Chenda and the Airship Brofman (44 page)

“Agent Dulal, please have a seat.” He gestured to one of the pair of leather seats facing the desk. “And you as well, Mrs. Frost.”

Chenda sat, confused. She stared at Fenimore.
Agent
Dulal?

“Thank you for having us bring you in, Agent. What do you have to report?”

Chenda interrupted. “YOU are a SPY?”

Fenimore looked apologetically at Chenda. “For about 15 more minutes, yes.” He turned his attention back to the man behind the desk.

“Verdu is in the Tugrulian Empire working with the Resistance toward the liberation of the people though a combination of theological grass roots networking and an exposure of the agricultural suppression conspiracy. I can confirm any rumors you may have heard about the destruction of the Dia Orella, and the mass executions of supporters of the Resistance.”

The man with the silver mustache probed further. “What about this savior figure, I get reports about? Some Praw – mook?”

“It's real. A powerful figure. The Pramuc is nonpolitical -- not interested in the Republic, only the starving people of the Empire. The Resistance has rallied around the Pramuc, and Resistance will be keeping the heirarchy busy for awhile.”

“Can you give us any description?”

“No,” Fenimore said. “Look. Verdu is there. The groundwork is laid. At best, the Tugrulian leadership will be kept busy for the next ten years weeding out the Resistance and trying to neutralize this Pramuc character. At worst, the society collapses over there, and the tribes of the East go back to fighting among one another again over resources they just doesn't have. Either way, the best thing you can do is send seeds. Fuel the reemergence of surface agriculture there, and it will help the Republic.” Fenimore paused, taking a long look at the man across the desk. “Now, I've done what we agreed to. So, I'm finished.”

“And I'll let you think that for now, but Mrs. Frost here has a few actions to answer for. Let's start with some things about your husband's death.”

Chenda tightened her lips. “Who's Mrs. Frost? I hear she died in a fire.”

“Please, let's not play games....”

Chenda stood. “Oh, I'm not playing any games. And I'm done with answering questions. I'm done being bullied into owing people favors. I'm done with people telling me where to go and what to do.” She picked up a paperclip from the edge of the desk in front of her, and she flipped it over and over in her fingers. Chenda's voice turned angry. “Spies, lies and riddles. Is that what this Republic has devolved to? Who are you anyway?” She thought about it for a moment and said, “Never mind, I don't care.”

“Fen!” Her anger towards Fenimore crackled in her voice as she called him. “You are walking out of here with me.”

Fenimore stood and walked to the door with Chenda. The man with the silver mustache yelled, “Hey, we're not finished here! Someone has to explain the dead body in the Frost mansion!”

Chenda whirled around, raising her hand. Sparks flew from the paperclip between her fingers. “The MAN whose body burned there was Daniel Frent. He died trying to kill Chenda Frost. I suggest you leave her alone, or you might just end up the same way.” Chenda drizzled her power into a thin, flaming line that slowly circled around the room. “Now, do you want to challenge me?”

The man froze, watching the tongue of flame stop just inches from the end of his nose.

“We won't be seeing you again,” Chenda said as she pulled her power back in. “Not me, not him. And don't even think of approaching anyone from the
Brofman
.” Fenimore opened the office door and they walked out the way they had come in.

When they got to the street, Chenda grabbed Fenimore's elbow and started screaming her thoughts at him.

HOW COULD YOU BE A SPY! GODS! I FEEL LIKE YOU LIED TO ME!
Chenda turned, made a fist, and punched Fenimore in the chest.

“OW!” Fenimore said. “That hurt a little.”

“I am so tempted to set you on FIRE right now, Fenimore, don't tease me.”

“Can I explain?” Fear crept into his eyes. Chenda fumed, but her resolve was crumbling. The way she felt about Fenimore, there was little chance she could shut him out.

“You can try,” she said in a very warning tone.

“Remember the story I told you about how I came to the
Brofman
? About the pub fight I got into that put my school chum in a coma? Robert was his name, by the way. Like I said, I was sent to jail for that.”

“A year, you said.” Chenda glared at him. “Go on.”

“Well, I was sentenced to 15 years. When that guy with the mustache came to me, and said he could fix it that I could get out after only a year, I made a deal. I became a watcher for the Republic. A spy. I thought I was a patriot. I wanted to make my amends to Robert by serving.”

“Is that what Verdu meant about a deal with the devil?” she asked.

“Yes, Verdu knew all about my deal with the Republic. For a time, he helped me find information to pass on. He believed, as I did, the Republic was looking to help ease the suffering of the Tugrulian people. But the more I gave, the more they wanted. And the more I realized that the great Republic was really pretty shallow.

“My primary purpose, in the end, was to make sure the Empire was in
no
position to change. The balance between East and West, as far as the Republic is concerned, needs to stay frozen. For all we claim to be -- the moral and cultural leaders of the world -- we're still rather weak and petty.”

He sighed. “That may be the most important fact that I uncovered as a Kiter spy. I guess that makes me just as shallow. I was willing to keep a nation of people oppressed and in starvation rather than go back to prison.”

He looked at Chenda, “I'm sorry. I wish I could have told you. I never wanted to lie.”

Chenda tucked her chin to her chest and bit her lip. “It's like a disease, this spying. It's infected so many around me. Edison was a spy, and so was my father.”

Without looking, she held her hand out to Fenimore. He clasped it like a life preserver.

This isn't right. What the Republic is doing, we can't let it go on. You want to make amends? You want to get this situation back to right? We're going to go make that happen. You and me.

“
How?” Fenimore asked, hopeful now for the first time.

“We'll just have to figure that out as we go,” she said, her voice full of forgiveness.

