Chapter Twenty-two: The Comings and Goings

by Carl E. Mullin ©2020

The groves of trees passed. The homes with thatched roofs approached near and then recessed behind her. The tractors chugged out their fumes as they worked the land. Fences of rough-hewed lumber lined the paved Roman road. The sunflowers crowded the posts and the gaps between their bent bars. The children dashed across the weed-lands, daring their filmy kites to fly. A chicken hawk flew high in search of a prey. Green hills rolled on, dressed in green trees and golden crops. The villages of pleasant houses well-made passed her. A rickety truck barging its way from village to village. A few cyclists in their pastel summer dresses waved at her, their straw hats set at a rakish angle.

As she rode on, her unease melted in the golden glow and she allowed herself to be drawn into the eternal beauty. This was her land, her sacred isle, the land of old Roman ruins, of famed Arthur and Robin Hood. Here was the land once ruled by Richard the Lion-Hearted and the Good Queen Bess. As she rocked back and forth on her horse, her mind filled with the old stories, good stories of her people’s past. The children’s gayful freedom filled her with an infectious gladness.

And almost without a warning she arrived.

The palace, a manor really. Something more human-sized for the royal family’s private pleasures, far away from the pressed eyes of the public. A large woodland surrounded the well-ordered lawns. After receiving her pass, she walked her horse ahead on the sand-colored pebbled road curving toward the manor. All eyes followed the Girl With Dragonfire Hair with open admiration of both her courage and of her shapely buttocks and legs.

As she neared, she spotted a group of grounds servants gathered about a carriage in disrepair. One looked and sounded familiar to her.

The two plump hands clapped a sharp and impatient sound. “Now, come! Come! You weren’t brought here to lazy about in the sun. Cease you your pipe-smoking and set your loafing arses about your assigned task. We haven’t have all day and the royal purse isn’t bottomless, mind you!”

“Yes, ‘Mother,’” they answered with a grin.

“And don’t you ‘Mother’ me, you boys. Weed, I may be small but beware! I am not so tiny that I cannot jump your beanpole height to nick your ear and bend you over my legs for a sound spanking, you hear?”

“Well…” Weed scratched his bare stubble on his chin. “I reckon that you best have your dustpan ready.” He punctuated his sentence with a snap of his suspenders. The men laughed and nudged each other.

She fisted her plump hips and made a face. “Don’t make me fetch for it, Weed. For you shall see that my bite’s worse than a bark.”

The men stood like a Greek chorus and went, “Ooooh!”

“Yes, ‘Mother’.”

“None of this ‘Mother’ business, boys. I have the authority you know. I am the Keeper of this august house for the Queen. Here, in the absence of the good Queen herself, I am the law. So be off your duffs and be quick about it least I should resort to worse than a mere dustpan to your duffs!

“Ooooh!”

“La! You have spoken well, Mrs. Bates, but you have misspoken, ma’am. For we are indeed busying ourselves on this august task before you.”

“Ha? Why the only things I see working are the pipes you are sucking.”

“The very tools of our trade, Mrs. Bates.”

“Trade in what? Bollocks?”

“Ooooh!”

“Nay, my good Mrs. Bates. These are but aids to assist us in understanding the intellectual aspects of the task before us. They are to help us work out the wherefores and the whyfores and the howfores of this grave injury that vex us now. This is, uh, to contemplate the grave matter so as to help us reach the most elegant solution to this matter with the most minimal fuss.”

“Fuss? Ha. You’re nothing but full of puff. Blowing the puffing smoke up the duff of the numbskulls unlucky to cross your path, I say. This is a mere broken axle of the carriage. I demand you repair at once. But-la!-you cannot be bothered to dust off your duff and puff out your weedy chest and to bustle about this, the simplest of tasks, you useless busters. Now, cease your snickering and be quick about it fore I take this switch to you lot of weasels!”

“Oi! Murder! Help! Help!” Weed mock-cried in a reedy voice as he evaded her stiff whip to men’s laughter. They scattered in a merry mood as Mrs. Bates swung in a wild movement. Dagny smiled at this madcap scene.

“Back! Come back, you lousy lot of satyrs! Back so that my switch may meet your jesting duffs!”

“Crikey! I do believe she is not full of puff but does desire our dusty duffs!” one laughing worker cried.

“But why?” another laughed. “We haven’t done anything but dogging our time away on our dusty duffs a-puffing!”

“But for the sake of the broken axis she all but have to ask, and without an ax!” cheered another.

“Back, you cretins! Come back!” Then she spotted the shieldmaiden. She froze and a warm smile appeared across her face. “Well! Bless my heart! Dagny Mark, could that be you?”

