Swiftsure Story...

Chapter 1
The request came from a nobleman of Gotham. The Joint Board on Military Advancement had just been reconvened by Emperor Almonzo the 15th, and two of Almonzo’s least favorite officers were summarily placed on that board. Therefore, these two men found themselves riding in a stage traveling north of Midway toward Gotham. It was a relatively pleasant ride, as the sun was out, but the spring chill had not fully left the air. The driver was moving his team at a steady pace, and there were not too many holes and bumps on the road. This gave the two passengers ample opportunity to speak short, terse sentences toward one another, maintaining the permanent, tense scowl that had so much to do with inter-service rivalry.
Rear Admiral David Johnston was doing most of the listening, as his companion had much of the history of this region known by heart. He listened, and he might have even enjoyed hearing about the tales of yore, but he would have never admitted it to his companion, let alone himself. Therefore, when Brigadier General Nathan Remmers had finished telling a part of the history, he said, "You know, there’s only one thing wrong with this area. The Geography."
"Geography? Really? You’ve got to be kidding! There’s ample opportunity here for defense!" The Brigadier General was talking about the heights over the Great River valley, as the road they were on wound through that valley on its way up to Gotham. But his "friend" had something else in mind.
"No, I mean it’s too far from the sea. I feel, what’s the word? Dry." It was true, his skin was cracking just a bit, and it felt just a little too hot for him here in the middle of such a great landmass.
"You must be joking. There’s no way you can feel dry." The man who protested this never felt a monsoon around Dove Island, never went through a hurricane or a cyclone, but seemed to know something about how one could or could not feel moisture. Admiral Johnston was annoyed.
"Wouldn’t it be great if there was a way we could just bypass all of this land?"
"My dear comrade, why would one want to bypass this position? I see no military value in it."
The conversation continued with varying degrees of acrimony for another ten minutes. In the last two minutes, both men noticed something just at the range of audible sound. It was a faint buzzing, almost like the sound a Junebug makes on the ceiling on a hot Summer’s day, but much, much fainter.
Then, it grew steadily louder. Neither man had ever heard an alcohol turbine engine push a propeller through the air before. Had they been used to the sound, perhaps they would not have noticed it until it overpowered the noise made by the slight jostle of the horse-drawn carriage. But neither of them had ever heard anything like that humming. And it grew louder and louder to their ears.
The driver of the carriage noticed the exact same thing, and sat dumbfounded in his seat, looking up at the sky. He had enough sense to call for his team to halt, and at that point the humming became even more audible. Johnston, who was in the seat closest to the driver, leaned his head out the window and yelled at the man, "What are you doing? What’s going on?"
The driver said, "I see something, up in the sky..." That was about all he could say, for he was dumbfounded.
Johnston climbed out of the coach as the humming became even more pronounced, perhaps now it was more like a buzzing. Remmers followed him, not to be outdone by the Navy man. Upon examining the sky, what they saw amazed them completely. At first it was just a silver-white circle on the horizon, with long extensions to either side. There was another circle hanging down from each of those extensions. The whole thing seemed at first to hang there in the air, and then they both realized that it was coming straight toward them.
As it grew larger, all three men had the same reaction. Jaws dropped open, and hands went to their foreheads to shield the early Summer sun from their eyes in an attempt to see the object more clearly.
"It’s coming right for us!" said Johnston.
"How fast do you think it’s moving?" asked the stage driver.
"What is keeping it up there?" asked Remmers.
"Do you suppose, Remmers, that this is why we’re traveling up here?"
"I don’t know... I suppose it could be..."
The object was now clearly getting larger with every breath, and the horses were now quite troubled by the buzzing noise. But the brake held them in place. Although the driver was dumfounded, he was not dumb, and had locked the coach in place.
It was now apparent that it was not just a circle with extensions, but more of a cigar shape, and that there were several holes in the cigar shape that looked to be windows. It moved at incredible speed, faster than any coach, or any naval vessel, and the roar of the thing filled the sky. It flew straight over them, yet hundreds of feet in the air. As the shadow passed over them, a small package dropped out of one of the windows.
As it fell, it became apparent that it wasn’t a package at all, but a large number of small papers, stacked together in a bundle. As they fell, they separated out, and drifted to the ground. The cigar shaped vehicle executed a short turn and began to disappear as quickly as it had appeared. The whole event had taken no more then five minutes, and now the papers were drifting down toward the three men.
"May the Maker protect you both if you go after that thing, friends." The driver was the first to speak. Remmers walked over and picked up one of the papers that had fallen from the sky. It hadn’t come to rest more than fifteen paces from him. He picked it up and read it aloud, "Dear friends from the Joint Board on Military Advancement. I hope you liked my first demonstration. I’m looking forward to showing you more. Sincerely, John Halsey."
Johnston then noted, "That is amazing! Look at that thing go! Don’t you imagine how it could make transport that much better?" It was now just a speck on the horizon.
Remmers was nonplused. "It was a cheap parlor trick. I doubt it if we find any military use for the thing, but it was amazing."
The driver was more practical, "He could have dropped anything on us, a cannon ball, a grenade, anything..." He signaled his willingness to go on by climbing up to the driver’s seat again. The other two got back into the coach, now having a different subject to debate.
"The Army will never need things like that. We walk wherever we go, and frankly that’s the best. Just think, with things like that you would only get somewhere with part of your force. The Army needs the whole Army to function properly."
"In the Navy we’re used to functioning in small contingents..."
"Yes, but what war has the Navy ever won? You just explore new lands for the Army to conquer."
"But imagine the exploration we could do in that kind of a vehicle!"
"Yeah, but let’s also hope when we get to Gotham that whoever this John Halsey is isn’t plastered on some roadway amidst twisted wreckage. What’s more, let’s hope we don’t end up the same way..."
The banter between the two went on for the next two hours as they came closer and closer to Gotham. It was apparent that the Navy man was more amiable to the suggestion of a flying ship, while the Army man didn’t think it was practical at all.
* * *
Upon reaching Gotham, the driver stopped in at the coach post and only had to ask one question. "Where is John Halsey?" Everyone within earshot turned toward the driver. "He lives with his father in Castle St. Alvin." "He’s been building those strange contraptions for years. Do your travelers want to stop him?" "What are you going to do with John?" Everyone there seemed to know John, and what is more, they respected him. They bristled with a mixture of excitement and protective zeal.
"No, I don’t think they want Mr. Halsey to stop, but they do want him to demonstrate his vehicle... One man is from the Army, the other is from the Navy."
"Well, see to it that they treat John right. He’s a good man, just a bit, er, strange." "Yes, he helped me count my cattle a year ago. Got an accurate count from the air. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen, but amazing..." "He delivered my marriage proposal two years ago. Landed on the main street of Midpoint with everyone watching. It was something else." "You treat John right..."
"Will do, and thank you..." The driver was astonished, but he could understand the idea that Gotham had her hometown heroes. Everyone left what they were doing and walked with the driver out the door, and watched him as he climbed back onto the coach and drove toward St. Alvin’s Castle.
Remmers and Johnston were in two separate moods. Remmers was still bristling from the conversation they had on the road, still thinking that there was no place for this advancement in the military, or especially in the army. Johnston, however, was completely happy, excited as a school boy, to see what Halsey had produced. He himself wanted to ride the thing, if that’s what you did with it... It seemed like magic to him.
Remmers noticed Johnston’s wistful gaze. "You can’t possibly be thinking about going on that thing, Johnston. It isn’t safe. The admiralty wouldn’t think kindly of one of its rising stars crashing to pieces in a wreck."
"Oh, the admiralty has passed me by time and time again... I don’t quite care what they might think about me, I can handle myself."
"Let’s make a wager about that, in the spirit of inter-service cooperation... How about five gold crowns says you loose control over your stomach in that contraption?"
"I have never been seasick! I have never turned green on any voyage, and I resent the implication! I’ll see your five and raise you ten!"
"Fifteen crowns it is, then! I’ll examine the machine after you ride in it, and I’ll interview Mr. Halsey..."
"Whatever the case, you’re off the mark concerning that thing, you ground-pounder. It has military implications aplenty. You just wait. By the time you make Major General, you’ll be ordering troops around with those things..."
"Ha! I’ll pay you fifty crowns when that comes true..."
Neither man was sure whether Remmers meant becoming a Major General or directing his troops with some kind of flying contraption. But their discussion was cut short by their arrival at St. Alvin’s Castle.
A man in a brightly colored suit came down to greet them. It was the sort of clothing a man would wear to a party, or to a formal court reception where there were ladies and such. It was really a gross display of good taste that Johnston wholeheartedly despised. Remmers, however, had been to many state functions as an Army man, and had come to expect nobility to dress that way. He himself secretly wanted to do so at times, for the ladies fawned over men dressed like that. The man on the steps of the castle was accompanied by several men who were servants, it seemed, and a guard wearing an old-style Gothamian uniform, with white front, grey pants, and a red hat. Remmers scowled, but the conditions of occupation said that the nobility could still equip their troops in the old style. Gothamia had been a Bertonian possession for years now, and there was nothing that was going to change that here. Nobility had small forces out of habit more than anything else. If they ever trained, it was in an old antiquated museum style.
The man now walking down to greet the coach was obviously Lord Halsey, the nominal ruler of Gotham proper, and Gothamia in general. He was, of course, the direct descendant of Alvin the Great, ruler of Gothamia in the golden ages. But his country had long been absorbed by her much more powerful neighbor to the south. He didn’t seem to mind too much, as he approached the coach with a meaty hand outstretched. "Did you see our little welcome, gentlemen?"
"That was amazing!" said Johnston, as he got out of the coach and took Lord Halsey’s hand in a firm grip. The man’s hand was not as soft as he imagined. Nobility didn’t seem to take away a man’s callouses, and if that was the case, then this man was truly a man. Although his dress did not agree with Johnston, the man who wore the clothing did.
"We’ve just been talking about the practicality of the thing, though..." said Remmers as he stepped down. He too took the man’s hand and bowed slightly.
"Well, as for practicality, I will tell you that there is nothing like my son’s invention. I am very proud of him. He’s been working on this idea for some nine years now, and I’ve supported him all the way. If we had these things about seventy years ago, perhaps it would be Bertonia that would be a part of Gothamia!"
Both military men bristled at this suggestion, but Johnston was less taken aback by this. "So you think this contraption could be made into a weapon?"
"My good men, I wouldn’t have sent for the Joint Board on Military Advancement if I had thought otherwise. Just wait." He motioned for them to follow him, and they all walked up the steps and into the opulent trappings of Gothamian nobility.
After moving through three rooms each gilded in a different scheme of color and carving, they walked into the backyard. To call it a backyard was to do it a dis-service, however. It was more like a garden. Not a pedestrian garden of vegetables, but a large public garden you would see in a large city. Although this garden was better cared for and larger. Walking through it was like walking through a paradise. Several servants were busy taking care of the various plants and trees that grew there. The grass was meticulously trimmed and the hedges were perfectly formed. While this was all lost on Remmers, Johnston took it all in. Obviously the gardener had an eye toward detail.
"How do you like my gardens, gentlemen? I myself work hard tending them at times. It is a joy to work the ground."
