Edward Lane's Argosy Ch. 06

"Are you ready to depart then, Captain Becker?" Baron Amadahy asked Gideon on his penultimate day in service to the Kingdom of Oklahoma. They were meeting in the Foreign Minister's opulent office, easily as posh as any in England, though some of the decorations might have raised an eyebrow in London. But his ship's recent heroism had earned Gideon the privilege of meeting with the third most powerful man in the Prairie Realm in his private office. Tomorrow he would go aloft from the Tallassi Yard one last time, his service ending the moment he crossed the border into the province of Lafayette, in the Empire of Louisiana.

He had chosen that route to protect the Louisianan locomotive that would haul fifty cars through the Empire's northern frontier, through the provincial capital of Petite Roche. From there the cars would be loaded aboard barges and floated the rest of the way south to the Lousianan capitol at the mouth of the Mississippi. The shipment was of especial import to Gideon, as fifteen of the fifty large steel canisters of compressed Helium belonged to him, not to mention sundry baggage of his crew that could better travel by ship to Europe than on the Victrix. That provided him a great interest in the locomotive arriving at Petite Roche intact -- that is, safe from the various Negro bandits, renegade Reds, gangs of Louisianan outlaws and opportunistic Atlan soldiers who might consider attacking it.

Indeed, it was only the last of these that were of any particular concern -- bandits, whether Red, White, or Black, had little to gain from rousting the train as the wealth involved, while profound, was hardly portable or easy to conceal. The Atlans, however, had placed a high bounty on any Helium captured by their soldiers or private mercenaries. There had been sporadic raids on the Helium trains for years, since the very first year the vital Tillassa-Petite Roche rail line had been completed, in 1869.

Four times had ambitious gunmen managed to halt the train, remove or kill the engineers, and off-load the massive canisters across the border using traction engines before either the Louisianan Imperial Army or the Oklahoman Kingdom could respond in force. Therefore, despite the added expense, it was now standard practice for an airship-of-war to accompany the train as it wound through the wilds. Usually an Oklahoman patrol ship would suffice, but since Gideon and his men were leaving any way, the Kingdom had requested this one last service so as to keep their new ships-of-the-line on duty defending the kingdom.

"Yes, your Excellency," Gideon bowed, gracefully. "My crew is chosen, my quarters are stripped bare, and the Victrix is loaded so that I was amazed when my sister managed to get her aloft this morning. We will be prepared to depart at dawn, as scheduled."

"Excellent, excellent. Captain Becker, it is my pleasure to inform you that His Majesty is very pleased with your service in the last year, and has authorized me to extend to you this final offer: a commission as Vice Flight Admiral in the Royal Air Service. I might add that a commission that senior has never been extended to a White man," Amadahy added.

"While I am most gratified by His Majesty's extremely generous offer," Gideon replied carefully, "and though I have enjoyed my service in His Majesty's military, my own ambitions lie outside of the Kingdom. Although I hope this in no way prejudices the great friendship between myself and His Majesty, as I hope to remain in the good graces of the Kingdom for some time to come."

The old Indian smiled indulgently -- more like a Frenchman than a Cherokee, Gideon decided -- and chuckled. "I told Steven you'd say that," he nodded. "And I don't believe you have any fear of vexing the Crown by refusing the offer, especially since you are half-brother to his grand-niece. But I urged him to make it anyway, as did others in the cabinet. It was the least we could do, under the circumstances."

"Well, please kindly inform His Majesty that my ambitions extend to making his grand-niece's vision for a new kind of airship come true. Indeed, it is no secret that after we have secured our property in Petite Roche, we will be voyaging to Paris where we shall commence construction. In fact, my agent has already secured the use of a yard and shed, and the basic structures are being laid. Perhaps the next time we meet, you shall see what honors Tayanita's design will bring to her realm."

"Oh, I certainly hope so," he agreed. "She has always been brilliant. Her Uncle Cheasequah has been trying to marry her off since she was a little girl, but her mother and I have always been able to stop his machinations. He's a traditionalist of the worst sort: women are for tending babies, cocks, and cooking fires, and damn little else. I don't care how important he is in the House of Delegates, that girl has no place bearing brats or languishing in a convent school. He even tried to stop her from leaving in quest of her true father, but she slipped away. She lives up to her name," he mused. "Indeed, I've always had a fondness for her, as if she were my own daughter. "

"I can't imagine Sissy in a convent," Gideon laughed, rolling his eyes. "Yet I don't wish to leave bad blood in our wake -- is this uncle . . .Cheas . . ." he stumbled -- almost a year in this land, and the words still tripped him up as badly as did Ancient Greek.

