Christmas in Montora (The Chronicles of Montora Book 4) Read online

  Glenn and Franklin grinned at each other.

  “The wives are getting better at figuring us out,” Franklin said. “We are going to have to come up with something more original.”

  Signe glared at her husband. “Don't you start, now, Franklin. Every time you two get going, it turns into a contest, and one of you ends up sulking for a week afterward.”

  “That's all part of the fun, Sweetie-pie,” Glenn said. “Besides, if I behaved, Franklin would just roll up the score.”

  Signe looked at her mother. “If these two are going to keep this up, we might just as well go into the other room.”

  Monica stood up. The tiny, trim brunette looked young enough to be Signe's sister, although Signe had her father's size.

  “We need to talk about the marketing plan for the fall,” Monica said. “Louie is hoping to raise occupancy now that the Cambridge Castle is starting to look good again.”

  After they walked out of the room Glenn looked over at his son-in-law.

  “Do you tease Signe all the time, Franklin?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “Why not? You tease everybody else all the time.”

  Franklin put his hand on his chest. “I have discovered the limits to Signe's patience. A couple of times I have ventured beyond those limits, and it became unpleasant.”

  “You don't seem to have any problem exceeding my limits,” Glenn said.

  “That's because I don't have to share your bed, Glenn.” He held up a finger. “Which, now that I mention it, is a distinctly grotesque thought.”

  “Thank you,” Foxworth said with a shudder. “After recent experiences at the wrong end of society, I have problems associating any levity at all with such thoughts.”

  Franklin's expression changed immediately. “Oh, Glenn, I am so sorry. I was sitting here shooting off my mouth and not giving the slightest thought to the consequences.”

  During their imprisonment by the pirates, both Foxworths had been subjected to the most brutal forms of assault. After their rescue, Monica was on the thin edge of derangement, and only their conversion to Christianity had pulled her back from the abyss. Oddly enough, she was nearly back to normal, while Glenn still faced his nightmares.

  Glenn raised a hand and made a waving motion. “Ah, don't worry about it, Franklin. Just be glad the girls weren't here.”

  “If you don't say anything about it, I will eternally be in your debt, Glenn.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  They sat in silence, Glenn wearing a slight smile, and Franklin looking embarrassed. After perhaps three minutes Glenn spoke again.

  “Anyway, how is your minerals project going?”

  Franklin rolled his eyes and shook his head. “This is not much of an improvement, for an afternoon's conversation. The answer is: not well. The Panslavic Company from Addison's Planet pulled out. I got the notice last week. Not only did we lose the business, but we wasted six months on the project.”

  “What was Signe's reaction?”

  “Signe cried. She's convinced I'm going to lose the Margraviate, and she loves it here.”

  “Is that a possibility?” Glenn asked.

  “Darn tootin' it is,” Franklin replied. “All old man Steelmaker has to do is exercise his warrants on the Margraviate, and he's the majority owner.”

  “What are you going to do, Franklin?”

  “I'm going to have to get creative.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “Uh oh, is right,” Franklin said. “You will remember what happened the last time I got creative.”

  Glenn nodded.

  “Right,” Franklin said. “I got my starship shot up, and a bunch of people killed. And I ended up with a mortgage I cannot pay.”

  “And you rescued Monica and me,” Glenn said softly. “And Sarah.”

  “And I'd do it again in a heartbeat, Glenn. When it comes right down to it, the Margraviate just isn't that important to me in comparison. But I'm not going to let it go without a fight.”

  “A fight?”

  “Oh, I'm not going to go out and challenge old man Steelmaker to a duel or anything. But I'm trying like crazy to stay ahead of the accounting.”

  “I just wish I could convince Carlo to cover at least some of the deficit,” Foxworth said.

  After the death of Guilietto Roma, the Duke of Hepplewhite, the duchy devolved upon Roma's older brother, Carlo. Carlo Roma was a wealthy industrialist on Earth and the owner of Nano Roma. While he had assumed the ducal title upon the death of his brother, he had also appointed Glenn Foxworth the planetary governor and more or less stayed out of his hair.