"They are amazing, sir..." said Johnston.
But he was cut off by Remmers, who said, "I take it that you have lots of time on your hands..."
"Well, I suppose I make time for what I deem important. I don’t do all the work here, as you can see." He was pointing to a number of workers. They all appeared to be happy and well fed. "But I am a busy man. Administering Gothamia is not an easy task, especially if one does it well."
They couldn’t argue with that. Johnston thought that if this man did as good a job with his nation as he did with his garden that Gothamia was indeed a good place to live. He had heard so in the past, and whatever he saw at this point seemed to confirm it.
"When my son was sixteen years of age, he came to me asking for a workshop. I hadn’t the space in the mansion at the time, so I decided to give him part of my garden. I told him that he could build anything he wanted here in this corner, and he was grateful."
They continued walking down the path and came to a large structure that loomed even above the trees. It had a system of beams and girding that seemed to keep it in the air, although both Johnston and Remmers were unable to understand exactly how the structure stayed there. It measured some five to six stories tall, and was as long as two ships of war lined up end to end. Johnston concluded that he could probably entirely fit his last command inside the building.
"Here is where you will meet my son. He spends most of his time here. It’s his passion to work on these contraptions, and I think you will find this most interesting..." He opened the door, and both men realized in an instant that there was just one single floor to this building. The ceiling was so high that there could not be another higher floor. The next thing they noticed was the sheer size of the area, lit by skylights above. It was a large room! There were also various parts and pieces of equipment neatly strewn about the floor. Some were large, others were small. Some they could understand, some they could not. Johnston had seen pulleys work before, and he knew how rudders worked. But there were also huge bocks of iron and gears and tanks and things that he had never seen before in his life. And then they noticed that looming above them hung the air machine they had seen earlier that morning. They were amazed by the size of the thing! It was the size of two and a half warships, easily. It made Remmers feel terribly small, but it filled Johnston with exhilaration.
"Thank you for coming, gentlemen!" A voice the likeness of Lord Halsey’s greeted them from somewhere under the belly of the contraption.
"Ah, there’s my son." Said Lord Halsey. "I will go back and continue my service to the state. Please feel free to ask him any questions you might have."
"I’ve long waited for this day. I trust that your ride north was, er, eventful?" The voice came from underneath the huge contraption, almost like he was inside it and there was a hatch beneath it.
"Well, you are right about that, my good sir..." Remmers reacted toward the noise of the man’s voice, and didn’t quite know what to say.
The young man that climbed out from under the machine was clad in leather and was wearing goggles. He was thin, almost slight of figure, and not tall. His sandy blonde hair was unkempt and bunched up by the strap of the goggles he was wearing. But for all of that, there was a gleam in his eyes that both Remmers and Johnston respected. It was the gleam of a man who had seen the future, and was passionate about his vision.
"What did you think of our demonstration today?"
Remmers was the first to speak. "It seems you found us easily... Is it easy to navigate in the air?"
"When you know the countryside, it is."
Johnston then chimed in, "What about speed? How fast does she travel?"
"Oh, when I’m taking off, I can travel anywhere from 45 to 60 knots, but at full throttle and at altitude, we can go as fast as 130 knots. I’m sure I can build one that goes faster, I just haven’t found the right engine."
Remmers and Johnston were floored. "130 knots? Really?" said Remmers.
"He was approaching us rather quickly, my good man." said Johnston.
"What can you take with you?" asked the man from the Army.
"Well, on this model I figure we can carry some one thousand pounds of equipment or personnel. But I’ve got plans for a bigger model."
"How long can you fly on all of that?" said Johnston.
"It’s not so much a question of how long, but how far. With a good breeze at my back, I suppose I could fly down to Johnston and back. And the trip would take about an hour, maybe an hour and fifteen minutes."
"No, that can’t be true." Said Remmers.
"Remmers, think for a minute. We traveled at about ten knots coming here overland in a carriage. Think about traveling thirteen times as fast. If it can be done, I don’t know, but I’d sure like to find out."
"And find out you shall, my dear Admiral Johnston. As we speak, we are refueling the ship. Whenever you like we can take her up."
"How does that, er, work?" Johnston was curious.
"Well, you sail a ship, right?" He had obviously noticed the naval uniform."You know that the wind is powerful. About one quarter of the strength I need to keep my contraption flying is wind power. I have to make my own wind by thrusting air backward and gaining speed. The rest of the lifting strength I need comes from the new gas I’ve discovered called hydrogen. It is powerful, but explosive." Halsey was a man who could have been a good teacher, if he were not such a good inventor.
As he was talking, Remmers got his pipe out and struck a match. He was overwhelmed and needed a smoke to calm his nerves. It was a bad habit he had developed while on post in Blemia all those years ago. But the young Halsey heard the match strike and leapt like a cat toward the sound.
"No!" He smacked the match away from the front of the pipe. "You don’t understand, hydrogen is explosive! There’s enough hydrogen here to destroy this building!"
"Where is it?" Remmers, shocked, looked around as if he were looking for gunpowder or shells or a big box marked "Hydrogen-Explosive!" in big bold letters. But there was none. .
"It could be in the air, if there’s a leak in the air-sack of my invention. The only sign we’d see is a huge fireball, and then you would never get to ride in my machine."
Remmers put away his pipe and said, "Your father is convinced of the military applications this contraption could have. I don’t know if the army would be wanting an explosion risk around..."
Johnston, however, sarcastically responded, "Oh, neither the army nor the navy likes explosives. Just think of what we would be with explosives! We’d have powder for our cannon! That would be a travesty..." He could have gone on, but he stopped. Sarcasm would get him nowhere. He didn’t need to convince his friend, that was Halsey’s task.
"Admiral Johnston, there are risks, it’s true. But the benefits I think outweigh them. It’s for the two of you to decide whether I’m right or not." He stepped on the smoldering embers of the match that had fallen to the floor of the room.
"What fuels your ship?" asked a more together Brigadier Remmers.
"Pure Alcohol. The engine is a piston dynamo construction that ignites the alcohol while it is under pressure. It makes a forceful explosion there and propels the piston driving an offset shaft. If you can synchronize four such pistons you have enough force to drive something I call a propeller. It makes the wind necessary for that lifting strength I was talking about..."
"Wait a minute," said Johnston. "I’m not clear how wind can lift something like that. It doesn’t seem possible. I’ve seen wind work before, but..."
Halsey cut him off... "Admiral, have you ever run your hand through water?"
"Well, yes, I suppose I have..."
"If you run your hand through water and curve it slightly, you feel your hand drawn toward the curve of your hand. My contraption does the same thing with the wind. That’s how it works."
"I’d sure like to see it work..." said Remmers. "But I still think it’s just an expensive parlor trick."
"Well, I’ll show you everything."
* * *
Young John Halsey was as good as his word. The trio examined every part of the airship. Both of the men were impressed with the construction quality. The young man had surely come far in his nine years of inventing. The inside of the ship was spacious, but only contained one deck. It had an engine compartment where one four cylinder engine drove the two propellers which hung out on the canvas covered wings. The rudder and other control surfaces of the ship were connected with a wheel like you would find on a naval vessel. Only one also had to control the surfaces that moved the ship up and down. Therefore, the wheel was able to tilt. Pulling it back toward you would make the ship go up, pushing it away from you would make the ship go down. It was ingenious, they all agreed.
The cockpit of the ship was the most amazing, however. There you could see every indicator you wished. There was an anemometer right outside the cockpit to measure the airspeed, a fuel gauge, and an engine speed indicator. "Everything you might need to fly the ship." said Halsey. His companions were astounded.
They inspected the landing wheels and thought that they were worthy innovations in themselves. They had cast iron springs and looked like they could absorb quite a shock. Each of the wheel trucks had four re-enforced carriage wheel with iron axles. It seemed like the whole contraption was so huge and heavy that it could never fly. Had they not seen it in the sky that morning, they would never have believed that it could take off. Even so, they were skeptical.
"When do we get to experience this machine in action, Halsey?" Johnston was eager.
"Our tour has taken some time. It is best to fly only during the day, for night navigation presents some significant problems. Tomorrow morning, my good man. We’ll show you the whole surrounding countryside."
"What I still don’t understand is how this machine could be so light. I can’t imagine how you could make it fly." Remmers wondered.
"Well, Brigadier, part of it has to do with how I was producing the hydrogen to make it fly. I read in a scientific journal from Salmonia that you could produce hydrogen by passing electricity through water. It worked so well that I filled the gas-bag you see above you."
Johnston didn’t quite understand how that had anything to do with the strength or the lightness of the machine. "I don’t follow..."
"Well, that’s because I haven’t told you everything yet... I was experimenting with this ultra light metal known as aluminum. Have you heard of it?"
"That stuff is worth its wight in silver! Your family must be rich..." This time it was Remmers who added to the conversation.
"Yes, it is not cheap. But I found a way that one can extract it from bauxite using electricity. It was an accident, but it worked wonderfully."
"Hold on a minute, where do you get your electricity?" Johnston had seen electricity work before, but just as a parlor trick. The small sparks or shocks put out by an electro-stat didn’t seem to do anything but make one’s hair stand on end.
"Well, we are able to produce quite a bit here because of a dam my father built when he was my age. He first used the water stored there to run a flour mill, but when I started tinkering with engines and inventing, he let me hook up a dynamo to the wheel. When you put electricity with bauxite, the end result is this." Halsey picked up a shiny piece of metal that both of them would have taken for polished iron, but it was obviously different. He tossed it at Johnston, and Johnston caught it easily. It was lighter than any metal he had ever held before. It almost felt like a heavy piece of wood in comparison.
"Amazing. You’ll have to show us all of this set up, Mr. Halsey..."
"Call me John. Don’t worry, I’ll show you everything..."
* * *
The next day was a clone of the day before, although it was a bit hotter. Remmers woke up earlier than Johnston, still carrying with him that internal clock that was imposed upon him in his training years. Walking around the opulent castle was like walking through a maze, but he found the kitchen by following his nose.
"Ahh, General Remmers, good for you, you found the kitchen!" It was Lord Halsey.
"Yes, sir, may I have something to eat?"
"But of course! What would you like? We have eggs, bacon, grits, or whatever else you might want..."
"Some eggs please, and bacon..." The servants seemed to come out of nowhere and set about making his breakfast.
"What did you think of my son’s contraption? You seemed to spend the whole afternoon with him."
"Well, yes, I think it might be a good thing. I’m skeptical, however, and I’m sure that many in Ox-Ot will be skeptical as well. This is a new idea, and new ideas don’t go over well when the old ones serve just as well."
"I fear, my dear general, that the only way we will find that the old ideas serve poorly is if many thousands of men die. But then again, I am not a prophet. All I do is make sure my people are happy, well fed, and enjoy life. Beyond that, I’m just a puppet, and I don’t mind it too much."
"Well, if I can speak for my companion, I must say that we both enjoy your hospitality."
"Thank you for your kind words."
Just then, similarly led by his nose, Johnston walked into the kitchen. "Today is the big day." He said with a boyish grin on his face. Remmers rolled his eyes as Johnston fawned, "Your son is quite the scientist. I’m looking forward to working with him."
