Robert Bradshaw was a good boss.
The Butcher of Nashville was nothing like Alice Dormer had imagined him. She had pictured Bradshaw as a huge man with cruel eyes, but he was shorter than she was, and his handsome brown eyes smiled at her as she gave him a cup of coffee. He took a sip, then another, and finally placed the coffee on his desk.
"Thank you, Alice," he said. "Please brew a fresh pot. Mister Prescott will be here soon, and I'm sure that he'll appreciate some of your delicious coffee." Alice backed away, and he lifted the letter with a frown. Bradshaw was being careful, which meant the letter was important.
It also meant that Alice needed to be careful. She fought the urge to glance at the letter as she deposited the pot on the table of the conference room, keeping her eyes down as befit a proper Southern woman. Besides, Bradshaw covered the letter with his hand as she drew close. He smiled and nodded his thanks, and she withdrew to a corner of the room.
A good secretary was neither seen nor heard, and Alice prided herself on being one of the best. She fixed a demure, humble expression on her face and didn't so much as blink when the door slammed open and two men marched in. They ignored her entirely, heading straight for Bradshaw, and she glanced casually at them once their backs were turned.
Mister Prescott was dressed in his usual flannel outfit, but Travis Miller was wearing a camouflage uniform with a Bowie knife at his side. He trampled mud across the carpet, and Alice couldn't stop herself from flinching at the thought of how hard it would be to get the stains out. She must have made some sound, because Miller turned to look at her, his face hard and angry.
Bradshaw said, "Please forgive Alice, Colonel Miller. She's a good Southern woman, and she does like things to be clean and proper." He poured two cups of coffee, smiling warmly at his guests. "We men know that sometimes things need to be a little bit messy, but we can't expect the womenfolk to understand that."
Mister Prescott took his cup and his seat, and "Colonel" Miller followed his example. "We need to talk," Prescott said, his voice brisk and intent. "Victoria has always counted on you, Robert, and I'm sure that you'll come through for us now. This is a time to try men's souls, but with faith in the Lord, we shall prevail."
"Amen," Bradshaw replied. "Would you like me to send Alice out? She's a good Christian woman, but you know how they talk." For the first time, Prescott turned to look at her. Fortunately, Alice wasn't expected to meet his eyes. She kept her face down, obedient and humble, aware of her own shortcomings. On the inside, she was seething with disappointed anger. Bradshaw was no fool, but she had hoped that he would forget to send her out.
Prescott said, "No, let her stay. All of Memphis will know soon enough." He took a deep sit from the coffee, hesitated, and then spoke. "Victoria has been driven back. Detroit will not fall in this campaigning season, and we are gathering our forces for another offensive. The God-fearing people of Memphis must prepare themselves for a time of sacrifice and hardship."
Bradshaw sighed. "It will be a hard winter, Matthew, but we can increase Memphis's donation to the cause. This is a faithful city, and we will stand by the Lord's soldiers."
Alice didn't hear Prescott's reply. They had lost. If Victoria was admitting failure, the campaign must have been a disaster. A defeat too obvious for even the Victorians to hide.
She could have known earlier, but the reports only went one way. Her outside news came from the city newspaper and overheard snippets of conversation between the city leaders, and they had all expected Victoria to triumph. Victoria always won.
Until now. Heart pounding in her chest, she listened carefully as Prescott explained what he required. Food, guns, ammunition, and medicine, all that Memphis could spare. Bradshaw nodded solemnly.
"And we need you to make examples," Prescott told him. "The Colonel and his Nightriders will be going around the state, and we expect you to mobilize the Home Guard. The local area is pretty well pacified, but if anyone gets ideas, make an example of them. Kill the men, and send the women and children to us, so that we can raise them properly in God's service."
Acid rose in her throat, though Alice's face remained calm and serene. Bradshaw took another sip of coffee, as untroubled as if they had been discussing the weather. "Tennessee will stay true, Matthew," he said. "I know the people here, and they know me. The Godly will obey out of faith, but the faithless will obey out of fear."
"Good. Good!" Prescott leaned across the desk to clap Bradshaw on the shoulder. "I suppose that you'll need to bring in the aldermen and make this whole thing official. Do you want me here?"
Bradshaw said, "You and Miller both. I believe that they are devout men, but if there is a Judas among them, it won't hurt to remind our dear Board that Victoria's eyes are upon us." He turned to Alice. "Send out the invitations, please. Tell them that our friends from Victoria are waiting."
