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CHAPTER FIVE

The week went by quickly. Each day began with extensive behind-door meetings between various groups of Manticorans and Andermani. Each afternoon ended with joint statements that were heavy on praise and mutual compliments and light on anything substantive. Each evening was filled with media and social net reaction and speculation about the statements and the closed doors.

Travis spent very little time reading, listening, or considering any of it. He and Lisa had a wedding to plan, and even with her shouldering most of the burden the whole thing sometimes seemed on the verge of collapsing under its own weight.

And then Thursday came, and with it the devastating news.

He didn’t tell Lisa. He didn’t dare. There would be time afterward for that.

And suddenly, it was Saturday.

The caterers were prepared. The flowers were all there. Captain Marcello’s home was spotless. The guests arrived on time and matched the number of chairs that had been set out for them. The cake arrived three minutes late, but forty minutes before it was needed. Travis fit perfectly into his dress uniform, and for all the worry hanging over him didn’t stumble over any of his lines.

Lisa, as he’d fully expected, was radiant.

And suddenly, it was over. The vows were spoken, the I-dos were said, the minister gave the pronouncement.

And Travis had was married to his greatest love and his best and closest friend.

The wife and friend whom he would soon be leaving.

* * *

“Chief Townsend?”

Hell. Taking a deep breath, turning on his best unconcerned smile, Chomps turned around. “Admiral Basaltberg,” he greeted the other, nodding his head politely. “Please forgive my lack of a proper salute.” He hefted his cup of punch and his small plate of wedding cake.

“Quite understandable,” Basaltberg said dryly, holding up his own plate and cup. “An interesting ceremony. Was this typical of Manticoran weddings?”

“Pretty much, Sir,” Chomps said. “Travis and Lisa wrote their own vows, so that part would be different with different couples. But the basics are all there. I take it your weddings are different?”

“Considerably.” Basaltberg glanced around the milling crowd of guests, nodded toward an unoccupied corner. “If I may have a moment of your time?”

“Certainly, Sir,” Chomps said, suppressing a wince. Lady Calvingdell had made it as clear as hard vacuum that he was to stay as far away from Basaltberg and the other Andermani as he possibly could.

And for most of the week he’d done exactly that. He’d started with the shoreline, worked his way inland, and had spent the last day in a little resort hotel at the edge of the forest. Saturday had arrived, and with it Travis’s and Lisa’s wedding, and he’d sneaked back into Landing with the intent of spending no more than two hours before returning to his exile.

So, of course, Basaltberg had somehow wheedled himself an invitation to that exact same event. And not only had he recognized Chomps, but he’d now asked for a private conversation, and Chomps really had no polite way to get out of it.

And he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t my fault wasn’t an explanation Calvingdell would be impressed by. The faster and cleaner he could extricate himself from Basaltberg and hightail it back out of town, the better.

Basaltberg led the way to the corner and turned to face him. “I presume you’ve heard,” he said, lowering his voice, “that Emperor Gustav has requested a reciprocal visit by your diplomats, whom he wished to accompany me back to the Empire. I presume you’ve also heard that Lieutenant Commander Long was specifically named in that invitation.”

Chomps hesitated. Normally, there was no way in hell that a mere Senior Chief would be privy to information that sensitive. As far as he knew, even Lisa hadn’t been told, and he was pretty sure Travis was sweating bullets over that reveal.

But as one of Lady Calvingdell’s charter Delphi members, he knew all sorts of things he shouldn’t.

In this case, in fact, he and Calvingdell had had an hour-long screen trying to figure out a way to get Chomps added to the naval side of this diplomatic mission. Unfortunately, Locatelli had been less than supportive.

Officially that was because Basaltberg knew all about Chomps’s intelligence activities and sticking the Andermani with a known spy would be tactless. In actual fact, Chomps suspected, it was simply fallout from the tension between Delphi and ONI.

In Chomps’s opinion, that was a spectacularly stupid reason. But Calvingdell had reluctantly abandoned the effort once it became obvious they weren’t going to succeed.

Not that the concerns about the Andermani knowing he was a spy didn’t have some basis in fact, of course. Basaltberg the admiral undoubtedly knew what an NCO like Chomps would and wouldn’t know. Basaltberg the Andermani admiral, on the other hand, who had access to all the detailed intel their people routinely dug up, very likely knew more about Manticoran intelligence than he ought to.