"It seems the Navy is sold on your son’s contraption, even if I’m skeptical. Hopefully for him, and for you, the emperor will see it like the Admiral." Remmers was trying to be diplomatic. He needed convincing.
"Don’t worry, my good man, we’ll show them all." Young Halsey just came in the door from the garden. It seemed that he rose earlier than the sun. Or maybe, the thought crossed Remmers’ mind, he didn’t sleep at all. That would be great. They would all die in a terrible crash because a young man was too excited to sleep and made a terrible decision in the cockpit of the first and last airship ever built. Well, he always wanted to be in the history books. But this would be an ignominious end.
"Let’s get breakfast over-with, I’m excited about this ship..." Johnston was calling it a ship again. The four of them ate the rest of their breakfast quickly, both with anticipation and not a little apprehension.
* * *
After the abbreviated breakfast, the four men walked out to an area of the large structure that they had not seen the day before. There was a great door there, and it was hanging open on huge hinges. It looked as if engines were needed to open and close the doors, but young Halsey showed them the counterweights. The airship was positioned so its prow faced outward. Johnston wondered if that was the correct terminology for an airship. Then he figured that it didn’t quite matter all that much.
Remmers walked up to the front of the thing and asked Halsey, "Well, what assurance can you give us that we won’t crash, young man?"
Halsey walked up to the hatch that was on the underside of the great contraption. He pulled the lever and the stairway dropped down to the ground. Then he began climbing the stairway and said, "Well, I suppose you’ll just have to take this one on faith, dear Brigadier. But just think. If I’m willing to risk my neck, perhaps it’s safe."
Johnston followed the young man up the stairway and said, "Remmers, have some sense and get on as quick as you can. I’m not going to wait around for you."
Lord Halsey passed Remmers and climbed up the stairway as well. "Last chance, my good man."
Remmers huffed, rolled his eyes, shrugged, and then found himself boarding the thing without further ceremony.
Young Halsey was in the engine room, tinkering with the alcohol engine. Johnston saw him setting the gauges and walked over toward that room after examining the windows overlooking the wing. "So, what are you doing right now?"
"I’m preparing the engine for startup. Things have to be done just right, or else the engine will be damaged. This gauge here is for oil pressure, that one is for fuel flow, and that one is battery power. They’ve all got to be just right, or else we won’t be able to fly very far."
"Well, how do they look?"
"It looks like everything is in order. Will you help me start the engine?"
"Sure!" Johnston’s enthusiasm once again caused Remmers’ eyes to roll, but he couldn’t help it.
"As I turn this crank here, push this button. It gives power to the spark producers so the engine can start." The two things were actually very close together, and it was apparent that Halsey could have done the deed himself. But he was also a master at selling his machine. So, Johnston pushed as Halsey cranked, and the engine roared into life.
The vibrations of the engine and the sheer power which it produced exhilarated Johnston. The noise was overpowering as well. Halsey motioned to him, which was the only way he could get Johnston’s attention after the engine start. Johnston followed where Halsey pointed and found that after the young man closed the door, the noise was less oppressive and they could talk just above the normal voice levels.
"That thing is loud!" said Remmers.
"Well, it has to be loud for it to push us into the sky." Lord Halsey had obviously been up in this contraption before. He walked quickly to the front of the machine with the eagerness of a schoolboy and the energy of a cat. Young Halsey followed him, closely followed by Johnston and Remmers.
In the cockpit of the machine, the engine’s drone was muffled enough for the team to speak normally. "Well, here we go, gentlemen. Please hold onto the straps above, and get a sure footing. We’ll be taking off from the ground rather soon." Young Halsey stood at the front of the cockpit, holding onto the great wheel. He pushed it down and pulled it up, checking the tension in the wires. It was therefore sufficiently proven to him that the control surfaces of the vast craft were indeed there and connected properly. Then he ceremoniously took hold of the large lever to the right of the wheel and pulled back. The craft lurched a bit and began rolling out into the large meadow.
"I sure hope you’ve checked this meadow for holes and mounds and soft spots." It was Remmers again.
"No fear, Brigadier. I’ve taken off and landed here about fifty times. And there hasn’t been rain here for about two weeks..." Halsey then pushed a lever to the left all the way up toward the front of the ship. The engine in back seemed to roar, and the humming sound was now terribly pronounced. It took a second, but then the whole ship began moving faster and faster over the ground. The meadow began whipping by faster than a horse could gallop.
It seemed rather frightening at first. Remmers had never moved this quickly before, and he was sure that Johnston had never moved this fast either. But as he looked over to his companion, he realized that the man was not scared at all. In fact, he was grinning from ear to ear!
The straps that hung overhead became apparent in their function at that time. The field, although it was rather smooth as fields go, was not perfectly so. The increased speed made for much jostling and bumping. In mid-jostle, Remmers almost missed grabbing the strap, but in the end held fast. He was the only one who grabbed at the strap with both hands, and was therefore a bit embarrassed. But noone else noticed. The noise of the craft and the bumping of the ground increased and increased until one could almost not stand it at all. But then, all of a sudden, young Halsey pulled up on the great wheel and all of the bumping and jostling stopped. Even the noise began to change as the whole ship angled upward at about nine degrees. Remmers could see the tilt indicator on the wall, for his view was plastered there for a few brief moments as the ship climbed. He was annoyed at himself for calling it a ship.
Johnston gave a gasp and a cry of exhilaration. "We’re up!"
"Yes, we are. Welcome to the third dimension, gentlemen..." Young Halsey was both excited and professional.
The front window changed quickly as the airship gained altitude and airspeed. At first, they could only see the land if they leaned forward quite a bit. But then, after they gained sufficient altitude, young Halsey leveled the ship off a bit and put her into a neat turn to the right.
Johnston was the first to notice that when the ship turned, it had to tilt to the side. He was very much at home with this, for he was used to the tilting and pitching decks of seagoing vessels. He was not used to this kind of a view, however. The highest he had ever been from the ground or sea had been when he climbed the mast of the flagship "Princess" as a midshipman. Now they were four or five times as high, and climbing even as they turned. But the view was marvelous!
They had taken off to the north and were now angling around toward the east. As Johnston was on the right or starboard side of the craft, he could see everything on the ground. Outside his window all of Gotham was laid out before him. He could see the dam and the power generating station that the Halsey’s built. He saw the river, and the river road, and he sensed that he could even make out Midway as a discoloration on the horizon. That was over forty miles away.
"How come I can see further up here, John?"
Halsey was impressed that his passenger noticed. "We are higher in perspective than we were before, my dear Admiral. You know that it’s always the crow’s nest that sees ships first, and that the first thing visible of another ship is her masts. Well, that’s because our planet has a curve to it, like a big ball. Therefore, the higher you go, the further you can see."
Johnston thought that he should have realized that, but didn’t chasten himself too severely. Remmers just held onto his strap and looked out at the tilting view in front of him. He knew they were turning, but he was also doing some turning of his own.
Lord Halsey looked at him and noticed that his face had turned as white as a sheet. "Brigadier, are you alright?"
Remmers didn’t respond at all, but put his hand to his mouth, as if to stifle something. Johnston looked at him and smiled. "Well, Remmers, don’t worry. One in two people has problems with the motion of a ship. You’ll get used to it, if you try."
He called it a ship again. No wonder the Navy was so enthused about this thing. Well, Remmers thought, we’ll just see what happens in the future. Then, all of a sudden, he felt even sicker. "I think I’m going to be sick..."
Lord Halsey moved him toward the window almost in time. About one third of the noxious fluid fell in the cockpit, while the rest hurtled a couple thousand feet to the ground below. The eruption of the bacon and eggs was not the most pleasant thing that happened to Remmers that day, but it did bring some amount of peace to his stomach.
The other three men were to amazed at what they were doing to comment. Johnston helped his companion’s hands grab the strap again as the ship leveled on a course due South Southwest, straight down the river.
They flew over barges, fields, and little towns along the way. Sometimes people stopped what they were doing and looked up at the great thing humming through the sky. Remmers and Johnston had just traveled this way the day before, and it was the same flight plan that young Halsey had used to drop the leaflets that had so impressed the coach driver. But this time they were going further.
They passed over Midpoint, the small city that was roughly half-way between Gotham and Apocalypse City. The people there all got out of their houses and stared into the sky. From one corner of the city, shouts and applause rang out, and then the whole city seemed to celebrate. Johnston smiled down on them. Young Halsey remarked, "Well, that’s rather nice of them. I suppose they may be applauding the ensign that I had painted on our ship last night. It is, of course, the Bertonian flag."
After passing Midpoint, the ship continued to follow the road. On the horizon now one could see an even larger discoloration, which had to be Apocalypse City. They had now traveled more than sixty miles, which would have taken an army some three days. But they had done it in a little less than an hour.
The whole party was speechless as they turned over the large city and flew back to the Northeast. It was as if the chains on distance and travel had been broken finally and decisively. None of them could ever imagine a day when this kind of travel would be deemed restrictive. It seemed like a dream, although it was very real.
Young Halsey was the first to break the silence. "We’ve used up over half our fuel, but we’re only twenty miles or so from touchdown. Don’t worry, we’ll be safely back soon."
Remmers now worked up the courage to look outside and this time didn’t regret it. The tops of the trees looked like broccoli bunches and the river looked like a little stream from this high. Then, he noticed a square shaped building on the right. It was fort Riverside, a station where he had served in the past. It looked so small! Even so, he could see men in blue uniforms moving purposefully around the battlements.
"Look down there, what are they doing? They’re getting ready to fire!" Remmers answered his own question. He knew an artillery drill when he saw it. Just then, the first whiff of smoke belched from one side of the fortress. Then, a few seconds later, they barely heard the noise of the cannon over the whirring of the propellers. It was almost like looking down on a mass of toy soldiers.
"What are they shooting at?" asked Lord Halsey.
"I think they’re trying to shoot at us!" said Johnston. The second whiff of smoke from that side of the fortress now made its presence known. The men on the ground were not even getting close, as the cannon were not able to tilt back enough to gain the correct trajectory. Yet still, they tried.
"John, may I make a suggestion?"
"Yes, Admiral, what might you suggest?"
"Turn our ship here so that the men down there can see the ensign. Perhaps they think we’re invading or something. Or else they’re trying some impossible target practice..."
"Turning now, Admiral."
The men in the fort stopped firing as soon as they saw the ensign. Instead of shooting they began to cheer and wave their caps in the air. An older man, rather pudgy, was in the middle of the fort. Obviously he was the post commander, or maybe some other officer. He had a glass trained on the airship. Remmers waved at him, knowing that he might see who he was. Colonel Painsly would never live this one down!
"I know the man. He’s not rather sharp, but the army needs good post commanders. If he didn’t at least try to fire on a strange ship flying over the ground near his fort, I’d want to have his colonelcy taken away from him."
The other three nodded in assent. It seemed they understood the situation. Colonel Painsly, the man on the ground, visibly shook his head in surprise when he noticed just who was waving at him from the open window. Well, that would make for some interesting conversation whenever he would see Painsly again.