A very short time later, every one of Memphis's Aldermen were sitting around the chairs in the conference room. Old men, leading members of the First Families that ran so much of the state. Alice could see the nervous glances exchanged among them as the conference door clicked shut. Four uniformed police officers stood against the walls, still as statues.
Alice took her place in the corner with the typewriter, ready to take the minutes. Chicago would be extremely interested in this meeting. Now that they'd driven the Vics back, perhaps the Navy could be waiting along the Mississippi to seize the tribute shipment.
"Thank you for coming," Bradshaw said warmly. "I won't waste your time, gentlemen. The documents before you are a list of the supplies that Victoria needs from our fair city." Some of them were too disciplined to show their shock, but Alice could see other faces pale. They had already made their "donations" to Victoria this year, and now they were being called upon to give twice as much again.
Alderman Peter Carlyle raised his hand like a schoolboy. "This...this is a great deal, Mister Mayor," he said carefully. "I know we all wish to support Victoria, but the Christian farmers of Tennessee are not rich men. Perhaps...perhaps our dear friends in Victoria would accept more pharmaceuticals in place of the food."
That suggestion earned him glares from around the table, and Carlyle flinched back as Bradshaw shook his head reprovingly. Alice had been surprised that Carlyle was allowed on the Board until she realized that Bradshaw's wife was his sister. Even the power of Victorian ideology could not triumph over good old-fashioned Southern nepotism, and so their resident radical was allowed to make his contributions, for what they were worth.
"No," Bradshaw said, and nothing more. Half the men in this room sold pharmaceuticals up and down the river, and that trade was worth a few thousand hungry farmers. Carlyle closed his mouth and looked down at the table.
Bradshaw said, "Victoria has asked for our aid against the Cultural Marxists, and we must support them, just as we have in the past." He tilted his head, considering. "Victoria is a mighty nation, and God has blessed them with many victories. I believed that their triumph would never end."
He rose to his feet. "Gentlemen, I know what the papers have been telling you. I can tell you, privately, that they have not been honest. The Victorian Army has been destroyed, the Commonwealth has prevailed, and five days ago the Victorian government tried and failed to purge the Crusader branch of the Christian Marine Corps."
Prescott's eyes widened, but he had only begun to open his mouth when one of the officers grabbed him from behind, wrestling his arms behind his back and forcing him to his knees. The other three dragged Miller down screaming and cursing, ripping the Bowie knife from his belt and pinning him to the floor. "Under the circumstances," Bradshaw told the frozen members of the Board. "I think it is time for a change in our policy."
"God will punish you!," Prescott spat. "Victoria will punish..." A black bag snapped down over his head, and the officer threw him to the floor. He hit hard, and the huge policeman knelt on his back.
"Careful," Bradshaw said reprovingly. "Mister Prescott is a valuable man. I want him alive and well when we put him on the next boat to Chicago."
Miller was breathing heavily as the officers lifted him to his feet. "It won't work," he declared. "You think Chicago will accept you? The Butcher of Nashville? They may be goddamn Marxists and race traitors, but they aren't that kind of fool. That bitch Goldblum will kill you slow, like a pig."
Bradshaw took the Bowie knife from one of his officers, examined it thoughtfully, then drove it through Miller's throat. The Nightrider dropped to the carpet, twitching, and Bradshaw frowned as he bled out into the carpet. "That's a good point," he replied. "In this time of transition, it might be best if Memphis was led by a unifying figure. I nominate Alderman Peter Carlyle as our new Mayor."
In the silence that followed, every eye went to Carlyle. He sat there paralyzed like a deer in headlights, but finally managed to squeak out, "Me?"
"Yes, Peter. Contact those Revivalist friends of yours, the ones you think I don't know about, and tell them that Memphis has broken with Victoria. Tell them that I'm purging the Nightriders and ending the tributary system." That last statement drew a murmur of complaint, and Bradshaw wearily shook his head. "As patriotic Americans, we never wanted to serve as Victoria's enforcers. They threatened our homes and families, and now that their grip is weakening, we will be the first to rise in rebellion."
Peter Carlyle said, "That's right." He licked his lips nervously. "Um, we should raise the American flag, shouldn't we? To show everyone that we're all one country again?"
Heads nodded around the table. Bradshaw suddenly said, "Gentlemen! We've been thoughtless." He turned his head to look at Alice. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. Please take the rest of the day off. But as you go out, could you send in housekeeping? I'm afraid that this rug is completely ruined."