With a small smile, Dagny answered, “Yes, Mrs. Bates.”

“Well! Do come on down and give me my pucks, my darling! Come to me!” Dagny grinned and dismounted. She bent to embrace and exchanged kisses. “Well! Look at you, so lovely in that handsome uniform. My, but it has been ages and ages and how have you grown. You’ve become so taut and pretty before me and not a fat on your buttocks.”

“Mrs. Bates,” she warned with a rueful smile.

“Oh! But do show me your hands, Dagny. Why, did I miss something? I see no ring on your finger and at your age. But, my, you must have a host of suitors bidding for your attention. Come, I do love me delicious dish.”

“Mrs. Matilda Bates!”

“Oh, but my! I do like to hear my silly talk, don’t I? Well! Never mind, you must forgive a silly old woman’s fuss.”

“Oh, but I do.”

“Wonderful. I say, wherefore bring you here?”

“Summoned.”

“Well, bless my heart! But – oh- you must come in, come in and rest yourself out of this hot sun. Bobby!”

A young man jumped off the lawn, “Ma’am?”

“Bobby, you take this–?” she looked at Dagny.

“Commander,” she answered.

“Commander! Bobby, you take the Commander’s horse and give it a good grooming. Bath, shoeing, brushing, the lot.”

“Yes, ma’am. Say, are you re-really…?”

Amused, Dagny nodded.

“Blimey!” the boy enthused a wide toothsome grin. “You’re really the Girl With Dragonfire Hair. It’s brilliant what you did. My little brothers and sisters, they talked of nothing but you, ma’am. Just wait ‘til I tell them. They’ll be green for sure!”

Feeling awkward, she thanked him. Mrs. Bates beamed and said, “Thank you, Bobby, now be off and give your charge a good look-over, you mind.”

“Yes, ma’am! In a flash!”

Mrs. Bates turned with narrowed eyes to the rest of the men, “And you! I expect the lot of you to make a good repair. This I ask you nicely, so don’t make me ax your duffs off, you hear?”

“Yes, ‘Mother’,” they laughed. “And a good day to you, Commander.”

“Boys!” she huffed. “Come along, Dagny. Let’s leave these knaves to their task and let us give you a royal welcome.” She guided her toward the doors opened to the warm air.

“Did they give you a hard time, Mrs. Bates?”

“Mh? Oh, good gracious, no. Oh, they can be a bit trying at times but they have good hearts. And their levity does provide a welcome relief at times. But let me fix your hair before we go in.” She straightened Dagny’s wavy earlocks and forelocks. “Mh! Hair combed over your brow as always. Have you ever tried a different style, dear?”

“I – I haven’t really thought about that. I have been rather busy, Mrs. Bates.”

“Hm? Just a thought, dear, now that you’re in the public eye. But never you mind, darling. Your hair does make you rather innocent what with your grave beauty.”

She touched her cheek, “Grave?”

She gave her a critical lookover. “You have a rather intense face. Serious. Dignified. Regal, even. Certainly not playful.”

“Oh.”

“But beautiful all the same, child. All the same. Don’t you worry a thing. Many boys will sue for your hand, you’ll see. Now, let’s make you top-shape.”

Dagny grinned a rueful smile. Mrs. Bates was a tonic for anyone’s spirit. She could make you light on your feet. As they stepped inside, she surveyed the familiar old place. The walls were aligned neat, the wallpaper immaculate, and the furniture sleek and spotless. The grand stairs spread wide at the foot. “You’ll like the changes, Dagny. It’s so much warmer and lighter since you were last here. We have these new double-paneled windows that trap the heat so much better. Not so cold anymore, a big help it is what with those long and longer winters. Oh! And we had a new interior decorator a few years ago. Heavens, he added so much lightness to this old place. More smiles too. We might even have a new gas line made to here and put in something called irradiation piping under the floor. Of course, our curator of the royal collection has to be consulted first and…ah, here’s the cloakroom.”

After Dagny left her cloak and gun while keeping her sword and dagger in recognition of her name, the guard asked her for her autograph for his nieces. She gave it and added, “Share my happiness with them, officer.”

Mrs. Bates beamed, “You wear your fame well, child.”

She scoffed, “It’s a bit of distraction, ma’am.” They stopped before a large painting in a polished black frame and draped in the velvet curtains of the deepest blackness, parted by thick ropes.