The rest of the trip was rather uneventful. Even the landing was not quite as violent as the takeoff, and by that time everyone was used to it. After landing, Johnston and Remmers decided to meet together in private session. Lord Halsey invited them to use his study, which they heartily accepted. It was only noon and the two had been further faster than they had ever been before. They needed to take a little time to debrief each other.
Remmers was the first to speak when the doors closed. "Well, Johnston, I suppose I owe you fifteen crowns."
"No, dear man, please keep your money. I wouldn’t have it."
"No, I insist. I won’t have you coming to me next year sometime, in some embarrassing moment and asking for your crowns. No, my dear man, I cannot but give you these crowns today. You were right about that ship thing. I can hardly call it a ship, but you know what I mean."
Johnston could understand, slightly, that Remmers would have a hard time calling the airship a ship, but that’s exactly what it was. "So, you’re convinced?"
"Well, as convinced as I need to be to order a trial production of the thing." He had reverted to calling it a more army-friendly term. Johnston noted how armies dealt with "things" when they didn’t understand them. But that navies just called "things" what they really were. "You know I was skeptical, but when we flew over that fort, I began to think, what general wouldn’t want a bird’s eye view of a battlefield? It would make for better orders, and it would be harder to surprise the army that had one of those things deployed. No, I think I’ve seen the future today, and that’s what were here to investigate, is it not?"
"Yes, I think so." Johnston was cautious. He too wanted to see the airship become a part of Bertonia’s armed forces, but didn’t quite know what to do about it. "We should have a trial ship built, and we should give it a mission. If this is such a good idea, then we should be able to have a ship fly to Pt. East, or one of the outer colonies. What do you think?"
"Yes, I think so. And I think it should be a joint crew. Army and Navy together."
"You yourself said that the Navy was better equipped to do things like this, Remmers." He was right. And the Navy was better equipped. Ships needed crews, while regiments needed recruits. But Remmers wouldn’t let the suggestion go.
"No, it needs to be a joint crew. We are a Joint Board on Military Advancement, are we not?"
"I suppose you’re right. What part would you have the army play?"
"Well, I hope that you wouldn’t send your airship up unarmed, would you?"
"Well, now that I think about it... No I wouldn’t."
Remmers smiled with glee. "Well, that’s exactly right, dear friend. We need to have a cannon on the thing. Maybe something made of that lightweight aluminum. Something of small caliber, to be sure, but a gun none the less. How about a four-pounder? The army can surely spare a field piece and a crew."
"Well, alright, as long as we have a navy man in charge of the whole thing. Someone willing to take risks."
"Yes, he must be a risk taker, and I’m comfortable with a navy man in command. But the Army must play a part." It seemed they were getting closer to a consensus.
Johnston then said, "I wonder if John has plans for a different craft? I would suppose this one isn’t quite large enough to be a proper military airship."
The two continued to talk long into the afternoon and evening. After supper, they invited Young Halsey into their conversation. Slowly and surely a plan was building.
* * *
So slow, thought Admiral Johnston, as he watched His Bertonian Majesty’s Sloop Albatross glide into Ox-Ot harbor. Of course, he would not have thought that just a mere two months ago. But his encounter with the airship had changed his perspective on quite a few things. He continued to think about what John Halsey had said when the airship took off. "Gentlemen, welcome to the third dimension." He was right.
The sloop made progress as he watched and tied up quite nicely to the pier. Her skipper was a detail man, and this made Johnston smile. He watched as the man overlooked each of the moorings, having his midshipmen check each one. Then the sails were stored and the mailbags were lowered into the waiting arms of the longshoremen. It was a dance of detail and efficiency. The noises and the smells were something that a man never quite got over, and every time he heard and smelled them he was transported back to that first time he was onboard ship.
The skipper of the Albatross was the first one down the gangplank and onto the pier. His uniform was a bit tattered and worn in places, but that was just as well with Johnston. Navy men were not supposed to be extravagant in his book. The man had an angular face and jet black hair that was long and unkempt, springing from beneath his black bicorn skipper’s cap. His frame was not quite slight, but certainly not full. Although he did have a strong, muscular build to him. He saluted more to keep his copious hair from his eyes than out of formality, but Johnston returned the salute in kind.
"Lieutenant Charles LaMay, skipper of the Albatross, reporting for duty. Admiral, to what do I have the pleasure of your welcome here?" He was pleasant enough, this LaMay.
"Rear Admiral David Johnston of the Joint Board on Military Advancement. Lieutenant LaMay, I have new orders for you, straight from the Admiralty..."
LaMay instantly wondered what these new orders might be. It was not necessarily out of protocol for an admiral to meet a ship on the pier. But one from the Joint Board on Military Advancement, that was certainly interesting. In fact, LaMay searched the dark recesses of his mind and could not come up with a time he had ever heard of that institution.
"May I ask a question, Admiral?"
"Surely, LaMay, we’ll be working with one another for a little while here. You can ask whatever you like."
"What is this all about? I’ve never heard of the Joint Board on whatever that you’re a part of. What are you doing?"
"Well, LaMay, that’s going to take some time. Suffice it to say that we’re working on a project that will revolutionize the way we move from place to place. And I want the Navy to be on the cutting edge of that, don’t you?"
"Well, yes... but, well, why me?"
"You’re a young officer, for one, and for two, you are skilled at commanding craft with small crews. You’ll do just fine, LaMay."
LaMay hadn’t questioned how he would do, but he was questioning what he would be doing. His initial perception was that he didn’t like it. Any kind of joint board between the army and the navy had never seriously worked out. And now, he would be in the thick of it. This man was obviously a little old to be a rear admiral. Apparently it hadn’t worked out the best for him either. Hopefully he wouldn’t be matriculating in a dead end position.
"Sir, you were talking about a way to make transportation quicker? That does have me interested. But you’re also talking about a joint board with the Army. That doesn’t interest me at all."
"Were you speaking freely, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, I suppose I was..."
"Well, your permission to do so is denied at this time." LaMay looked at Johnston in a quizzical manner. It seemed that the Rear Admiral was also having the same concerns, but was unable to address them. Well, just great, he thought. I can’t tell this man no, he outranks me by two or three grades. I guess I have to go along with him.
"Follow me, LaMay... We’ve got more to talk about."
The two naval officers walked down the pier together, leaving the Albatross behind. Little did LaMay know, but this would be the last time that he would command a seagoing vessel.
* * *
Johnston had explained the whole thing to him. LaMay was chosen to be captain of a new kind of vessel. A flying ship of some sort. Some kind of contraption that burned pure alcohol in order to propel it through the air. Well, that was just great.
And what is more, Johnston informed him that it would be a limited joint mission with the army. Things like that had never gone well. Even though LaMay couldn’t quite remember what had happened the last time the Army and the Navy had cooperated, he was sure that it didn’t turn out very well.
Still, if this were true, that people could really fly in air-going ships at incredible speed, then LaMay wanted to be a part of that. Grudgingly he was sold on the idea.
Still, there were bumps that needed to be worked out. First was the fact that Johnston ordered him to oversee the construction of the new ship in Ox Ot, take command in Ox Ot, and finally to fly the ship around the world, traveling eastwards. It seemed like a very risky mission according to LaMay. Also, while the Army had acquiesced to limit its involvement to a single gun crew, the naval contingent had some serious flaws, according to LaMay. One such flaw was before him in the Foundation Street Pub in Ox Ot.
Second Lieutenant James "Jim" Remmers was drunk. It was not necessarily normal for him to be inebriated so, but all the same, he was. And as a result he was not quite thinking clearly, although in his state of intoxication he felt like he was. He briefly pondered exactly how many beers he had since his father, Brigadier General Nathan Remmers, had left. He figured that if he could remember that he wasn’t really drunk after all, just slightly tipsy.
His father had told him that he would be a pioneer, flying above everyone’s head, and so on and so on. It seemed to the younger Remmers that his father was speaking nonsense. Some kind of an airship. Well. That would be the day.
Then, he noticed the man in naval uniform standing right beside him. "Who are you?"
"No salute, Remmers? I’m one grade above you, man, and in a few months I’ll be your captain. If you don’t like it, then leave the navy."
"I never liked you, what’s your name? La... May is it?"
LaMay remembered the day that this young man came to officer training school in Ox Ot. LaMay was a senior at the time, and Remmers was just a freshman. As usual, the classes fought about most everything, and here the tensions were still rife some five years after LaMay had graduated. Well, that was to be expected. He remembered a couple times that he had helped haze the young recruits.
"I never really much liked you either, Remmers, but I suppose I’m going to have to work with you. What do you think?"
"I think I’m drunk, LaMay... If it weren’t for the six or seven glasses in front of me, my willingness to follow you would give it away..."
"Yes, can you walk?"
"I don’t know..." Remmers tried to get off the stool in a way that resembled coordination, if not dignity, but ended up falling to the floor instead.
"No, I don’t think I can..." It was an understatement.
"Well, Remmers, we can’t have you like this, I’ve got work for you tomorrow..." He reached down with his arms, and after a few abortive attempts, succeeded in raising his new drunken executive officer to his feet. The two walked off down the streets to the officers’ barracks.
* * *
While the young Jim Remmers was getting his belly full of the best beer Foundation Street Pub had to offer, and summarily ridding himself of the intoxicating ingredients by means of his mouth, the older Remmers was having another interesting problem. Nathan had served with Sergeant Samuel Pinkerton before, in the brief campaign against Scruffia only three years before. The man has proved himself an able Non Commissioned Officer, or NCO, and also a good artillerist. Lately, Remmers had been given a top-secret file from the General Staff that recommended Sergeant Pinkerton for the post aboard the new airship. He had apparently gone through the spy school in Ox Ot. That institution had a checkered past, as it was started by the infamous Blacktalon back in the days of the Lumenadi. But now it seemed to be respectable again to work for the Ministry of Interior.
Remmers was given information that this Sergeant was an avid gambler, and was probably staying at one of the gambling institutions in Ox Ot. He had gone to three of them already, and failed to find Pinkerton. But when he mentioned the man’s name, he received a cold reception. Just how badly Pinkerton had fallen from the graces of those establishments and what he had done to merit such a reception was an information hole that only speculation could fill.
Now, here at the fourth institution, invitingly named "Lady Luck" he found Pinkerton at the craps table. Two other army privates were there as well, along with one of the drink serving ladies. Lady Luck herself? Well, Pinkerton had seen much, and now he was just doing what everyone thought he should as an old sergeant. There was really no hope for him in any other profession, and when he wasn’t in the field, he was like a fish out of water. Gambling was probably his defense against normal society.
Just as Remmers walked up to the table, however, four muscular men dressed in black suits entered the room. One of them had white shoes on, and was holding a pistol in front of him. Before Remmers could react, this man called out, "Pinkerton!"
"Yeah? Who wants to know?" Pinkerton was playing this one rather cool.
"I’m Freddy Donaldson, the man you cheated out of two hundred crowns, and I’ve come here with my friends to collect."
"Is that right... Well, be sure you know how to use that thing, Freddy. Many a Scruffian lies dead on the battlefields north of Blemia because of insufficient instruction..."