  Franklin shook his head. “No, Glenn. Carlo is playing it smart. He could subsidize the colony, but in the long run, it would end up wrecking us.”

  “I'm thinking about the short term,” Glenn said.

  Franklin cocked his head. “Do you know what a sugar-tit is, Glenn?”

  “You're not going to get disgusting again, are you, Franklin?”

  “No, no. Pay attention. I saw this last time I visited Woods Crossing. A mother had a squalling baby, and it wouldn't settle down. So, the mother puts some brown sugar into the corner of a piece of cloth and ties it off; gives it to the kid to slobber on. Settles him right down, and keeps him quiet for a long time, too. It's called a sugar-tit. Well, if Carlo Roma keeps handing us a sugar-tit, we never will learn to stand on our own two feet.”

  Foxworth shook his head. “I don't know, Franklin. I think there's something wrong with the analogy. We've never been on our feet here. The planet's been one disaster after another since Robert Hepplewhite tried to fulfill his life's dreams here.”

  “Yeah, but Duke Robert's basic premise was solid. He just messed up on the execution. We get this tourist thing rolling, the planet will spin off a very reasonable income for us. It's already sort of working, and we only have two and one-half hotels.”

  “Except for one-hundred-fifty million in weapons you bought to hunt down the pirates that kidnapped us.”

  “That's the nub of it,” Franklin said ruefully. “I'm working on some ideas, but I feel like I'm in a decaying orbit without enough delta-V.”

  “So, what are you working on, if I might ask?” Glenn asked him.

  “For one thing, I've encouraged Goldsmith the jeweler to spend more time in his hobby.”

  “Which is?”

  “Panning for gold and digging the odd jewel out of the hills.”

  Foxworth nodded. “And are you seeing any results?”

  “Oh, yes. I am, in fact, rather surprised to have Panslavic pull out of the mining project. I think there may well be enough precious metals and minerals under this valley to make us all incredibly wealthy. I scraped enough together to send a decent payment to Harcourt's World, and buy myself another few months.”

  “Have any of your villagers figured out what he is up to?”

  “Who, the jeweler?”

  Foxworth nodded.

  “I'm not sure. I've had Harmon Eckert and Eden Prary keeping an eye on things. The villagers tend to stay away when one of those two warn them off.”

  “They scare me too,” Glenn said. “Each for different reasons.”

  Franklin chuckled. “Harmon Eckert is a little guy, and mild-mannered, but he can scare me worse than Eden does.”

  Now Foxworth laughed. “Does that mean you aren't exchanging water balloons with Harmon anymore?”

  Franklin shook his head. “Harmon is an engineer. I've never seen his trebuchet if that's what he built. In fact, I've never seen him fire it. But when he lofts water balloons into the keep, he doesn't miss. I don't know how he does it.”

  Glenn grinned. “So, there are some people you won't play practical jokes on, now.”

  “I'm just a lot more careful.”

  “You know, maybe you ought to send Harmon up into the hills with his backhoe. I'll bet he could dig out enough raw material to get you a tidy amount of gold or whatever.”

  “I've thought about tha
t. But I promised Daphne Locke I would only engage in mining in a way that didn't disturb the environment here. Plus, I'm afraid that if I started digging, I wouldn't be able to stop until I destroyed the whole valley.”

  Daphne Locke had been Franklin's Executive Officer, both in Montora Village and on the Canopus; the destroyer given to Hepplewhite by the Navy for system protection. She was killed in the final battle with the pirate Manfred Higginbotham.

  Foxworth nodded in agreement. “You make a good point, Franklin. But what are you going to do if word gets out and you have an honest to goodness gold rush?”

  “I'll start shooting people. I have that authority, you know.”

  “The question is whether you could make it stick after fifty or sixty prospectors found out the hard way.”