Painted in the lush oils and varnished to sheer gloss, it showed a man a bit larger than life in front of the pure and cool blue sky full of wind-swept clouds. His wild brown hair was combed to the right and his trimmed mustache was sensible. His dark eyes were grave and dreamy. He was sitting in a plump chair with an air of a mild and serious scholar with his left hand on the armrest as if he was about to rise in greeting. His right hand held a stethoscope and the table beside him held a bust of Asklepios and an opened copy of the Book of Common Rites. The handling of paint was mild and competent which seemed to fit his personality better than any bold mastery. Under the painting, a sword was laid on the silken cloth so black it glossed blue and covering the pillow.

She glanced up at the quiet man. “His Highness, Prince Albert,” she whispered.

“Aye. Have you met him?”

“I have not the pleasure,” she said, her eyes fixed on his grave face.

“Oh, you’ll like him, the prince. A mild tonic he was to Her Majesty. A true doctor to her rent soul. Such sparkles you have never seen in her pale blue eyes before. A credit to his holy master he was, full of healing light in his fingers and voice.” She smiled to herself, “He gave her such children to dote on. But, my! How did she spoil them, Her Majesty and her consort. Why, you could hear such giggling from her apartment. In him, her purpose had been completed and her regal blood now ventured up to a new generation. Kind he was, even to the lowly scullery maid and to the barefooted stable boy. Not one haughty bone to be found in him but, freely, he discharged his holy oath to the Doctor and attended to the neediest and the lowest of his subjects. He booked the dead at his personal expense, however low-born they may be and committed them to the Lady of the Crossroads. Such interests he had. Science and technology that might improve the public health. Hours he regaled us humble folks on the improvement of our common lot, from repairing a broken kidney to the settlement of far-off stars. Much that I do not understand but this I know, he cared. And he had our love, aye. ‘Tis a tragedy that he was fated to perish on a mission of mercy in the far-off India in our colony. Oh, unhappy day! How it rent our Queen’s heart!”

Dagny swallowed a lump as she stared at his serious face. “It’s well that what days they had, that they were full of happiness. At least he did something.”

Mrs. Bates cast down her eyes, “Aye, it’s true.”

Dagny made a holy sign, “Khrais.” She bent to place a soft kiss on the hilt of the resting sword. She looked again at the prince’s image. “Pray that his shade preserve his bride.”

Mrs. Bates led her away into another room, a salon. Unlike the bright and airy foyer, it seemed darker. Emptier. The wallpaper was deep blue and moody. She walked through and froze, her regrets vanished in a flash of slow-burning anger.

Another large portrait hung on the far end of the salon, draped in funeral colors. Unlike the one of Prince Albert, this oil painting was done by the sure hand of a confident master. The colors were lush and laid with a playful and energetic eye, full of firecracker dashes of brushstrokes. The bearded man in the painting was tall and proud with dancing light in his pale blue eyes so much like the Queen’s.

“What is he doing here?” she hissed.

Uneasy, Mrs. Bates hurried to answer as Dagny strode toward the painting with hard eyes, “He belongs here. It’s the Queen’s wish. He is her father, child. Don’t forget that.”

Her hands fisted. “He does not belong here.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, child, but-”

“Then you best keep your peace, Mrs. Bates.” The old woman kept her nervous silence as Dagny stepped closer to that hateful face. Her knuckles turned livid white as she bore into that proud face. She noticed his old sword under the painting, a sleek and silver affair made with Italian flourish. A name was etched in the niche of the blade: GEORGE II, KING OF ENGLAND.

“Her Majesty expects a proper homage. ‘Tis her will.”

“No.”

“The Queen expects this,” she hissed. ”‘Tis proper.”

“I shall not.”

“Dagny! You risk the displeasure of his shade upon the welfare of this realm?”

“No.”

She whispered in her ear, “And if the Queen finds out?”

She closed her eyes and sighed a long sigh. With an uneasy care she picked up the sword in both hands. The blade caught sunlight, making its steel seem fluid and alive. She could feel his presence, his soul’s luck housed within the still-sharp blade and her stomach chugged. Her hand gripped tight on the silver rope-like hilt as a powerful urge rose in her heart to snap this accursed thing. She wanted this. She must do this.

Patience, a quiet voice urged in her heart and she felt her flashing sky-eyes boring into her soul from under her helmet. Dagny’s mouth worked in indecision. The laughing light in the sword dared her, mocking her.

In a flash, she pressed an angry kiss on the quillon and broke off with a jerk. She hesitated before putting it back. To break? Or not? Then she lowered it over the pillow before dropping it with a small thud. She marched out.

Mrs. Bates chased her, “Dagny?”

She breathed hard, “That ghost haunts me still.”

She nodded and took her arm and walked her away as a tall and familiar man approached. She flashed a broad smile, “Well! Look who’s here, dearest! Come, come, child and do be pleasant.”