"All the same, I think you better pay up..." The two privates’ eyes grew wide as Freddy cocked the pistol. It wasn’t a newer model, being a single shot. But still it was deadly. It was leveled right at Pinkerton’s center of mass.
"Well, I never intended to slight you... I think I might have what you want in my pack here..." As Remmers watched, Pinkerton slowly walked over to this Freddy character with his hands up. His satchel was at his side.
"Give me what you owe me..."
"Don’t worry, my friend, I’ve got what you need right here..." Pinkerton reached his left hand across his body into the satchel, and one could audibly hear the ringing of coins. Of course, Freddy looked at the sound rather than at Pinkerton’s right, which was swinging toward the antiquated pistol that was in Freddy’s hand.
Pinkerton had timed it just perfectly. The pistol went off a split second after Pinkerton’s hand hit it, and the combination of the recoil and the fist sent the weapon sailing. The bullet, of course, missed Pinkerton and everyone else in the room, imbedding harmlessly in the cheap molding in the ceiling. And now, Pinkerton had stepped back.
Freddy and the rest of his men were struck with amazement that was quickly turning into rage. But Pinkerton’s mind was working quicker than their collective reflexes. He swung what had to be a heavy bag full of coinage at Freddy’s head. The man didn’t try to block it, and went down with a thud.
But now the other three men were on top of him. One had a knife that he was about to stick into Pinkerton. The Privates seated at the craps table noticed one of their own in danger, and fearing the consequences if they didn’t act, joined in just in time. One kicked away the blade, just as it was about to come down on the half-captured Sergeant. The other started pummeling the man that was holding Pinkerton with his fists.
Remmers, however, would have none of this. He took out his Johnston Limited Service Revolver and aimed it at the ceiling. He quickly fired three rounds into the molding, secretly hoping that no one was upstairs, or that there wasn’t an upper floor. But things couldn’t be helped. Every pair of eyes that was in the place turned toward the sound of the gun.
"Alright. This is how it’s going to be." Started Remmers. "Freddy and company, get out of here before I put a bullet between your eyes for striking an Army NCO." The three men quickly let go of the Army personnel and began dragging their unconscious leader out of the front door.
"Thank you, sir..." said one of the privates.
Remmers didn’t quite know how to answer. Pinkerton, however, finished it for him. "Sir, with all due respect, we could have taken that gang, and the streets would have been better for it."
"What are you doing, Pinkerton?" Remmers’ rage had cooled just slightly, just enough to allow somewhat controlled speech again.
"I was just taking some money from these people. You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to win at craps, sir..."
"I wouldn’t know..."
"Well, sir, I suppose I could teach you sometime..."
"That won’t be necessary, Sergeant."
"Well then, sir, why are you here in the first place, if not to gamble?"
"Sergeant, I’m here to give you an order..."

The Light Falls
Sequence 1
Prophecy
The days are coming, says the Maker, when a crack shall appear in Bertonia. She who was once strong, impregnable, shall be crumbled to dust. She who once caused many nations to fear will herself tremble and quake.
For muskets are loaded, cannon primed, and the cavalry swords are dipped in blood. It is all in service of the Maker, may His name be praised.
Yes, I shall come, I shall be present with the smaller nations, with Blemia, with Gotham, with Nathonia and with Liliput. I will not forsake them to a tyrant. I will not let their blood be squeezed as one squeezes an orange. I will not let them be trampled any longer, like one tramples out the blood of grapes. They will be freed.
The Maker has said it, so shall it be. This is how it will come to pass...
The crack will appear, and all will see it. The great shall wail on account of it. The one who produces will be put to death. But the righteous shall shine like the sun. She shall not be moved, my righteous one, for she is my chosen one.
History
From “The Kings of Bertonia”
The beginning of the Bertonian Empire had noble causes. The kings of Bertonia and Nathonia had between them a son and a daughter. The son was from Bertonia, his name Prince Bartholomew Joseph. The daughter’s name was Avagalia Prudens, named as per Nathonian custom after her dear mother, Avagalia Sophia. On a diplomatic mission in the spring of 1331 FC, the two of them fell in love.
This was, of course, a match made in heaven. The Maker Himself must have smiled upon their courtship, even as it was a long distance affair. But obstacles remained. Each was the only child of their respective royal parents. It remained necessary for the kings of Nathonia and Bertonia to meet in order to discuss what would happen if their children should marry. Alexander Joseph II of Bertonia and Thayler Prudens III of Nathonia thus met at the Synod of Meehlton, one year after the happy couple met.
After much discussion, and some heated argument, (as both countries wanted their sovereign to rule) things settled down when the couple came and made an announcement. They said that they would gladly leave both kingdoms and run away to Blemia if the kings could not make up their minds. After this threat, agreement came quickly. It was decided that neither Nathonia nor Bertonia should loose its sovereignty in the marriage, but that each should continue to be a kingdom in its own right. This pleased all of the ministers of each country, except for the minister of war in Bertonia. He was intent on forcing the couple to leave the realms for Blemia. He was Alexander II’s brother, Stephen. If Alexander had no children in the country when he died, Stephen would then rule.
Of course, this was not made known at the synod. Catastrophe did not rear her ugly head until a week after the synod. Significant parts of the army rebelled, especially at Stephen’s headquarters in Apocalypse City. It was only because of the Gunpowder Revolution that Alexander II could get things under control again. He marched on Apocalypse City with only half the troops, while Stephen marched south with a large force. Stephen’s force was nearly three fourths cavalry, while Alexander’s force was nearly all infantry. Stephen’s cavaliers were armed with lance and saber, some of them carrying pistols. Alexander’s force was mostly pikemen, with muskets and cannon interspersed lightly. The forces met thirteen miles northwest of Holem, and fought a bloody battle there. Repeatedly Stephen’s cavaliers charged Alexander’s squares of pike and musket. Repeatedly Stephen was thrown back. Finally, he took his cue and left in a self-imposed banishment to Gotham.
Alexander spared Gothamia and Stephen, as he did not pursue them. But this was not the proper course of action. For all his appeasing, Alexander’s descendant would only receive blood and pain. But that was not yet apparent.
As per the Synod of Meehlton, Avagalia Prudens and Bartholomew Joseph were married six weeks after the battle. Their first years were a happy ones. Avagalia became pregnant only one month after the wedding. She gave birth to a boy, Alfred Joseph. The countries rejoiced. But then, only six years after, in 1338, both Alexander and Thayler died. The former was thrown from his horse into a tree, while the latter drowned in a boating accident. The happy couple had the responsibility of governing two countries placed upon them. It was decided later that year that the couple would spend one year in Naton, the capital city of Nathonia, and one year in Neva, the capital city of Bertonia. Therefore, they would be able to govern this large territory.
Of course, this left Neva, and the throne of Bertonia, absent for a considerable time. This proved to be too tempting a prize for Stephen in Gotham. He had been working for King Alfonz X of Gotham in reforming his military. Of course, he was incorporating the same pike and musket tactics that had defeated him near Holem. In the summer of 1341, Stephen sailed his Gothamian army all the way down the Great River to the sea. There he seized power in Neva. He also had Gothamian agents dispatched to the roadway between Naton and Meehlton. When the royal couple heard of the disaster in Neva, they boarded the royal coach and made their way back toward the border, right into the hands of the enemy agents. They made quick work of the whole coach guard, driving the coach off a cliff near Meehlton. Therefore, the only survivors of both royal families were little nine year old Alfred and his evil uncle Stephen.
No one could argue that Stephen was the legitimate ruler of Bertonia. No other nobles dared to counter his claim. He had royal blood. The Nathonians, however, had their doubts. The war minister, Dynimus Boyer, decided to make the little prince his king. But this was short lived, as Stephen’s gunpowder-trained troops stormed into Nathonia to claim the crown. There was little fighting, as Nathonia still relied on sword and cavalier. Dynimus’ last act, before the enemy armies laid siege to Naton itself, was to send little Prince Alfred on board ship into the western sea. No one heard from him for twenty years, although there were rumors concerning his life in a foreign court.
Stephen rapidly subdued the Liliputians and the Blemians with the same gunpowder tactics as before. Although these two countries had some gunpowder trained troops, they were no match for the Bertonians. In the case of the Liliputians, the Bertonians had more experience in that way of fighting. The Liliputians routinely still used cavalcades and lances, while their pikemen and musketeers were only used as a rear-guard. The Blemians, although they had the training and the tactics, lacked the numbers.
Therefore, a year before Stephen I died in 1351, the whole of the southern continent, from Liliputia to Nathonia, from Gotham to Bertonia, was under the sway of the throne in Neva. The next ruler of Bertonia was going to proclaim himself an emperor. During those days, everything was done in the service of power, nothing was done because it was honorable. This corrupted the whole land, turning everyone into thieves and brigands, if not in fact, in feeling.
Villain
Happy Birthday
The morning light glided into Gretchen Joseph’s room. The silk curtains dimmed the light slightly, but it still woke her from her slumber. Today was the day that perhaps she could make things right with her father. It was his birthday! How many years was he now? It must be somewhere around forty. Gretchen herself was only sixteen, but she knew what her father loved. Statuary.
It was just for that reason that she hired a Gothamian stonemason, William Pret his name. She wanted him to make a statue in the form of the fabled Gregory “Bright Sword” I, who, being the first king of Bertonia, brought the city states of Johnston and Apocalypse City together. Of course, she knew well that these were not the original names of these cities. She forgot what they were, but that was not important. Perhaps her father would think it vain, but perhaps not. She had told this Pret character to make Gregory’s face like the face of her father. The unveiling was scheduled for later in the afternoon. She had much preparation to do.
As she began her morning routine of freshening up, she decided to think about what had come between her and her father. In the past few months, she had read some of the history surrounding the rise of the empire. Her favorite work was the History of the Kings of Bertonia. While she sponged off the sleep from her eyes, she remembered how liberating it had been to read their tales of the kings of Bertonia. How they persevered in harsh circumstances against a host of enemies, not to mention Goth Plagur, that great destroyer. But that was ancient history. When she got to the modern era, the last three hundred years or so, the scales fell from her eyes and she truly saw her place in history. She was not sure about the legitimacy of her family’s claim to the throne. While most of the books were burned by her great-grandfather, Stephen II, some survived. Especially among these were the books produced by the Lumenadi, who lived somewhere in the western mountains. These were a monk-like class of men who were dedicated to preserving Bertonian history, or at least their verison of it.
As she began to brush her long amber hair, she began to think of that terrible day when she asked her father if what the Lumenadi were writing was true. His face went white with shock, and then red with rage as he learned what she had been reading. She remembered how angry he had been, how he chastised poor Hanna Witherstone, her tutor, for teaching her the ancient script of Bertonian, rather than the more modern script used in trade. She didn’t need to know such things. Right then and there, he almost banished her and dear Hanna outright. She didn’t want to go to some far flung corner of the empire. She loved her life in Neva. Perhaps she loved it too much, for she was willing to accommodate her father in some things. She consoled herself by thinking that her father was not Stephen II, who burned the books, or even Stephen I, who sought to kill or capture his nephew.