  Franklin looked around the room as he thought. “The answer is, Glenn, I don't know. What I would like to do is spend some time with you and see if we could put together a water-tight arrangement that would hold the mineral wealth in trust for our descendants. Maybe we could get Dad and Carlo Roma to give us some input.”

  “Let me make some quiet inquiries,” Glenn said. “You may have something there.”

  “Of course, I might. I am smarter than you, after all.”

  “But I can drink more.”

  Franklin laughed loudly. “No argument there, Glenn. You could drink like a fish.”

  “Past tense. I haven't had a drop since before I came to the Lord.”

  “Right. But Signe and I had to try really hard to keep it away from you.”

  “If I haven't thanked you before for that, Franklin, let me do so now,” Foxworth was suddenly serious. “I know I don't have the strength of will to do that on my own. I suppose that's why I have to learn to trust God.”

  “Hey, it was no problem. Dad said you were half in the bag most of the time beforehand. All joking aside, you don't want me to find out about you hitting the bottle again.”

  “I hope I never do. Sometimes it's really hard, though. There are a couple of streets in Cambridge I can't drive down anymore. The smell of booze from the taverns sets me off again.”

  “If you ever find yourself sliding, please call me, Glenn.”

  “Thanks. Monica keeps a close eye on me, though.”

  “Another change of subject,” Franklin said. “Or maybe it isn't. Remember the night we got Louie drunk on Strawberry Slings?”

  Foxworth groaned and leaned back with his hand over his face. “We didn't get him drunk; we made him sick. Monica still gets on me about that every once in a while.”

  “Well, Louie respects the liquor now.”

  “Monica told me he won't let people get drunk in his restaurant.”

  “How does he do that?”

  “Think about it, Franklin.” Foxworth had the tone of the teacher addressing a particularly slow-witted child. “If a Woogie looms over your table with that great, big, blue eye, and tells you you're done for the evening, what do you do?”

  “Time to beat feet,” Franklin said.

  The Woogies' most memorable attribute was their single four-inch blue eye – which was amazingly human-like. Oh, and their odor couldn't be ignored either. The combination of menthol and stinkweed could reduce even the stoutest human stomachs to trembling nausea.

  Sarah came bounding into the room and launched herself into Glenn's arms.

  “Good afternoon, little mop-head,” he said. “Have Franklin and Signe been taking good care of you?”

  She looked at him and nodded seriously, then threw her arms around his neck for another enormous hug.

  Glenn looked over at Franklin and shook his head sadly. Franklin didn't say anything. Signe and Monica walked into the room, then.

  “Are we ready to go, Bunny?” Monica asked.

  “I think somebody is,” he replied.

  Monica turned to Signe. “Father Riggs is preaching at the cathedral in Cambridge tomorrow. Why not fly down and go to church with us, then we can have dinner at our house?”

  “We probably ought to be in the village church tomorrow, Monica,” Franklin said. “People would talk if I disappeared every Sunday that Trace was gone. Besides, I want to hear Garrett Farrell preach. The villagers are excited about having one of their own in the pulpit. It'll be interesting to see if Tracy Riggs is any good as a teacher.”

  “Or Farrell as a student,” Glenn said.

  Monica picked up the conversation again. “Maybe you could fly down after the services then.”

  Franklin looked over at Signe, who nodded.

  “Fine. Thanks for the invite. I always look forward to one of Mrs. Saint Simons' dinners. They are memorable.”

  Monica looked at Glenn. “Do you suppose we ought to get going? I'd like to get on the ground in Cambridge before the afternoon thunderstorms begin. They're supposed to be heavy today.”

  Glenn nodded. “Good idea. Sarah doesn't much care to fly when it gets bumpy.”

  At that the little girl buried her face even deeper into Glenn's shoulder. He leaned forward to gather enough momentum to climb to his feet. Franklin stood up, too.