"Cheasequah," the baron corrected. "Lord Robert Cheasequah. Or Delegate Cheasequah, I should say. I wouldn't concern yourself, Becker. He gave up on Tayanita long ago, in favor of torturing his other relatives. I, on the other hand, know she's possessed of both great vision and a powerful intellect, and I believe that it is best for her to pursue her fantastical ideas. Robert and I often are at loggerheads, however, and Tayanita was just one of our battles. I have yet to forgive him for teasing me about my name when we were lads in the service of Steven I," he mused, recalling his youth with a gleam in his eye. "I knocked him flat that day, and he has yet to move beyond it."

"What's wrong with your name, if you don't mind me asking, Excellency?"

"Eh? Oh, I suppose you wouldn't know. 'Amadahy' is traditionally a girl's name. It means 'forest water', or, more specifically, 'forest spring'. Hardly a warrior's moniker, which Cheasequah never tired of pointing out. Still, it was my mother's dying wish that it be mine, and so I've kept it -- and had to fight to keep it. One reason why Tayanita and I are close, I suppose. Her name is traditionally a boy's name -- but her grandmother wished it."

"Well, you are both extraordinary individuals, regardless of the propriety of your names," agreed Gideon. "And I can only hope the Kingdom will forgive me for borrowing a favored daughter for a time. But Sissy and I have great plans, plans that will shape the design of airships for a generation."

"I would expect nothing less from either of you," Amadahy said, opening a drawer in his impressive French desk. "In any case, here is a draft on the Treasury for the balance of your fee, here is your letter of commendation for service and recognition of your status as a member of the realm's military, and this," he chuckled, "is a personal note of thanks from King Steven."

"This . . . looks perhaps too generous," Gideon said as he studied the first document. "It was my understanding that our balance was only a few thousand pounds, yet this draft is for more than ten thousand!"

"It's no mistake," Amadahy said, in a much lower and conspiratorial voice. "It's compensation for a favor the Kingdom would ask of one of its best officers."

"A . . . favor?" Gideon asked, cautiously.

"Yes, a very quiet favor," said Amadahy.

"And that would be . . .?"

"On the morrow, before dawn, there will arrive at your yard a group of men I wish you to take aboard," he continued quietly, "a group I would rather not have be seen embarking with you. This town is depressingly full of spies, and it would undermine our plan if they were discovered."

"Plan?" Gideon asked, his interest piqued.

"Oh, just another little skirmish in this interminable war," Amadahy dismissed with a wave of his hand. "We have intelligence that the Beanies are planning something, and we plan to counter it forcefully. Yet due to the current negotiations in New Orleans between our respective delegations, it would be unwise if we were seen to be bargaining in bad faith."

"So you wish me to take these men to Petite Roche?" Gideon asked, confused.

"No, they shall not be disembarking there," Amadahy said, shaking his head.

"All the way to New Orleans, then?" Gideon asked, surprised. "I had not yet decided whether to cross the sea in a southerly clime or voyage to the Golden Halo, but—"

"Either choice is fine, I assure you. They will not be disembarking at any point beyond, either."
"Then I am to land elsewhere? I am confounded by this plan," Gideon said, worriedly.

"No, Captain Becker. Indeed, I wish you to depart and conduct your voyage just as you would without my men, but . . . well, let us gaze at the map, shall we?" he asked, nodding to the office wall where a meticulous hand-painted parchment map displayed in miniature the features of the kingdom. Amadahy peered at the thing until he found the capital, then traced the main rail route to Petite Rouche. "This, then, is the river, which the rail line parallels quite nicely for most of its course. You shall be following the locomotive -- circling it, actually -- as it travels. All we ask is that you find your way along your route over . . . this section," he said, drawing an imaginary circle around a spot a few miles off the river, proper, "where you will . . . let my men out."

"You mean . . . a rough grounding?" Gideon asked, imagining his over-loaded Victrix trying to make an unassisted landing in the rough frontier between Louisiana and Altlan without benefit of ground crew, mooring tower, or any of the other comforts an airman desired to reduce the risk of catastrophe. Surely such a landing could be made, of course, but the danger . . .