Dagny smiled a small and warm smile, “Marcus.”

“M’lady,” the stonefaced Mr. Bates answered.

“Oh, Marcus!” Mrs. Bates cried. “Let’s not be so stuffy here. We all know that you’re rather pleased to see Dagny again. Child dearest, don’t let him fool you in the least.”

“Mrs. Bates, I fear that you are becoming overly familiar with the Lady.”

“Of course I’m familiar with Dagny. Why, we have been friends for years and years I say. Isn’t that so, Dagny dearest?”

“Yes, we are. Marcus, could you please address me as ‘Commander’?”

“Very good, Commander. I trust that your journey proved satisfactory?”

“Very.”

“Oh, for goodness’s sake, do crack a smile, Marcus, dearest. Do come and share our dear’s happiness.”

“I fear that would be highly irregular, Mrs. Bates. “

“Ha? Thirty years I’ve been married to that man and still trying to make that stoneface crack even a slightest sneer. Huh. But have faith, dear. I will pull that smile out of him even if I have to get some grasping hooks and a troop of elephants. Tsk, if only you knew what a Zeus he is in our wedded bed, Dagny dearest.”

While Dagny listened, a movement caught her eye. A pair of blue eyes full of wild innocence was peeking at her from around the corner of a doorway. She looked back. The girl ducked away and Dagny frowned. She seems familiar but where?

“And don’t you hrumph-hrumph me, husband dear. I didn’t catch five children by accident I’ll have you know. This I’ll swear on a stack of Homers, Dagny dearest.”

“Now, Mrs. Bates, this is-”

The girls both completed the sentence, “-highly irregular,” and giggled.

“Hrumph!”

Mrs. Bates bent to Dagny, “The dear’s so regular, he even made his teeth regular with a t-square ruler. Hrumph! Well, best I leave you in his capable hand now, so do give me a kiss.”

After Mrs. Bates walked off with a sly smile at her husband, the steward sighed and asked, “If you will follow me, Commander.” She nodded with a smile.

She followed him through a sumptuous hall. It was decked out in glorious gold and white that shone from their trimmings of the tall double doors and ceiling. Above, the convex ceiling was a sky of rich blue with puffy white clouds and full of the Gods and nymphs peeking down at the mortals with gentle mirth in their deathless eyes. Others glanced at Apollo’s chariot being pulled by a team of four writhing stallions with manes of fire. As Dagny looked up, the steward asked, “Commander?”

“Yes, Marcus?”

“It’s good to see you.” Silence. “You will not inform Mrs. Bates?”

She smiled and made a zipping movement across her mouth.

“Very good, Commander. This way, please.”

She smiled wider as they passed the paintings and photography and costly vases of stone decorated with little slaves bound by the garlands of golds. It took a moment for her to realize that this hall was once full of a gloom-blue now banned by a healing light from the tall windows. The light made everything seem lighter and purer.

As she glanced around, a commotion ahead arrested her attention. Two men were hurrying through the middle doorway, one weighted down by an overflowing portfolio held to his chest. Another man in a fine suit was dogging his steps as he held his walking cane.

“Please!” the second man asked. “You simply must speak to the Queen about this matter. I must have the answer at once, sir. An urgent matter.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t be of any help, Mr. Gilbertson.”

“But you must help. My family and my company, we’ve been the most loyal subjects and we did our part in this late war. I have invested millions, millions in building up the armaments, into building up the fleet of aerocarriers. Even my own home, my personal fortune, I have pledged to secure the capital for the war effort. And now the wolves are baying at our doors.”

“And we already have reimbursed you for your troubles.”

“It’s not enough! Good chamberlain, this cannot wait. I need to make good our pledge-”

“ –your pledge-”

“ -my pledge. A mere protection is all I ask for, sir. Grant me this, least I face ruin.”

“Sue for bankruptcy then.”

“But I would lose everything!”

“Yours is not the only manufacturing concern. There are a hundred others.”

“But none have the economies of scale, m’lord. With my own hands I have built the largest and the most effective factory complex in the world. They don’t come cheap I’ll have you know.”

The chamberlain sighed and pushed back his spectacles. Both men fell silent when they noticed the shieldmaiden and the steward. They waited until they were passed before falling into the heated words again in lowered voices. “Look, m’lord, speak my petition to the Queen’s ear. Her Majesty will find no truer friend than I. We stand ready to supply all her armaments for another war. Even the rebuilding of the Duke of York. This I pledge.”

“There won’t be another Duke of York.”

“What?”