Although her father hadn’t banished her or killed her, from that day he had taken the books away from her tutor. The only book they had not found was the book that she kept under her bed, the very same history book that had raised all the questions. They hadn’t searched her quarters yet, at least not that she knew. And she didn’t really expect it either. She was a bit unschooled in the ways of the world. Still, she knew that her father did not look on her with as much affection as before. Would he eventually banish her?
No, she thought, looking in the mirror. My father is a good man. He will understand. And he will just love the statue I have made for him!
* * *
That noon, Gretchen found William Pret in the courtyard. He was just veiling the statue, making sure everything was ready for the great unveiling that afternoon at the Emperor’s birthday party. He was happy to serve in this way, even happier because of the money he would make.
“Everything is ready, princess. Don’t worry, I am sure that the king will love the likeness.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pret.” He had the look of a man who worked all night, with dark places under his eyes the color of charcoal. “Perhaps you need to get a rest?”
“No, I couldn’t, princess Gretchen. Don’t worry.”
She didn’t. She wasn’t really the least bit concerned for him. It was just something she said to appear nice. But that was that. She couldn’t help him if he didn’t want to be helped. “Well then, let’s wait for the crowds.”
The nobles came first, sitting in the front row of the seats in the garden. They were the lords and ladies of the surrounding towns of Bertonia. Supposedly they were in charge, but each town also elected a mayor, who was in charge of keeping the peace and making laws for each of the towns. The noblemen were supposed to provide for the peace by keeping knights in armor. But the day had long past since knights in armor were anything but ornamental. Still, Grethchen loved the pageantry of it all. The knights were all decked out in the plate armor and helmets of an age gone by. They had plumes of feather, of different colors, each signifying which nobleman they served.
Then came the military. While the knights were military men themselves, they were more the personal bodyguards for the nobility. The early afternoon sun glinted off of the tips of their pikes. Each pike had a regimental flag flapping in the breeze. The muskets the men carried were all of the new type. Gretchen couldn’t help hearing about them, because her father talked incessantly about them. They had a match lock rather than a touch hole, so they could be fired by pulling a trigger rather than by putting the match over the priming hole. The differences were lost on her, but supposedly it would give Bertonia an advantage over anyone who would challenge her. Not that there were many challengers. She counted four ranks of Pikemen for each rank of Musketeers.
After the Military came the common folk. These, of course, were not just any common folk, but these were the favored of the Emperor. They were artisans and craftsmen, guildsmen one and all. No farmers were found there, for farmers were not allowed into the city. And the poor were not represented. But Gretchen didn’t think about that at all. She merely saw their outfits, their finery, and realized that hers was just a little bit out of date. Well, she would have to remedy that. Perhaps after today her father would give her more clothes. She gave no thought to the fact that many people went around in rags and would have been glad to wear her old, outdated clothing.
Finally, the trumpeters came, each holding large brass trumpets. She watched as they began their fanfare. The sound poured over the growing crowds in piercing waves, each one calling all eyes to attention. Then the herald stepped forward, dressed in a fine suit of chain mail armor, with an embossed golden helmet and leather leg armor. It was a throwback to an earlier age, but things changed slowly in the Bertonian Palace. The herald began to read...
“Now appearing on the fortieth anniversary of his birth, in this the eighteenth year of his coronation, today being the 28th day of Rainwood, in the spring of the year 1589 from the creation of the world, your Emperor, Vladimir Joseph the IX, may the Maker save him!”
The crowd erupted. Gretchen smiled a bright smile for her father as he appeared at the dias. He smiled back at her. Perhaps all was forgiven and forgotten? Maker be praised! Her heart leaped within her. He began to speak.
“Dear friends, dear subjects, the Maker has made me your king, your emperor, your ruler. I am proud that now, in my eighteenth year, I have kept the peace, putting down the rebellious Lumenadi wherever I have found them. I will continue this in the years to come.
“I want to express my appreciation at your love for me, and for my administration. You make the rigors of governing such a people easy to endure.
“Now, this being my fortieth birthday, I am told that my daughter has something to present to me. What is it, my dear Gretchen?”
All was forgiven! She was beaming as she bounced out into the courtyard toward the conspicuous, lumpy formation of sheet. She stole a glace from William Pret. He said, “Just pull the chord, dear princess, and it will be revealed.” She glanced around, caught up in the moment. She said, “Dear father, I want to give this statuary to you, because you are exactly like this in my heart and in the hearts of all your countrymen.” Her heart fluttered as she pulled at the chord, once, twice, it would not budge. Finally, she gave a great yank the third time, and it fell free.
Several things then happened at the same moment. Everything changed quickly, ever so quickly. The first thing Gretchen realized was the fact that the sheet had indeed floated down around the statuary. But while the sheet floated, the earth began to shake in a great earthquake. Something terrible was happening! The whole crowd gasped in fear, collectively drawing back from the walls and anything that might fall on them. In places, the stonework did fall, and the plaster cracked. Dust filled the courtyard, as people began to scream. Gretchen even felt pieces falling off the statue, flecks of stone here and there. Everyone crouched down to the ground in the shaking, roaring, gasping mess of people, dust, and stone.
Finally, it seemed like after an eternity, it was all over. The dust cloud began to settle. The king, nobility, military, and commoners all picked themselves up and dusted themselves off. There was a general coughing, and after that silence. The dust, the second veil, revealed disaster. A crack had formed at the base of the statuary. Where there had been no inscription, there was now a crack that formed words, written in the modern script. “The Daughter Shall Fell Her Father.”
It was no accident. How could it be? It was apocalyptic. And the same message was written on all four sides of the statue. Everyone saw it at once, and everyone began to shout. “Seize her!” “Get the stone-worker too!” The military ran forward. The Emperor gave his approval, not with words, but with a stern look.
Gretchen and William were surrounded quickly. The pikes were leveled at their mortal bodies. Gretchen cried out, “Father! I don’t know what is going on! I didn’t write that! You have to believe me!” But he just stared at her.
* * *
Gretchen was roughly bound, half dragged and half carried to her father’s inner chamber, where he and his advisors met regularly. Her father followed the guards that were handling her, and with him the man known as Blacktalon. Like a constant shadow, this man followed her father. He stuck to him, almost like he had bound himself to her father. And her father was under his sway. Everyone called him “Blacktalon” because he had an eagle’s claw tied with a string around his neck. When he wanted to think, Blacktalon would hold the eagle’s claw in his left hand and put each of his five fingers, one at a time, on each of the claws of the eagle. He was doing this as he walked behind the king into the chamber.
Blacktalon was the first to speak. “It’s those cursed Lumenadi, sire. They must have used your daughter to put a curse on the statue.”
“If that is the case, then the prophecy is really true.” said her father.
“Only if we let it remain true, sire. We all know that nothing always happens exactly the way it is prophesied. The Maker is great, yes, but he uses humans to do what he wills. If the human element is taken out, there is nothing the Maker can do.” Blacktalon could not overtly criticize the Maker in public, but everyone knew he did it in secret. The Lumenadi called him a false prophet. Well, so Blacktalon called the Lumenadi false prophets too. Whatever the case, whoever was right, Blacktalon had the ear of the Emperor.
“What evidence do you have for this?”
“Sire, I point out the evidence that is from the Lumenadi themselves. They had prophecy after prophecy that their Maker would protect them, take care of them, and help them to fight their battles. But what has come of them? They are exiled from their city, they live in a shack in the snowy mountains, and their influence wanes day after day.”
“Yes, but they say the Maker told them this would happen too…”
“Rubbish! Those old men are still upset about something that happened centuries ago. They need to become enlightened. Anyone that pays attention to them should be locked up. Anyone that actually believes what they teach are a danger to this empire and probably should be banished or worse.” He was pointing at Gretchen when he said this.
At just that moment, the door to the room opened. It was Duke George Rathburn of Ox-Ot. Gretchen had heard of him before, but had never had the pleasure of meeting him.
“What did you hear, O noble duke?” hissed Blacktalon.
“Enough to hear things that would make my ears burn with anger. It is a vile man who would banish a father’s only daughter, or worse.”
“Rathburn, leave us! You have no right to be here…” The Emperor bellowed.
“I only came because I feared for your daughter’s life, sire… please forgive my intrusion.” It really wasn’t an intrusion after all, however, because Duke Rathburn was also the minister of farm, and had a seat at this inner chamber. But he began to back out of the room.
“Just one more thing, if I may, sire…”
“And what would that be?”
“I think that blaming your daughter for an earthquake, something that only the Maker can do, would be rather presumptuous, don’t you think? Yet if you really fear her, perhaps banishment is the best policy…”
“Get out! Your advice is like poison to my ears!” screamed Blacktalon. “The girl deserves banishment or worse. We should leave her on one of the eastern islands, those rocky crags would be too good for her. Let the Maker help her there!”
“I know He will, even there…” And with that the Duke of Ox-Ot shut the door.
“Sire, you cannot possibly be thinking that this is the correct way to go. You must banish her completely.”
“No, daddy, please, I didn’t mean to do anything…”
“Quiet!” her father shouted. Then he said cruel words to Blacktalon. “We will banish her, but only if that stoneworker confesses to the crime. If he doesn’t confess, we will kill both of them…”
* * *
They began the torture of William Pret on that very day. Perhaps he would spill his guts, if not figuratively, then literally. One would save the princess, the other condemn her. Blacktalon looked down into the pit of torture, deep within the interior ministry headquarters. He had this place built thirty years ago, to his exact specifications. While the former emperors, may their names be treasured, took great pains to cajole the people, this emperor didn’t have much time for that. Therefore, the people needed to be controlled by other means. This was one of them. He never expressly told anyone of the existence of this place. But word leaked out. People who were “detained” by his impositions came back with faces white with fear. It worked nicely. The Emperor denied any knowledge of this place, but secretly he too kept it well funded.
William Pret would break soon. They had already roughed him up a bit before bringing him here. He had a black eye, and was holding one arm that appeared to be broken. Well, too bad. Blacktalon gave one command. “Tell me what you know, and things will go quicker.”
“The princess....” came the sputtering cry, obviously Mr. Pret had heard about this place. Pity he would not be able to tell his story. “She commissioned me to make a sculpture of her father...”
“That’s true enough, Mr. Pret, but we know that she has read works by the Lumenadi. They are dangerous. Did you work with them?”
“No!”
“Now, now, Mr. Pret, we know that’s not true.” Blacktalon nodded in the direction of one of his minions. Ropes were placed around William’s ankles. All of a sudden, William’s feet were pulled out from under him. He fell face down to the floor, not catching himself in time. The arm was broken, it was definitely apparent now. The man screamed in pain. Then they hoisted him upside down, hanging by his feet. His face began to get red.
“Mr. Pret, we can stop this whenever you like. Just tell me that you worked with the Lumenadi.”
“What... about... the girl?” Apparently he had taken a shine to the Emperor’s wayward daughter. Well, that was sweet. But it didn’t touch his heart at all.
“I didn’t ask you about the princess.” Blacktalon again nodded to the right. The man there kicked Mr. Pret squarely in the back. The sound of snapping ribs filled the room. Again, the screams came.
“I... I don’t know... I’ve told you everything I know... Please! Please! Let me down!”