"Not at all," Amadahy chuckled. "Indeed, the Atlan pickets would spot your descent at once and dispatch troops to investigate."

"So I'm to just throw your men out over the rails?" Gideon asked, sarcastically.

"In a manner of speaking . . . yes," Amadahy agreed, serenely.

"I shall not be your executioner, sir," Gideon said, darkly.

"Nor would I ask you to be, Captain. Suffice it to say that before dawn tomorrow, a number of the Crown's soldiers will board the Victrix under the command of . . . Duke Goyahkla," he said, with just a hint of drama.

Gideon stiffened. Of all the Oklahoman soldiers to have made a reputation in the constant border war with the Atlan Empire, General -- now Duke -- Goyahkla was by far the most respected.

The wiley old Indian general had been born in the deserts of the western Atlan territories, where his people had been brutally oppressed by an empire infamous for its brutality. As a result, his tribe had become warriors of reknown in their struggle against Atlan City. For while their lands were in close proximity to the lamas of the Hopi lands, they had eschewed the faith of the Buddha and cleved instead only to their own gods and spirits -- very warlike spirits, as the Atlans had come to discover.

After fighting the Beanies for half of his life, Goyahkla had heard of the new Kingdom in the east from traveling monks, and learned that they were seeking warriors to overthrow the Atlan governor. While he had little knowledge of the Eastern tribes of the Chocktaw and the Cherokee, Goyahkla was eager to lay his sword at the feet of any king who swore the Atlans his enmity. He had taken service in King Steven I's rag-tag bands of warriors and quickly distinguished himself in both cunning and ruthlessness in his war of separation. It was said the Atlan scalps he had taken as trophies could have carpeted the Royal Opera House, and Gideon knew serious men of war who would not dispute that fact.

Knighted on the battlefield and commissioned as Lieutenant in the Royal Army only two years after he arrived, Goyahkla took charge of a light cavalry unit and had led dozens of punishing raids deep into Atlan territory. Two years after his knighting, he had been enobled by Steven I and granted an estate and a promotion to Captain; three years after that he was a Baron and a Major, and five years after that, during the Atlan's near-successful push into the gas fields that had almost cost King steven his crown, Goyahkla had rallied the stragglers left behind the disasterous Battle of Two Creeks, split his forces, and coordinated a surprise two-pronged counter-attack on the Atlan column in conjunction with a Louisianan airship bombardment, and broke the momentum of said column.

That battle had been fierce enough and important enough that Edward had remembered reading about it in the newspapers in England. Goyahkla was a living hero to the people of Oklahoma, a revered and respected military man in Louisiana and America, and the bitterest foe to the Atlan Empire that God had seen fit to torment them with.

If Goyahkla was involved in the mission, then, Gideon would trust the man's reputation and battle plan. "Say no more," he nodded. "I shall do as the General bids."

"Thank you, Captain," the Baron nodded. "This war with the Beanies is like conducting three games of chess simultaneously . . . in a room full of rattlesnakes. General Goyahkla is as one of our knights, then, jumping over the frontier and attacking from a clandestine location. There is method to this madness. But say no more to your men than you have to."

"Understood, your Excellency. If there is nothing else—"

"Actually," the man said, suddenly looking embarassed, "there might be. In my capacity as foreign minister, it behooves me to avoid entangling the Kingdom in any unecessary diplomatic disputes . . . and as of last night, one has arisen that you may well be able to assist me with."

"How so?" Gideon asked, intrigued.

"Well, as I'm sure you are aware, the capitol is postively awash in foreign spies. We are well aware of this, of course, and our intelligence service depends on them as much as they depend upon us for their livlihood. Among these . . . agents are those representing the interests not only of various Empires and powers, but some who work for certain mercantile interests. One of these -- a countryman of yours, actually -- was caught en flagrente delecto with the wife of Duke Mushulatubbee, Minor."

Gideon knew the name, though he had never met the man. Mushulatubbee was a financially powerful Red Indian, a Choktaw nobleman having titles and estates both in the Oklahoma Kingdom and in the Mississippi province of the Louisianan Empire, the Choktaw's original homelands. Indeed, his family had been instrumental in the support of the first Kings, and had powerful influence in the Court of New Orleans as well. Not the smartest man to cuckold, Gideon observed silently.