“The realm’s needs are being reviewed by Lord Oakrod and the Council. Even so Her Majesty’s determined to end what conflict remained with King Louis the Fourteenth. The people wearied of war, though their pride waxed strong, and Sir Walpole is her man. The king is old and soon his mask will join the masks of his fathers in the parliament of dead. A season of healing and renewal is called for.”

“But the York. My people can rebuild it and better. Let me have this assignment and you will have my deathless gratitude.”

“Sir, we will build according to our needs and not yours. Think you’re the only concern in distress? There are many and we shall decide which best profits the realm as a whole.”

As their voices trailed off, she looked over her shoulder to see the well-dressed man with the cane becoming livid and stormed away. The chamberlain shrugged and emptied the hall the other way. Deciding it was not her concern, she walked on.

They ascended another, and smaller, grand staircase of dark wood. Its wooden rails were a riot of detailed reliefs of large and scrolling roses and ivies full of ripening leaves crowding together through the interlacing legs. On the upper floor, the steward led her to one of the galleries. Inside, the muslin curtains danced lightly in front of the opened Frankish doors as the warm summer air breezed in from the stone terrace. “Commander, please wait here. Her Majesty will send for you momentarily.”

“The Privy Council’s in order?”

“In their accustomed slow fashion, yes. Shall I send for a refreshment? A tea, perhaps?”

“No, thank you, Marcus.”

“Very good, Commander. ” He left.

She paced the ornate gallery which proved to be the Stuarts Room. It was warm and soft with amber tones dominating the space. The walls had the color of a bird’s egg white with a touch of bluish-gray. Their space was broken up by bold plant-like patterns of golden earth color outlined by glowing ocher. Everywhere, the paintings hung in their oval or rectangle frames. Atop the dark and sleek furniture were many terracotta busts of children with their small and shy smiles. One painting dominated the room. It was a group portrait set against a wild pastoral background of Scotland. The Stuart family were painted in life-size with the children mobbing the knees of their sitting parents. The Queen looked on in benign amusement while the king with his flowing locks relaxed with crossed legs as he gestured toward the wild nature. In his other hand was a copy of his authorized Book of Common Rites with pages opened to Hesiod’s Theogony, to a section on the Gods’ ancestors, the towering Titans. The affection between the royals was natural and endearing. Their son, Charles, held up a toy aeroplane in the sky, a new rage invented by Leonardo da Vinci in the Second Roman Republic. For some, it was an unnerving omen. This would be the last portrait ever painted of the family. Months later, they all perished in a plane crash in the English Channel on a return flight from Denmark during the harrowing Heliowave Disaster of 584.3.

The Heliowave Disaster was a global catastrophe. Without warning, a solar storm threw off a massive electromagnetic impulse that fried the circuits of newly emergent technology of electronics on earth. Millions died from the fires and failed power and the falling planes. Even the early deaths of the two astronauts in a space capsule orbiting the earth in the fourth such flight of early space exploration. In response, the kings and princes of the world ordered a fresh examination of the new electronics, leading to the hard shielding for the circuits. It also led to a retrogression in which men re-assumed many roles once done by the computers in the system as a way to avoid overdependence on the machinery. This led to a new growth in wages as demand for manlabor rose with violent suddenness.

In its wake, the culture turned away from sleek fads to traditional craftsmanship. Mediated games and entertainment were rejected for older pastimes. Libraries of elegant books with fine binding and lush art filled many shelves. Musical lessons and home concerts rang anew in many homes. Children staged amusing plays for their family and friends in their drawing rooms again. Shared storytelling in front of the hearth at night became popular again. Thousands took up drawing and crafts again. Amateur science was the hobby of gentlemen again, injecting new blood in the development of science. The passion for new and advanced science didn’t die out but the interest grew more measured with a better understanding born of pain. When the Grand Duchy of Muscovy finally recovered the bodies of their space-borne dead, they were given a hero’s burial under the Red Wall of the Kremlin with many princes from the world over in attendance. The doomed men’s last letters were stored deep within the lead-lined cabinet under strict guard for they were giving off a dangerously high level of radiation. In sorrow, men recalled Lord Apollo’s strong advice: “In all things, temperance.” With temperance, man mastered technology and not be mastered by technology.

As the five kingdoms of England mourned, the ash-faced Witenaģemot met again at the White Tower. After much prayers and sacrifices to Lady Hestia in front of her sacred fire, the nobles elected the king’s cousin, Mildred, and her husband as their new co-monarchs.

Such tragedy. Fate.

