved in illegal activity, but it would give me a magnificent nest egg that I could then reinvest in hopefully legal activities.
Visha, loyal as ever, had immediately followed my lead. A little over a year ago, I'd given her around 280,000 marks worth of Cold Steel's shares. We wouldn't know the exact figures for a while yet, but at the most conservative estimate her shares will now sell for 1.2 million.
"And what would I do if I left? I'm not going back to the army. I don't feel like going back to school. I'm not going to start companies on a whim like you do…"
"Hey!"
"No Tanya. My place is always with you." As I struggled to say something, Visha giggled. "Besides, how many girls get to meet an African king? Thanks to you I'm going to meet two!"
The massive surge of relief left me laughing as well. No matter what, an adrenaline junkie is an adrenaline junkie. Given the enthusiasm with which she'd thrown herself into our latest subterfuge, I could easily understand why a safe life as a rich socialite would not appeal.
Suddenly, she was lowering her face until we were only inches apart, and I could see the amusement dancing in her deep blue eyes. "Now, we have some work to do. You need practice."
"Practice?"
"Kissing, of course. Boris has been kissing Svetlana far too chastely in public. These are Francois, a quick peck on the lips isn't enough, you need to make it convincing."
And suddenly, I was very very glad I'd let Visha talk me into this role. For the rest of the evening I barely had time for further complex thought. I did however wonder if, given Visha's dedication to her role, she might not enjoy a career as an actress.
I immediately made a resolution to keep Visha far away from Hughes. That playboy would undoubtedly jump at the chance to steal her for his movies. Who knows what sort of unsavory things he might convince her to do in the name of playing her role. Thankfully he couldn't bribe her, but I still resolved to make sure Visha would never think she could have a more exciting time as an actress than as my adjutant.
March 24, 1930, Ila Rouge, Seychelles
"Absolutely gorgeous isn't it? And completely out of sight from the rest of the island. You wouldn't expect it from an aerial mage, but Degurechaff has quite the eye for terrain."
Mary grudgingly nodded her head. Elya was right. Thanks to the way the jungle had grown, combined with the placement of the house, this short stretch of beach was all but invisible except from the water right in front or from the air.
"I can't believe she was hiding out in a leper colony of all places," Mary growled, before asking in a hopeful tone, "Think there's any chance she actually caught something?"
"Doubt it, she and Visha seemed to have kept to themselves. Not much chance of exposure. Besides," Elya turned to give Mary a teasing smirk. "You realize if she did catch something, then far from arresting her, we'd probably be ordered to ship her right back here?" Elya raised her hand to show an expensive-looking bottle. "I mean, just look what I found in the pantry! Wouldn't be much of a punishment, would it?"
Mary scowled at the bottle for a moment, then huffed. "You know what? Fine. If it means she can't hurt anyone again, I'd be OK with her spending the rest of her life on a beach drinking wine."
Elya blinked. "What? Really?!"
"You don't need to sound so surprised. While I'd like to see her up in front of a firing squad, I'll settle for island exile. So long as she's no longer a threat. Ack! Roth!" Mary squawked as Elya suddenly hugged her.
"Aww, look at you all grown up and mature! Soon you'll be figuring out what boys are for!"
"Roth, I swear if you don't let me go I'll break that bottle over your skull!"
Elya immediately let go, clutching the bottle to her chest. "You wouldn't! Do you have any idea what this is?!"
"Wine?"
"It is a genuine Imperial late harvest riesling! Do you have any idea what a bottle of this stuff goes for in Berun, let alone all the way out here?"
"More than the two of us make in a month?"
"Good guess." Elya pulled a couple of glasses out of her pocket with a grin. "Shame to let it go to waste."
"You cannot be serious. You want to drink something from here?"
Elya snorted. "Contrary to popular superstition, leprosy is not contagious…"
"I don't mean that. I mean you want to drink something from the kitchen of a girl known for, among other things, booby-trapping corpses."
"And we very carefully checked for booby-traps before entering the place. I mean think about it, which do you think she'd go for? Opening a bottle, poisoning it, and then resealing it so carefully I can't see any tampering? Or simply rigging the house to blow? Ah, there we go." Elya smiled as she popped the cork.
"You go first, I'll watch."
Elya rolled her eyes before sitting down on a deckchair and pouring herself a glass. Following which she immediately kicked off her shoes and put up her feet as she sipped her drink. Sighing at her partner's antics, Mary sat down on a chair next to her and turned to take in the view.