“Alright, Mr. Pret, you win.” Blacktalon made a slicing motion, and the man at the hoist controls dropped him on his head. Mr. Pret was still alive, but was moaning on the stone floor.
“Bind him. We’ll get the truth out of him yet.”
* * *
Now Gretchen was pushed and pulled roughly into her room. The soldiers from the ministry of internal security set her in her chair and tied her to the chair tightly. Earlier this morning she had sat here, thinking to herself that things were going well. Now, everything was falling apart around her, not to mention her room.
The security men were methodically ripping apart her room, looking for any evidence of treason. Her father, his face red with anger, his lips pursed, stood in the doorway, steaming.
It looked like the men were actually enjoying their work, ripping apart the room of a sixteen year old princess. They threw all her beautiful dresses on the floor, and then proceeded to walk all over them while searching the wardrobes. They looked in the drawers of her dresser, dumping the contents all over the place. Anything that looked like it might conceal any evidence was ripped open, roughly handled, if not outright destroyed.
Finally, they turned their attention to her bed. Gretchen’s face began to well up with tears. After tearing through the mattress, spreading the stuffing all over the room, they looked underneath the mattress and found the book.
“Sire!”
Her father quickly walked to the men. One of them spat on the floor in disgust. “It’s a book, sire, and it has the old script of the Lumenadi.”
“You should have known better, Gretchen. I cannot bare to look at you. Minister Blacktalon says that William Pret is one of the Lumenadi’s lackeys.”
“I didn’t know that, father!”
“You’ve read their books. You’ve paid attention to their speeches. And now you’ve threatened my throne! What should I do with you?”
“I wanted to give you that present as a gift!” Her sobs rang throughout the throne room. “I want you to live forever, daddy! I don’t want to rule, I want you to love me!”
Anger welled up in her father’s face. It was redder and hotter than ever before. “You think I don’t love you? I’ve given you everything you have! And what have you done for me? You allowed this Pret character to threaten my life! You allowed yourself to be used in a plot to take away my crown! You are a terrible daughter! I no longer can love you! Get out of my sight!” The crescendo of anger rang through the torch-lit interior. It was night. The light had fallen, and now it fell heavily in Gretchen’s heart.
“Please, father, Please!” she cried, pitifully on the stone floor, face puffed up with tears. Her father looked at her without mercy.
“Guards!” He cried. “Come and take her away. I never want to see her again!”
The rough hands of the Imperial Guardsmen were worse than daggers. Humiliated, utterly humiliated, she left her father, heart heavy with sadness.
Hero
They put Gretchen in the dungeon, a stinking place, a hole in the ground. It would be left to Blacktalon whether or not she would be executed or banished. Gretchen thought for sure that it was execution.
She sat there in the dungeon, crying. She cried so much that her eyes could no longer produce tears, and still the sobs came, uncontrollable. It must have been the middle of the night when the guard came back. He unlocked the door, and grabbed her by the arm. At first, Gretchen thought that this was it, that she was headed for the chopping block. But then, when she came out into the hallway, there was Hanna Witherstone.
“Dear child, I am sorry I got you into this trouble. Please forgive me.”
“Hanna, I… what is going on?”
“I have my friends in high places, dear one. The king has relented, and has decided that you should be banished. I am to be banished as well…”
The guard pushed her and said, “Enough talk… Move!” Hanna stumbled on the stones and fell to the floor. But she quickly picked herself up.
The guard kept pushing them until they were outside the palace. But there, the guard stopped. There were other guards there too, but they didn’t lift up a hand against them. Finally, a man walked his horse over to them.
“Ladies, I’m sorry the accommodations are not the best, but these two horses are for you.” He motioned to the two steeds that were without mount.
“It, it’s you, Duke Rathburn!” said Gretchen.
“No time to talk, ladies, you must leave now. Ride west, and then north to Blemia when you have crossed the river. Don’t stop, or Blacktalon will come and find you. You are banished by the order of the Emperor.”
“What about Mr. Pret?” asked Gretchen.
“My dear princess, you cannot worry about him right now, you must worry about yourself. Even I cannot save you if your father changes his mind. But if you must know, Pret is being tortured right now. If you don’t leave, you will likely suffer the same fate. You will never be known as Gretchen Joseph again. You should take the name “Whitherstone” or whatever name you like. You should live as far away from here as you can. You must leave!”
“Come child, let us go…” It was Hanna’s turn to encourage her. The guards, for all their professionalism, were leering at them both. It was the look that a wild animal gives when its prey, for a time, escapes. So, they left…
* * *
Thus began three months of sadness. It was a dark beginning to her journey. She left with only the clothes on her back, and her tutor for all of her sixteen years. Hanna was a good-natured woman who, along with raising Gretchen, had also suggested that a statue of her father would be the best thing to assuage tensions between the two. As she taught her the old script, she felt partly responsible for what had happened to the poor girl. Thankfully, she had received a small sum of money for her few troubles as tutor, and had no way to spend it at all on herself. Therefore, the small sum piled up over sixteen years had amounted to a small, tidy fortune. They spent some of the money that first night on provisions and a change of clothing. Gretchen remembered how silly she appeared that first time she put on commoner clothing. She felt that they were dirty even though they were brand new! And how to ride a horse? She had never really been trained in the art!
After falling several times, she began to get a knack for it, if not because of Hanna’s coaching, then by sheer necessity. They both thought that the next fall would kill her, or at least wound her terribly.
They rode all night, and in the wee hours of the morning, found a place to sleep underneath King Stephen’s great bridge. Built some two hundred and fifty years before, this stone monstrosity was the greatest architectural achievement in this age. It also symbolized another kind of bridge for Gretchen. This is as far as she had traveled from Neva, her home. So, she lay there under one of the massive spans of the great bridge, half shivering because of the early morning cold, half shaking for the mere excitement of it all. She was about to cross the great bridge.
The next day, she woke up with Hanna and they decided to cross at once. The earlier the better, they thought. There would be less a chance of meeting someone at mid span during the morning, for there would be less traffic.
“Hannah, is it true about what they say about this bridge?”
The bridge was a monstrosity. So much stone, such high spans, nearly two hundred feet above the surface of the water, and nothing but a mere low battlement to keep the errant carts from falling over the precipice. She had heard stories from her friends at court about animals, mules mainly, who got spooked as they crossed the mid span. It was common wisdom among them that there was just not enough air for the mule to breath in order for it to think properly. Therefore, they would dash over the edge of the bridge, taking cart, passenger, and load along with them to a watery grave. Well, if that’s not the way it was, she would know soon enough.
“What do they say about it?”
Gretchen related the stories she had heard. Hanna, however, just laughed a knowing laugh. Gretchen wondered what else she needed to learn. What would she do without Hanna?
* * *
After the bridge, Hanna took her to her family home, a small farmyard outside of Johnston. There they stayed. Hanna had two brothers, Charles and Samuel, who worked the ground in that area. They were older than Hanna, as near as Gretchen could tell, and they were bachelors. Hanna, too, had no family, except for her. In the two months they spent there, Hanna and Gretchen became even closer than before. The teaching about Bertonia continued, along with milking the cows, churning the butter, and even planting. It was hard work, and her pampered hands quickly became callused. But it was all worthwhile. She also learned quite a bit about the real world.
Once she helped Charles and Samuel load some pigs onto a pontoon boat near Johnston. She asked, “Where are these pigs going?”
“We’ve got a fair market price down in Neva, but we could sell them for a better price up in Gotham.” Said Charles.
“I suppose the Emperor likes to keep us under control.” said Samuel.
“Why does he do that?” Gretchen naively asked.
“Gretchen, there are some things you need to learn about where you came from. Not everyone thinks your father is doing the best for the land.” replied Samuel.
“He surely didn’t do what is best for me. I didn’t do anything wrong, and here I am, banished.” Gretchen groused for a bit.
“Well, your father probably didn’t do it, it was more like that worm Blacktalon infested his thinking. Who has ever heard of the Lumenadi using a sculptor to send the king a message?” asked Charles.
The pigs were almost loaded by now, each of them going up a narrow gangplank. The crew of the barge kept working without worrying about the two men and the girl.
“Remember, Charles, the Maker can do things that we haven’t even heard about. The Maker is Almighty, He rules.” Samuel preached. “I wouldn’t doubt that this is all true, a revelation for Gretchen here, to show her what must be done in the future.”
Charles and Samuel were both believers in the Maker, even more than Gretchen. Gretchen liked all of the stories, but Charles and Samuel thought they were the truth as well. If that was so, then Gretchen had an amazing part to play in all of this. She still remembered the inscription.
“Well, whatever it was, I am glad to be here with you two, and Hanna.” It was true, the time on the farm was the best of her short life. But it was about to be short lived too.
In fact, little did they know that one of the barge workers was an informant for Blacktalon.
* * *
Just two days later, Gretchen was in the little village of Farmersbrook when she saw a troop of cavaliers ride into town. They were big, dark military men, accustomed to hardship. It looked like one of them was missing an eye. He turned out to be the troop commander, as he asked the mayor where they could find the Whitherstone farm.
The mayor looked directly at her, but then rapidly glanced away. He was on the steps of the village hall, and didn’t answer at first. Gretchen ducked between two houses, catty corner from all the action. A caviler rode by, and leered at her with a terrifying smile. If that was the way he looked at her when she wasn’t his enemy, how would it be when they found her at home? She hadn’t left Bertonia, as she should have. Hanna and her brothers had taken her in. They thought that Farmersbrook was far enough out of the way, but they were wrong.
“Now Mr. Mayor, I know you don’t want us to torch your hall. And I know that you don’t want us to run you through. Blacktalon wants to know where the Whitherstone farm is. If you don’t tell me, things could get ugly.”
Gretchen heard enough. The Mayor was a good man, but he would tell. He was just as much a part of the government as Blacktalon. She ran for it, dropping the flour and dates that she had just purchased at the market. She decided to cut across the country, maybe she would get to the farm before the troop.
She ran along the brook, over the road, and through the field, as fast as she could. Her hair flailed like a whip in the wind, and her face was wet with sweat. The dust clung to it, and she felt the pain in her side from exertion. But she had to beat the troop. It was all she could do! She had to warn the brothers, and Hanna!
Finally, just as she crested the last hill before home, she heard the steady beat of horses hooves on the road. Her heart sank. There were Samuel, Charles, and Hanna, feeding the cows. They worked together nicely. But everything was interrupted when they heard the horses. Samuel quickly ran for the tool shed, and began digging in the dirt. Charles and Hanna ran for the house. All she could do was watch. The troop streamed into the farmyard, wielding swords. They struck at anything they could, first wounding the cattle. They bellowed loudly, kicking up dust with the horses. Then, all of a sudden, a shot rang out, and one of the cavaliers fell. The rest dismounted, they must have been under orders, and stood to fire. At point blank range they riddled the area where the tool shed stood.
Another shot rang out from the house, but no cavaliers fell. The man with the one eye yelled at the house, “Come out, we just want the girl. She’s a traitor. You’ve got to give her up. The Maker said something about traitors, am I right?”