She turned away from the doomed family to finger the spines of books on the table under their portrait. The Privy Council always took a long time to complete their business and she had best make use of her time. She selected one and scanned the pages. It was a book on garden botany. She grimaced. She wasn’t the best of students on complex science but she decided to try. She sunk deep under the plump cushions of a gilded sofa and tried to read. Already the blocks of text proved dull with an unfamiliar language but it was better than a bored idleness. She soldiered on.

Then she heard a series of many steps echoing the adjoining hallway accompanied by a group of male voices spoken in a soft and urgent manner. “I tell you, Mr. Quaytman, something has to be done. Something. Anything or we face ruin, the lot of us,” one voice said.

“We are the loyal subjects of Her Majesty. Surely, they cannot refuse us their aid once the justice of our case is made clear.”

Her ears peeked up. Hoping for some welcomed distraction she listened, ignoring the feeling of being a nosey girl.

“He’s right,” the third man answered. “Our boys couldn’t have won without our great industry. Our banks and our manufacturing concerns were vital to the war effort.”

“But Sir Walpole’s against us and he has the Queen’s ear,” the fourth man said as their steps grew louder.

The second man breathed deep, “Pray that it is not true but I fear the ruin will be our lot, sirs. The glorious victory has become our destruction.”

“Watch your mouth!” the first man spoke in a harsh tone. “I’ll have none speak ill of our fallen!”

“Have a care, sir,” the second man smoothed. “I speak not of our honored dead but of the living. I have not forgotten the loss of your son.”

“See that you do not, sir.”

“The Gods rest their souls,” the fourth man said.

“Aye,” the third man said. “But it galls you, doesn’t it? Surely, your sacrifice, personally and financially, should have entitled you some greater consideration, Mr. Crowley?”

“Well said, well said!” the second man answered. “Forgive me my clumsy attempt, Mr. Crowley. I only wish to say that success, like fine Parisian cooking, can be too much of a good thing if not done with some care.”

“Wise words from a man who certainly could use some, Mr. Quaytman,” the third man sneered. “And not just your ample belly. Rumors have it that you loaned out some princely sum, some five hundred times your actual capital.”

Quaytman made a nervous chuckle. “Mere rumors! Mere rumors. It’s true, it’s true, that now and then I made a bit of excessive lending, but only on the strictest and the most conservative terms. And even then only by the tiniest fraction to the most creditworthy, and out of a sincere patriotic feeling.”

“Noble sentiments won’t put food into your ample belly. Should enough manufactories fail, many workers will be out of jobs. They’ll need their cash to meet their immediate needs and you’ll be forced to recall those rich ‘patriotic’ loans, the very money now tied up in the idle machinery and unwanted goods collecting dust. You’ll have to write them off. The panic will start once you got nothing, thanks to your ‘patriotic’ recklessness.”

More uneasy chuckles. “Ah! Have a little faith, gentlemen! A little confidence goes a long way to resolve many of our vexations.”

“Faith and confidence are becoming excessively rare commodities these days, sir.”

“Oh, hang it all!” the fourth man cried. “Victory has indeed come dear to all of us. We have invested excessively in foolish expectation of a war lasting decades, not years.”

Crowley answered, “The Bourbons have long been excessive in their imperial ambitions. We have bet our horses on their continuing their schemes but not on their desiring peace so soon.”

Quaytman broke in, “Now, sir, I do believe that we could approach some of my friends on the Lombard Street, at Lloyd’s House, over some coffee. We could secure ourselves new loans.”

The third man scoffed, “I’ve talked to a few of your ‘friends’, Mr. Quaytman. Not enough. Not enough to meet our payroll needs for a few months. Not enough. Not enough. I’d have to fire a goodly number.”

“Same here,” Crowley agreed. “Insulting pittances.”

“Perhaps West Frankia or the German Confederation could be interested in our tools or goods? Or the Song China?” the fourth man asked.

“The Songs are fastidious and insular,” the third man answered. “they would rather make their own than to buy from us.”

“You talked to them?”

“For months without end. The patient bastards. Their terms are outrageous but it matters not. The realm would refuse any sales of ownership interest to the foreigners in a vital industry. We must seek other allies to counter Walpole.”

“Perhaps if we approach the Lords in the Witan?” Mr. Crowley wondered.

“But what of the Commons?” the fourth man pressed. “Perhaps with some consideration-”

“Won’t work,” Mr. Crowley interrupted. “The Commons are sorted by lottery for a two-year term with the limit of two terms at most. And every member is audited at the end of their term by the citizen committee also drawn by the lots. What support we invest in will have to be done every lottery.”

“Oh!” the fourth man cried, “If only that war hadn’t ended. A few more years and all our problems resolved!”