After a minute of quiet contemplation, Elya spoke up. "You know Mary, I think I'm beginning to understand your hatred for Degurechaff."
Mary blinked. "I'm… happy for you?"
"I mean just look at where we're sitting. These chairs, this view. The table, perfectly positioned so two people in these chairs can rest their drinks on it. The drink itself. Can't you just see it? We've been sweating our way through jungle camps and mining towns for months, while those two have been kicking back on this beach downing a small country's budget in fancy booze and soaking up the sun. Dammit, we're going to have to update their descriptions to include suntans, aren't we?" Turning big sad eyes on Mary, Elya asked, "You ever think we got into the wrong line of work?"
Mary gave a tired sigh as she leaned back in her own chair. "Every day since I met you, Roth."
"Marryyy," came the childish whine.
Mary didn't reply immediately, focusing on the bright blue ocean as she gathered her thoughts. "So, what's going to happen with the Ashanti? Do you think General Lergen will try to stop Cold Steel from supplying the rebellion?"
"Going to be tricky. Word is, Berun is seriously considering recognizing them as a separate state. It's a great chance to pry a colony away from the Commonwealth. The Empire's always been sore about losing out on the race for Africa."
"And the gold? I mean, we've got pretty solid proof that Degurechaff got paid a ton of the stuff for restoring the Ashanti king. And Cold Steel's gold mine starts producing right after? That cannot be a coincidence."
"Oh, I'm sure Lergen's pushing for a mining fraud investigation. But that's going to take months, and it doesn't actually get us closer to Degurechaff. I mean, do you know how much Cold Steel's stock shot up by when that first batch of gold came out? She probably made more money off her stocks than the gold."
"Any way we can trace her activities through the stocks?"
"Not sure. But I do know financial fraud is the most frustrating thing to investigate. Especially when so much stock has changed hands through private rather than public sales. For all we know, someone in the Royal Family now owns Cold Steel stock sold to them by Degurechaff."
Mary stared at Elya, then started chortling. "Oh my god, she would, wouldn't she? She would absolutely sell the Kaiser fraudulent stock while implicating him in a scam."
Elya snickered as well. "She already managed to get the last Chancellor booted from office and replaced with one sympathetic to her. Wonder who's going to be caught in the blast radius when this scam breaks."
"Still, none of this gets us Degurechaff."
"No, it does not."
There was another long moment of silence. Then Mary spoke. "We're going to Berun, aren't we?"
Elya gave a long drawn out groan. "We're going to be stuck forever in stuffy offices tracing stock movements."
"Well, we'll have help. The Captain says the Interpol team working in the Congo have finished for now, and they're interested in tagging along."
"So we'll be stuck tracing stocks in stuffy offices with a bunch of frogs, while Degurechaff is most likely living the high life in some tropical paradise. Wunderbar." Elya pouted at the horizon for a second, then decisively leaped to her feet and started shedding her clothes.
"Roth, what the hell?"
"We have nowhere to be right now, some fantastic wine, and a private fucking beach. I am going to even out my tan, at least then I'll have something to show for all this effort." Elya gave Mary a grin. "You should try it you know. With weather this great the only covering you need is as nature intended."
Mary got to her feet and headed back to the house. "Hey, where are you going?" Elya called after her.
"To find some more bottles!"
March 29, 1930, a small village in northern Abyssinia
Of all the things I've done since first embarking on my career as a fugitive, I never thought I'd willingly set foot on another battlefield.
And yet, Being X be cursed, here I was. When Visha and I arrived in Addis Ababa a few days back, it was to find a nation about to fight a civil war. Apparently, the Empress' consort was deeply disgruntled that the charismatic King Tafari had been steadily sidelining the aging Empress. One couldn't even argue he was wrong, seeing as how I was in the country to negotiate with the King and not the Empress. So just a few days ago, he finally decided he'd had enough, gathered his army, and had declared a march on the capital. King Tafari had promptly responded by gathering his own army and marched out to face him in the field.
The idea that the Empress' Consort and the King could mobilize sizable armies without even the formality of consulting the Empress might sound absurd to modern minds, but Abyssinia currently enjoyed the dubious pleasure of having a functioning feudal government - complete with aristocratic armies, serfdom and slavery. As a final absurdity, the Empress had to formally declare her own husband a rebel since Tafari was her legally recognized heir.
No wonder the educated and widely travelled King Tafari was so desperate to modernize his country, or why he was working so hard to supplant the extremely traditionalist Empress and her court.