  Franklin once again noticed the similarities between Glenn Foxworth and his daughter. Glenn was tall, and Signe was nearly as tall. However, Glenn had not really recovered physically from the ordeal earlier in the year. While Signe was solidly built, Glenn's skin hung in bags under his upper arms, and in jowls below his jaw. His clothes hung loosely on him, and he looked like he had a wasting disease. The doctors had assured everyone that Glenn was recovering, but not only did Monica and Mrs. Saint Simons fuss over him, but Signe and Mrs. Marsden did much the same when he visited the village.

  Franklin felt a wave of affection for Glenn and Monica.

  “You know,” he said suddenly, “not only do I have the best wife a man could dream of, but I have a great set of in-laws too.”

  Glenn looked uncomfortable. Monica walked over to Franklin and stretched up to give him a kiss on the cheek. He had to bend over so she could reach him. She really was tiny.

  “You are a dear, Franklin,” she said.

  With that, the Foxworths left Montora Village for home.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Franklin Nyman and Harmon Eckert leaned over the three-dimensional map of Montora, displayed on the desk comp in Franklin's office. It was a composite of multiple satellite runs as well as data collected from vid pickups on the shuttles as they made trips across the territory. The Class 3 Artificial Intelligence in the Desk Comp was not military grade but was sufficiently powerful to provide an accurate rendering of the Margraviate.

  “Tell me again, Margrave, what your intentions are,” Eckert said as they studied the map.

  “Dad invested some additional capital into the Margraviate, and he doesn't want it used for expenses. I'm looking for the best payoff on the investment – like maybe a road from here to Woods Crossing.”

  “That could be expensive. Particularly here, and here.” He pointed to a couple of areas in the terrain. “First of all, you are going to have cut through this canyon where the river runs. Either that or go over one of the passes. Then below the pass, you will have to bridge the river twice.”

  “But this is easier than trying to cut a road through the mountains directly to Cambridge, right?” Franklin asked.

  “Oh, sure. We don't have the equipment on the planet to do something like that.”

  “Back to the question at hand, Harmon. What would it cost me to put a road through to Woods Crossing?”

  “To what level of traffic?”

  “Same as the trans-Montoran highway. Decent bridges, graveled in the nasty spots, graded everywhere. Someday we can think about paving.”

  Eckert scratched his head and studied the map some more. “I don't know, Margrave. For something like this I would want to put together a formal project plan and as well as an engineering study. It would be easy for this one to get away from you. Off the top of my head, you could easily pour a couple hundred thousand Centaurans into th
is project.”

  “You can do the engineering study?” Franklin asked.

  “Oh, yes. This is a little out of my area. I'm a construction engineer, but I think I can get close enough. The money would include paying the construction gangs. There's more work here than you could get done with the conscripted summer work gangs.”

  “I understand that. Next question, is this doable with the resources we have here?”

  “Other than the money, no problem,” Eckert said. “It's a bit late in the summer to be starting, though.”

  “True, but you could make a good start, right? Consider the money provided. We're a generation away from having any serious airlift capability. This road will tie us into Cambridge as well as Paravel for cargo and trade. I think it will be money well spent. Get a plan together, Harmon. Let's see how much we can get done before things close in for the winter.”

  “Will do.”

  “Another thought. With a road all the way from Cambridge to Montora Village, we may have tourists want to drive here from the coast. The scenery is certainly attractive enough.”

  Eckert shook his head. “That raises the requirements significantly, Margrave. I had assumed you were talking about dray traffic and off-road vehicles. Groundcars would get into trouble.”

  “Something to keep in mind, Harmon. We can't do it the first time around, but you should design the roadbed, and grades for that eventual upgrade.”

  “Who's going to manage this project?” he asked.

  Franklin laughed. “Why you are, of course.”

  “Begging your pardon, Margrave, but I'm pretty busy right now. We're still working on the road paving to the shuttle port. And you have plans on the board for improving the village streets.”

  “I think we need to think about personal time management, Harmon. I mean you spend your time working on all of these things by yourself. It's time you learned to delegate.”

  Eckert looked up from the map and studied Franklin. “Oh, I know how to delegate. I just don't have the luxury of hiring people. Volunteer labor only carries you so far.”