“I'm sorry. I'm never going to keep anything from you again. I am such a fool to annoy the woman I love, especially when she can boil my liver from across the room.”

“I love you too much,” she said. 

“I don't want to put you in any more danger,” Fenimore said.

Chenda turned to him with a genuine smile. Her face had lost every trace of doubt, and, to Fenimore, she seemed somehow older. “Don't worry,” she said. “I know who I am, and I can take care of myself.”

Epilogue

Sitting in the rich mahogany study of the Law Offices of Abugado, Odvjetnik and Rechtsanwalt, Chenda relaxed. Lyle Abugado, on the other hand, was nearing panic. The old man was continually wringing his small, papery hands and tottering thoughtfully as he paced behind his desk, racking his brains for a solution.

He looked at Chenda sheepishly through his gold rimmed reading glasses. “Things get messy when people die,” he said. “We at A,O & R have had many cases where members of the
family
have contested a will, but” he waved a hand at Chenda, “never the
deceased
, however. The cash money has already been dispersed, and the property, it's already under contract to be sold. This is a mess that will take some time to work out.”

“I'm not worried about the money,” she said. “Really, I want the nuns of St Elgin to have it. And the land, I don't have any need for that, either.”

“What would you like me to do?” Lyle asked, rubbing the white fuzz on the top of his head.

“I would like you to act as my representative here in the Republic. I am going to be gone for some time, and I would like you to manage a few... transactions for me.”

She stood up and laid a small bag on the table. When she tipped it over, the glittering gemstones Chenda had clipped off her Tugrulian gown spilled out onto the table. “Please arrange for these to be sold. Open an account with that money for a Mr. and Mrs. Fenimore Dulal at my bank. Please make one Dr. Candice Mortimer a signatory on the account, as well as yourself.”

She handed several numbered letters to Lyle. “Keep these for me. I will contact you from time to time with instructions.”

“Lastly,” she said, “I just need you to keep my life a secret. I am happy to stay legally dead.”

“You can count on me,” he said. “I'll do all I can to help you. You Frosts have been faithful clients now for, well, more than a dozen years. I still feel bad about executing your last will and testament when you were actually still alive. That may be the worst transgression of my lengthy career.”

Chuckling, Chenda turned away from the desk and Lyle walked her to the door. “Do you usually check the corpses of your clients personally? Or is the professional standard still a signed death certificate?”

“I usually believe the coroner,” he confessed. “In your case, I'll be more thorough from now on.” He smiled as he shook her hand.

In the reception area, Fenimore was waiting for Chenda. He held a large paper bundle under one arm. Chenda eyed the package questioningly.

“Oh, a wedding present,” he said. “Darling, we need to get going, or we will miss our own wedding. The
Brofman
has a schedule to keep, you know.”

“What are we waiting for?” Chenda said, pulling Fenimore out of the law office and onto the street. The couple raced through town, dodging trolleys and pedestrians. Out of breath, they rode the elegant elevators to the airship piers at the top of Terminal Station.

Chenda wasn't sure if she was more excited about marrying Fenimore, or becoming a part of the crew of the
Brofman
. In some respects, she felt like she was marrying the airship.

Captain Endicott met them at the railing. “Cutting it pretty fine, Dulal.” He wagged a finger at his first officer. He kissed Chenda lightly on the cheek in greeting. “What was I thinking, allowing a woman on my crew?” he teased. “Well, welcome home.”

“Thank you!” Chenda replied. “We're just going to take our things below, and we'll be right back.”

Chenda flitted down the stairs to the crew quarters and found Fenimore unwrapping the paper package. He pulled out a new creamy white flight coat, and a matching pair of aeronaut boots. “From Lillianthal's,” he said.

“What a lovely wedding gift!” she crooned as she pulled on the soft lambswool flight coat. Fenimore helped her with the buckles and straps. “This is like the day we first met,” he whispered, his hands lingering on her body. “Well, with less bruising and more kissing, but you know what I mean.”

She put on the new boots, and stepped back so he could take a better look. “The most beautiful bride in the history of forever,” he said. “But wait! There's more!” With a great flourish, he pulled out a stubby pencil. “Ta-da!”

“Oh,” Chenda said, not knowing what to make of it.

Fenimore smiled and pulled Chenda over to the row of cupboards, stopping in front of the only door without a name.

“What do you think?” he asked, handing her the pencil. “Should we write 'Mrs. Dulal', or 'Pramuc'?”

She snorted as she grabbed the pencil and quickly wrote
CHENDA
on the door in small, solid letters.

“No matter where I go, or who I marry, or what gifts the gods give me, I am always going to be Chenda.” She kissed Fenimore and said, “Let's not keep the captain waiting.”

They ran up the stairs and into the bright sunshine where Captain Endicott waited in the bow of the airship. “Finally,” he said with a barking laugh. He whistled loudly and the members of the crew of the
Brofman
, ragged misfits all, gathered around Chenda and Fenimore.

The happy couple laced their fingers together as they turned their attention to the ceremony. “Dearly Beloved,” the captain began as the airship gently floated away from Terminal Station toward the east.

THE END (for now)

Acknowledgments

I would be a complete fool if I didn't thank some folks for helping me. I find it to be true in life that nothing can be done alone.

First, I am eternally grateful to Patricia Early for inventing Henrietta Hoppingood, and then giving me this orphan character to play with. I didn't make her the star of my book, but like Patricia, she is the very best friend a middle aged armchair academic could have. Love you, BFF.

My husband is a trooper to put up with the kids while I locked myself in the basement to write. All. Night. Long. For weeks. Never has there been a better man than you, baby. Thanks for giving me Elly and Sara.