While the King had my sympathies, the real reason I chose to travel all the way out to the battlefield was my paranoia about Being X. Part of the traditions that Tafari was trying to supplant was the enormous influence the Church had in Abyssinian politics. The clergy, naturally, were firm supporters of the Empress' faction. Such a situation might as well be an invitation for that wannabe deity to bless the King's enemies with a miracle on the day of battle. I didn't know how much I could do against that, but I couldn't ignore the opportunity to spit in the eye of the so-called god.
When Visha and I got to the battlefield, it didn't really look as if Tafari needed our help. He not only outnumbered and outgunned his enemy, but he also had a handful of aircraft, even if they were ancient canvas-and-wood affairs that any modern mage would have shredded. In the normal course of events I would have given him very good odds, but with the religious angle in play I decided not to take any chances.
The King, tall, bearded and well-spoken, accepted my request to meet on the eve of battle. "I am surprised that you have travelled all the way out here. Is your business so urgent that it could not await my return to the capital?" he asked in excellent Francois.
"All business is urgent, your Highness. It's the nature of business. But in this case, I am here, if you will forgive the presumption, because I saw the opportunity to do you a bit of a favor."
"And what favor is that?"
"Well your Highness, in my own experience, the best battles are won without fighting. And it is my understanding that it is Ras Gugsa who is the driving force behind the opposition. Remove him, and the enemy is likely to fall apart."
"Are you suggesting an assassination?"
"Your Highness, I would never rob you of the opportunity to mete out justice to a rebel. I plan to capture him, nothing more."
"And assuming you accomplish this feat, what would you want in return?"
"Merely that you look kindly on the proposal I bring that may very well result in increased prosperity for your kingdom at large."
"How generous. Then by all means, go ahead."
"As you wish." I smiled and sent a quick subvocal communication spell to Visha where she was hovering above the enemy commander's tent, concealed behind an optical camouflage.
The Abyssinians may have had aircraft, but neither side had combat mages or magic detectors. Now that the sun had set, Visha had free run of the sky.
A few seconds later, far off in the distance, I could hear a lot of guns being fired. The King heard it too, and we both exited the tent. Out in the open air, there was no doubt the gunfire was coming from the enemy's camp. Not that I was paying much attention to that. My magic senses had already picked up the approaching signature.
Even as the King's camp stirred itself, Visha descended from the sky like a dark angel, clad in an all-black version of a standard flying uniform. Completely ignoring the frantic cries of the soldiery and the panicked waving of guns in her general direction, she landed in front of me and the King and dumped at our feet a large greying man in an elaborate military uniform. The big bearded fellow was breathing but out cold, and while I didn't recognize him, it was clear the King did. "Ras Gugsa!"
"Oh good, I got the right guy," chirped Visha. Then she bounced over and draped herself over my shoulders while nuzzling my neck. "Did you miss me, Boris darling?"
"Every second, Svetlana dear. But a little decorum please, we are in the presence of royalty."
By this time, Tafari had regained his poise. "I see, a sorcerer."
"Our preferred term is mage, but yes. Svetlana here is a woman of many talents."
The King clearly had questions, but for now he also had a confused enemy to vanquish. Credit to him, he rapidly organized his subordinates into taking charge of the prisoner and breaking up Gugsa's army.
It was late that night that he once more found time to speak with us. After declaring his gratitude, he raised a point that had clearly been on his mind. "It is my understanding that the ability to fly is a closely guarded secret. While the Francois have been willing to offer magic orbs at enormous sums, none of them could confer on one the gift of flight."
"Sounds like they were either offering civilian grade orbs, or combat orbs from the last century, before the advent of flight spells."
"So, your companion's orb is a more recent device?"
I grinned and tapped my nose. "Very recent. I don't like to brag, but I do have friends who in turn have friends in very high places." Velvet Iron, after all, did have a direct line to the Colombian government.
"I don't suppose these friends could send a few combat orbs my way?"
"Certainly. If you can afford it. And also have the means to train mages to use them. And a way to find mages in your population to train in the first place. And the tools to repair and maintain them."
I saw his face growing longer with each word and I could only sympathize. Having a modern mage company would be an instant win button in a country where canvas biplanes were the pinnacle of military technology.
I tried to make him feel better. "Don't worry your Highness, if you really want I'll get you in touch with the right people. But really, mages can be overrated. I mean, they might be handy to win a war, but they do nothing to help you win the peace."
"Winning the peace? Is that why you are here?"
"Just so, your majesty. We can always talk about mages after the important business is done. Logistics and infrastructure is what your country really needs. So let's talk railroads!"