“Speaking of protection, where is that man you have promised, Mr. Quaytman?” the third man asked. “I shall be frank. He is a rather unnerving chap.”

“Oh, perfectly understandable. Perfectly understandable! He does have that effect on many, many people.”

“Can we trust him? We must be sure, Mr. Quaytman.”

“Yes, yes, we can, gentlemen. I have done business with him many, many times before. Secret business on Her Majesty’s behalf.”

Mr. Crowley’s footsteps stopped in a sudden pause. “I’m not sure I like this. Dark works like this disturb me. I prefer things to be aboveboard. I cannot be a part of it.”

The third man asked, “You’ll deny your wife the comforts of home and of the society? I think we speak for all of us that you have suffered enough. Why add to hers? Besides, what harm is it to hear him out?”

Then a deep and powerful voice spoke, “Have no fear, gentlemen. I am sure that you’ll find me an eminently reasonable man.” The sound of his smile had an undercurrent of menace in it. His steps echoed with purposeful force. “And I must commend you on your caution, Mr. Crowley. Very wise of you. Of yours and your wife’s noble sacrifice, England shall not soon forget this. Shall we?”

A sound of footfalls ensued as they entered a chamber across the hallway from Dagny’s. She listened and resumed her reading. The book had a glacial excitement of watching a plant grow second by second. She shut the book with a sigh. There were others who have that patience and understanding, one in particular. A wisp of a smile tugged at her lips. She rose to exit into the warm summer breeze on the stone terrace.

She rested her elbows on the heavy stone parapets and looked out at the woods across the green lawns. The woods held precious things for her. It was a place of temporary safety, a refuge from the darkness within these august halls. She touched her lips and began to caress them. Good things. Secret things. Breathless whispers. Full of plans for the future, a better future apart from the darkness in this ornate manor. Their dreams…

“Commander?”

She stared, jarred out of her repast. Two children were standing close, a little girl and a younger boy with their saucer-like blue eyes studying her with keen interest. It took her a moment to recognize them and she stood at attention and saluted them, “Your Highnesses.”

They nodded with practiced graveness and then they smiled their beguiling smiles.

She smiled back, “How do you do?”

The older princess asked in a shy voice, “Are you really her?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Commander Mark at your command.”

The princess turned to the little prince, “You were right, Alex. It really is her!” She faced her again, “Is it true? That you leaped from that cliff?”

“I – yes. It’s true, Your Highness.”

“Weren’t you scared, sir?”

“I – to be honest, Your Highness, I was too focused on getting to Hannah, that’s the dragon rider, to be thinking about fear. It – it occurred to me later.”

“My goodness, you were brave indeed.”

“Ah, no, Your Highness, a bit reckless as Hannah would describe it.”

“Please, do put yourself at ease, Commander. We would have you relax with us.”

“Thank you, Your Highnesses.”

“Please, Commander, do address us as Helena and my brother, Alex. We would have you as a friend.”

“I – I would be honored, if Her Majesty agrees to this.”

“Well, why wouldn’t our mother agree to this? We both admire you, my brother especially. I think he was much taken with you at your knighting.”

“Why, I’m very flattered, Your Hig – I mean, Alexander.” The boy smiled a shy smile.

“Oh, Commander, do call him ‘Alex’. We all do.”

“Very well, Helena, but do call me ‘Dagny’ if we are to be familiar with each other.”

“Yes, we would like that very much, Dagny. Don’t we, Alex?” Alex nodded a grave nod. “You must forgive him, sir. He’s not what some might call a ‘public figure’. He’s rather reserved. But he’s very nice once he’s made comfortable with you.”

“Yes, very understandable,” she smiled a warm smile at him as she knelt in front of him. Her heart went out to this sweet boy suffering as he did from his disease of bad blood. His blue eyes were so much like his mother’s. “How do you do, Alex?”

“Alex’s very taken with your sword. He would like to examine it.”

“My…sword?” She wasn’t sure it was a good idea, given his illness. Perhaps. She stood up to pull out her sword and wrapped a handkerchief about the blade and kneed again. “Alex, I would have you wear your gloves first.”

“He will,” Helena answered. Alex nodded in understanding and put on his gloves of thick leather which Dagny noticed in relief. She held out her sword and he took it in his hands on the handkerchief and the hilt. His eyes flashed and her heart went out to him. He had a warrior’s blood in him and he would never be allowed near a battle full of sharp edges and bullets. It would forever remain a mere dream for him. His blood was incapable of proper clotting and he would bleed to death if wounded badly.

Helena spoke, “It’s a very beautiful sword, sir. How have you come by it?”

“It’s my mother’s.”

“Oh? She must be very proud of you.”