"You mean His Excellency—"

"The good Duke returned from business in Guthrie on an earlier train than he had telegraphed to his wife," the Baron explained. "When he had arrived at his townhome, he discovered this . . . gentleman in his lady wife quite up to the balls, and clearly not for the first time. The man in question serves some German merchant interests, though he was once an officer of the British Army -- I believe he was the only survivor of Piper's Fort in Afghanistan, under General Elphinstone, back in the 40s, or something equally as heroic and historic. But that won't save him. Mushulatubbee is a powerful man, and proud. He chased the interloper away, but is now seeking him with vengeance on his mind. He's quite an accomplished duelist, as well -- he studied at the Imperial Academy in New Orleans, and excelled in fencing, as well as the more traditional Indian arts of combat."

"I thought such affairs were commonplace amongst the Oklahoman aristocracy," Gideon pointed out, delicately.

"Perhaps," the Baron conceded. "But when a Choktaw nobleman is humiliated like that, for his wife's lover was a White man, after all, vengeance often clouds his judgement -- and to give you some idea of how proud a man Mushulatubbee is, his name means 'determined to kill' in Choktaw."

"How oddly propitious," Gideon observed.

"Not for the Englishman, I'm afraid. He appeared at my doorstep at midnight last night, begging for sanctuary. While I should, by all rights, summon the Guard and have him appear before the Court of Chiefs for judgement -- which would in all liklihood include a duel to the death between the principals, in consideration of the Duke's high position in court -- I chose to avoid an international incident. I have him sequestered at the moment, but the Duke's men scour the city and search every train to Petite Roche. So . . . I would consider it a personal favor, Captain, if you would spirit this mad Englishman far away from our Kingdom. He pretends to desire to return to Europe, and since that is, indeed, your final destination, I considered you to be his best chance at doing so with his scalp intact."

"I am not quite sure that I want to gain the enmity of such a powerful figure as Duke Mushulatubbee—" Gideon began, preparing to decline the dubious honor.

"The Foreign Office will be happy to pay his fare to Europe in advance, in gold. It would be embarassing, you see, if the old fool turned up dead on Oklahoman soil. Once you are out over the ocean, I care not what happens to him. Throw him over the side or sell him to the Moriscans, if they'll take him. But neither Oklahoma nor Louisiana is safe for him anymore."

"Very well," Gideon said, affecting a heavy sigh. "Because you ask it, Baron, and because you and Tayanita are so close, I will consent to remove this offensive man from the realm." In all liklihood, he would have done it anyway, but every conversation with Baron Amadahy was a negotiation, he had discovered long before. "But not an ounce more gold, or I'll not make it to Louisiana. Just pay my soliciter, Sir James LaFlore, and he will wire me the money. It is he who shall be in charge of running what few affairs I have left here. And he knows how to contact me, should you have further need of my services."

"LaFlore? I know him well, good man. Another Choctaw, related to Duke Mushulatubbee, too, I believe, so we'll make the reason for payment . . . discreet. Now, if that is all, Captain Becker, then I have an appointment on the Royal Links at noon to play nine with the Ambassador of Louisiana and the Consul of the Cherokee Nation. And let me repeat, just one last time, what a pleasure it has been doing business with a White man I can trust. You've been most . . . civilized about things, Becker, and don't think that has escaped our notice."

***

Just before dawn the next morning, a troop of twenty five extremely well-muscled young native men in the green woolen coats of the Oklahoman Royal Army arrived en masse, bearing no small amount of weaponry. Each carried a brace of pistols, Gideon observed, as well as a tomahawk, a cavalry sword, a carbine, knives strapped to various appendages, and long belts of ammunition strung over their shoulders. At their head rode an impressive old Indian, his face worn like a leather apron left overlong in the sun, but his eyes seeming like portals to some ancient wisdom.

"General Goyahkla," Gideon said, bowing deeply as he took the head of the old warrior's horse. "An honor to meet you again, Your Grace."

"The reception at New Year's," the General recalled, sharply, after studying Gideon's face in the twilight gloom for no more than an instant. "You wore a blue coat and a silly hat. You danced with Little Beaver. But my old friend Wolf Rider says you fight well." It sounded like a major concession from his lips, but Gideon took it in stride. He was used to the arrogant attitudes of the natives, and this man, above all others, had good reason for his arrogance.