The only answer that came from the house was a musket shot. Another cavalier fell, this one wounded. He screamed. It occurred to Gretchen that the battlefields of glory that she heard about all the time in her schooling were probably sorry affairs.
The Cavaliers would not let up. “Alright men, load another shot. Sappers, prepare to fire the house.” As one man, the cavaliers reloaded their carbines. Charles, from the interior of the house, was probably frantically trying to do the same, but he never got off another shot. All at once, again the cavaliers’ weapons burst forth flame. Again, the whole yard was filled with smoke. Gretchen watched in horror as men wearing a slightly different uniform threw bottles filled with fiery liquid onto the roof of the house. It began burning in earnest. She heard screams as Hanna, poor Hanna, was in pain. She sat and wept, her tears stinging her cheeks, mingling with the dust and sweat of her run. They just watched as the whole house went up in flames. Finally, mercifully, they shot another volley, presumably to kill whoever was burning inside. Then, they left.
All Gretchen could do was sit and sob. That’s all she did for hours and hours. It seemed like just when she had found people who were going to protect her and care for her, the Maker took them away. It seemed like she was so small, so alone in the dark world. That was the worst of her times. It was even worse than having her father speak so harshly to her. It was even worse than the roadside conditions, or the hard work. What would become of her now? She wept and wept, and then, finally she just began walking to the west. But just as she was in her deepest despair, things changed again for the better.
* * *
Simon Crumper was an honest man, a servant of the Maker, as well as a man of the road. He peddled his wares of food, pots, pans, and various other implements and medicines throughout the area.
That very day he had been harassed by a group of cavaliers who were headed east on the same road. Although he paid the tax to the emperor, he had no love for the emperor’s policies. His main argument was against the oppressive taxes the emperor levied against the people. They were a hindrance to business and growth, and they only went toward maintaining a military that subjugated the peoples, at least that was his opinion. The harassment the cavaliers offered was nothing more than insults and vulgarities. However, a citizen should not tolerate this kind of treatment, even by the military.
There was other evidence of harsh treatment along the road. Simon pulled off the road in view of a burned out farmhouse with three charred bodies. Doubtless the work of his country’s cavaliers. What was one to do when such outrages were done by the very ones who were supposed to protect these people.
The embers were still warm, so the fire had just died down before he came. He whispered a phrase of a Lumenadi text before getting back on his wagon and continuing down the road.
Seven miles and an hour later, he noticed a young woman about a half a mile down the road. She seemed to him a mere speck, but she knew it to be a person. A young girl traveling alone was not very rare, closer to the cities. But out here, in between the cities, well, there was greater danger. Again, Crumper whispered a little prayer about the protection for travelers, and spurred his team on a little quicker.
He caught up to the young lady. When she was only a few yards away, she startled at the sound of the cart. “Greetings, young one… Where are you going?”
Gretchen turned around to reveal tear stained cheeks. “I… I don’t know…”
“Well, my dear, this area is no place for you… Where are you from?”
“I was from a farm outside of Farmersbrook… at least most recently that’s where I was from…”
Simon nodded knowingly. He had seen the reason this young woman was crying. She was a beautiful young woman, and had a face that didn’t belong on the roads, but perhaps in a palace or in the nobility. But she was obviously distressed about her circumstances.
“You can come along with me, if you like… what is your name again?”
“Gretchen.”
“Pleased to meet you, Gretchen, I am Simon Crumper. I deliver supplies to all these people around here. I know just about everybody, but I’m sorry I haven’t met you yet…”
“I have only been around here for the Summer. Before that I lived in Neva.”
Simon looked at her with a curious face. He seemed to know something, perhaps a little bit, about her circumstances. He paused for a minute, as if waiting for her to volunteer more information. When she didn’t say anything, he went on. “Well, Gretchen, I’m headed for Cimmeron, and from there I will travel south and east again back to Neva. If you are willing, you can come with me.”
Gretchen thought for a minute. She looked over the man with a little bit of suspicion. He looked harmless, at least mostly so. She decided he wasn’t the type to hurt a young girl on the road.
“I would be happy to come with you… I am supposed to go to Blemia anyway, and I hear that Cimmeron is on the boarder, is it not?”
“It surely is. When you get there, you can walk up the road to Applegate, which is just over the cut pass. I know a man there by the name of Jeremy Bremer. He owns an eating establishment by the name of the kindly toad. I’m sure he’ll give you work, and a place to stay.”
Gretchen was a little astonished that this man had her whole life planned for her, but she didn’t balk at his suggestions. She just climbed into the wagon beside him and sat down.
* * *
The ride to Cimmeron took just a few days, but even so the peddler stopped at every single little town or farm on the way, trying to sell his wares. He was an elderly gentleman, wearing a top hat and having a mustache that curled up at the ends. And he was a caring and kindly sort of man, even though he drove a hard bargain.
There was one time when he stopped by an old run down farm shanty. Out came a mother and three little children. This time, Simon didn’t haggle. He didn’t even tell her the asking price. He just asked her, “What do you need, Mrs. Smally?”
“Oh, the babe isn’t feeling well again. She has a fever. And I need some more flour.”
“I have just the thing for a fever. The Doctors down in Johnston say that what’s in this vile here is sure to knock out any fever that’s meant to be tamed.” He gave her the flask, and a gentle smile. “And dear lady, help yourself to the cornmeal and the flour sacks in the back. I bought too much again in Applegate. My suppliers wouldn’t take too kindly if I returned with rotten merchandise.”
“Oh, dear Mr. Crumper, how can we repay you?”
“Dear lady, just bring up those kids in the fear and love of the Maker, and that will be payment enough. Now, do you have any chickens that I can sell for you?”
She had three that she could part with, and he promised to get her a fair price. After leaving that little farm, Gretchen asked him why he just let her take what was his without any price, or even any credit.
“My dear Gretchen, you’ve got to learn. The Maker has put people here in this world for us to help them. It wouldn’t do for me to be cross with dear Mrs. Smally back there. She’s a lovely old woman, who is in hard straits. Her husband died in the uprising just a few years ago. Her sons have all gone off to fight in the rebellion. She’s left all alone, and I promised to look out for her.”
“You’re helping a lady whose sons are fighting the Empire?” Gretchen knew that there was periodic fighting, small raids, especially in the mountains. It was always, “Those confounded mountaineers” back in Neva. “Hang them all on a ten foot pole!” was his father’s instruction to Blacktalon. But she didn’t know anyone who had joined the rebellion. Now she did.
“You might think I’m crazy, or unpatriotic, or maybe even irreligious for helping the rebels. But my dear Gretchen, you must realize that things weren’t always like they are now. My grandfather told stories about the kings before King Stephen. And those were good times for all. One could really make a good living and have peace and quiet in those times. That’s what I’m looking forward to, although I don’t suppose I’ll see those times return. Not in my lifetime. Maybe in yours though... I guess I’m doing this for you, and for people like you...”
He rambled on for a while about the good old days, and Gretchen thought for a minute. Maybe that was why Stephen II burned all the books. Maybe the Lumenadi were all right after all. Maybe the Maker was going to do something. She kept her thoughts to herself, as the cart bumped on toward Cimmeron River.
Finally, she crossed over into Blemia. Simon gave her some last minute advice. “Dear Gretchen, the people in Blemia are good. They won’t hurt you. Just head north to Bainsburg, then west toward Applegate. Between Bainsburg and Applegate is the pass. It’ll be a hard climb, so take some provisions with you from Bainsburg. Here’s a ten crown piece, it should get you what you need.”
“Thank you, Simon! I’ll repay you someday...”
“No need, Gretchen. I was honored to share your company, you behaved as a princess of Bertonia.” And he was off.
She was very curious about that Simon man. Did he know who she was? Why did he help her? She didn’t know, but she was grateful.
* * *
From Cimmeron River, the road was uneventful, and now she was walking through the town of Applegate. The people seemed happier, more prosperous than all the other people she had seen recently. They readily smiled at her, and one or two of them said, “Good afternoon.” It was these small kindnesses that induced her to stay.
Then she remembered the advice that Simon had given to her. She looked down the main street of Applegate and found a placard that had a green-grey amphibian smiling down on the street corner. So she entered the “Kindly Toad”. She found inside a counter of sorts, round tables, and four old men seated at one of them. They apparently were playing some kind of a game, as there were cards in their hands and coins on the table. Gretchen had heard about games like that before, but she had never seen people actually play them.
“Wait for a spell, Hobart, it seems we have a customer...”
“Humph, Jeremy, She’s just here to ask for directions.”
“I tell you, she’s a customer. I can tell.”
“My cards are skunky anyway.” The man put them on the table, face down.
The other two men looked at each other in the eye, then looked back to their cards without a sound.
“What may I do for you, Miss? I’m Jeremy Bremer, the owner of this humble establishment.” The man had a white beard that dangled down to his chest. He had blue eyes that seemed to twinkle, and although his clothes were obviously not the best Gretchen had ever seen, he wore them with the kind of self respect one usually finds in a military unit. He was old, but he wasn’t ancient. His gaze communicated both wisdom and playfulness. If Gretchen ever had a normal grandfather, she would have realized these traits as grandfatherly right away.
“I need a place to stay. I’m looking to make Applegate my home. You all seem to be so, well, nice here...”
“Really! Well, I’ll have to tell the mayor. Of course, Miss, you haven’t met all of us. Hobart over there really has a way with words once in awhile, Maker bless him. He knows he needs it.” Jeremy paused to scratch his chin underneath his long beard. “Miss, you can surely spend the night here at the Kindly Toad, but we’re going to need more permanent housing for you. And we’ve got to find you something to do...”
“Yes... That would be nice.”
“May I ask, Miss, where you have come from?”
“You may ask, but I don’t necessarily want to tell you.”
“Have you come from that country to the southeast of here?”
“I suppose you could say that.” Gretchen winced at the admonition. It seemed that Franklin was not very happy with that country. “But I don’t want to have any part in that country anymore.”
“Well, Miss, we could tell you that Blemia here is a protectorate of Bertonia. We could tell you that we’re all happy about that, happy about the Bertonian troops that are in Fialaville. Happy with the pirates. Happy with the taxes. Happy with the trade embargo. But we ain’t. We are not happy at all. Isn’t that right, Hobart?”
Gretchen could tell that she needed to find some common ground with these gentlemen if she wanted to stay. “Well, I’m not happy with that place either. I’ve been banished from my home for no fault of my own. I’ve lost my closest friends. They were shot and burned by cavaliers. I’ve seen the terrible hardships people are made to face in that land. I wonder if the Maker doesn’t have it in for me. Such things keep on happening to people who are around me.”
“You think the Maker has done all of this to you?”
“Yes! Who else? And why does He do it? It’s almost made me think that there isn’t a maker after all.”
“Almost, or has it?” Jeremy was obviously serious now. Hobart and the other two men were looking up from their cards at the two of them.
“I, I don’t know... I am not sure. It just seems like sometimes we’re just doing what we can, and there isn’t anyone there to either stop us or help us...”
“I know what you mean, my dear. But let me tell you this. I’ve been where you are right now, and I want you to know that it is exactly in the middle of those times that the Maker does help…”