“I – I’m sure. ”

She frowned, “She does not approve?”

“It has been a while we’ve last seen each other, Helena.”

The prince nodded and handed it back to her with a great dignity. Dagny found that she liked him.

“You simply must tell us all about it. We would learn your history.”

“I would be honored, friends.”

“Oh, there you are, children,” another voice spoke as an older shieldmaiden emerged from the Frankish doors. “You had us worried. It’s past time for your lessons.” She smiled a warm smile at Dagny, “And I see you made your acquaintance with Commander Mark, too.”

“Oh, yes, Captain. She is simply divine. Can’t we stay with her?”

“No, it is the Queen’s wish that you two pursue your studies with Miss Butters. It’s out of my hands, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, very well, Captain, if we must. Come along, Alex. We thank you, Commander, for your kindness. We shall not forget and you simply must visit with us again.”

“I will as you please, Your Highnesses. Good day.”

They left and the women looked at each other and grinned as they embraced as old friends.

“Dagny Mark, as I live, I never thought I would see you again, much less as a Commander and a lady. Shall I address you as Your Ladyship?”

“Heavens, no!” Dagny scoffed. “No. By all the Gods, no. My dear Torunn, that title ill-fits me. I am mere Dagny to those who I love.”

She grinned a broad and lopsided smile, “Oh, come now, Dagny dearest, you well-earned your rank in our society. Do get used to it.”

“Your face…” Dagny remarked as she reached for her left side but hesitated.

She smiled as she touched her face, “Yes. A scar that I picked up in the line of duty. Some sorry bloke had it in his head to try and kill the Queen. Quite mad, I’m afraid.”

“But surely the doctors could – ”

“- could do nothing. Nerve damage, mind you. they could use a skin grate and they did. I do look rather fine for my age as long as I don’t smile much. Rather easy in my assigned task, no?”

“Oh.”

“But Her Majesty has been very good to me and not a day passed that I did not give thanks to the Gods that I married a fine husband who has given me two beautiful children before this curious happenstance.”

“Happenstance! Truly, you are a mistress of understatement. It’s so good to hear this. Now, our happiness is completed.”

Torunn’s lopsided smile grew broader. “Oh, yes, our happiness is completed, indeed. You simply must visit with us, for my children daily have badgered me of my association with the Girl With The Dragonfire Hair.”

“Ah, that name again. I do wish they would use another.”

“It fits you like a glove, dear.”

She fingered her red hair, “A bit too smug, I fear. But Captain, do address me as ‘Commander’ if you must.”

“Commander wears you well. Oi, but it has been ages since you left our sisterhood.”

“The sisterhood. It had been ages.”

“Well, come then. The Guard await you.”

“Me?”

“Piffle! Don’t be this humble, Dagny Mark. They still remember a certain feisty child and now wait to be inspected by one of their own.”

“They serve still?”

She answered by hooking her arm and led her. Dagny resigned with a smile. As they reentered the hallway, the voices of the men resounded from their appointed room. The fifth man was wrapping up the meeting it sounded like. ”…without you, England would not have reached her present happiness. From your yards and your manufactories, our sacred isle projected her power to the farthest reaches of the world. England owes you a debt. Together, the state and the industry, we are strong. You want protection? You shall have it, and not just a relief, but new and larger funds to make you grow again, with patents and licenses to safeguard your positions. And profits will flow easy again. Sirs, this present crisis is but the birth-pains of a new era aborning.”

“But how can we be confident in your turning the Queen’s ear?” Mr. Crowley asked as the men stood up behind the wall.

“Have faith,” the fifth man answered. “I have a plan. A plan whose details I cannot divulge at this moment. But it will deliver all of us to our future happiness but you must do precisely everything I say or we shall be lost.” As Dagny walked, she slowed at this curious turn of phrase. Why did he say this? “Any questions? Good. Be well.”

The door was then opened and the shieldmaidens paused to permit their exit. They nodded to them as they hurried their way out. The fifth man then stood at the threshold to see them off. He had a smile of a cat full of cruel playfulness. His clean-shaved face was pale as if he hadn’t faced the sun for ages but the most striking thing were his eyes under the wolfish brows with color of brown so light as to be almost pure gold. She then understood why the great captains of industry could find him unnerving. The tall man nodded at the girls before retreating behind the shutting door.

As she wondered at those strange words she overheard, Torunn enthused, “Come, Dagny dearest! Let’s wiggle on! The girls await!”

As she was being led away, she wondered again at this strange man but decided that they were of no concern to her. Business and finance were such a dull subject anyway. Then she wondered why her stomach felt uneasy.