For that matter, he might even suspect Delphi’s existence. Certainly the Empire would have a feel for ONI, and there’d been enough conversations with the Manticoran brass over the past few days that Basaltberg could have concluded ONI hadn’t improved since the last time the Andermani had taken a look at them. Chomps and Travis had been making up a lot of the Silesian thing as they went along, but Basaltberg might easily have spotted the differences between them and the hidebound admirals in ONI and suspected there was a new kid in town. “Yes, Sir, I’d heard that,” he said.

“I had hoped Casey would be the escort ship to that delegation, as an example to my emperor of Manticoran military innovation,” Basaltberg continued without the slightest hint of surprise at Chomps’s answer. “Unfortunately, it seems Casey will be in space dock for another two to three months.”

“We aren’t nearly as familiar with the effects of long-term voyages as you are, Sir,” Chomps explained. “Casey spent a lot of time in Silesia, and they want to examine every cubic centimeter of her to make sure there was no structural damage or equipment degradation we need to know about for future construction.”

“So I was also told.” Basaltberg raised his eyebrows. “Though of course the fact that Casey also has a superb set of electronic surveillance equipment…?”

Chomps winced to himself. Once again, the existence of Casey’s high-tech spy equipment was supposed to be a secret. Once again, Basaltberg clearly knew all about it. “I was under the impression, Sir, that our people weren’t going to let your people get close enough to see all that.”

Basaltberg shrugged. “Some of the equipment is obvious even at a distance.”

“I suppose so. As to sending her to the Empire, Sir, I imagine it would be considered impolite to park something like that in a friendly back yard.”

Basaltberg chuckled, the lines around his eyes creasing with his smile. “So it would. Once again, I appreciate your discretion, Chief, as well as the discretion of your superiors.”

“We’d hate to begin our relationship with the Andermani Empire on a sour note,” Chomps agreed, daring to smile back. If Travis saw Andermani military skill as the RMN’s goal, the casual competence of Andermani Intelligence should likewise be Delphi’s.

“I presume you’re familiar with our host,” Basaltberg continued, his face settling back into serious lines. “Tell me, what’s your opinion of him?”

“Captain Marcello?” Chomps shrugged slightly. “From everything I’ve heard, he’s a highly competent commander. Commander Donnelly Long has served aboard Damocles for a number of years and has always spoken highly of him.”

“That was my impression, as well,” Basaltberg said. “Though of course a few moments of conversation at a wedding reception is hardly definitive proof of a man’s character and abilities. I understand he and his ship were instrumental in the joint action with Haven that eliminated the Volsung forces who eluded us at Walther.”

“Yes, they were,” Chomps said, deciding to gloss over the fact that whoever was behind that operation had managed to snogger pretty much everyone in sight, from the Havenites to the Manticorans to the Volsungs themselves. He’d read Marcello’s report, and the Havenites’, and had heard Lisa’s impressions of that whole incident, and he still hadn’t figured it all out.

“Excellent,” Basaltberg said. “I’m certain my Emperor would be interested in hearing his description of that battle.”

“I’m sure Captain Marcello would be honored to be invited to meet Emperor Gustav,” Chomps agreed, his mind kicking into high gear. If Marcello was allowed a small entourage—and if Chomps could get himself assigned to that group—Calvingdell might yet be able to sneak him aboard the expedition.

“Excellent,” Basaltberg said again. “I take it there would be no problem with a ship of Damocles’s size making such a journey.”

Chomps blinked. “You want—you mean, the whole ship?”

“Why not?” Basaltberg asked. “Would your queen be reluctant to lose its service for such a length of time.”

“No, Sir, not at all,” Chomps assured him hastily. “It’s just…a hundred-year-old Solarian-built destroyer is hardly representative of the Royal Manticoran Navy.”

“Ships are only part of the story,” Basaltberg said. “It’s the men and women who form the true heart and soul of any navy. Between Commander Long and Captain Marcello and his officers I believe we would have an excellent representation of the Star Kingdom to present to my Emperor.” He raised his eyebrows, just slightly.

Chomps frowned. There was something going on here, something he could sense but couldn’t quite get a handle on.

Especially with the way Basaltberg was working those eyebrows. Was this another of his tests? Was Chomps supposed to know something, or understand something, or maybe read something between the lines?

Captain Marcello. Captain Marcello and his officers.

And then, finally, he got it.

“Absolutely, Sir,” he said. “I’ll be certain to make that recommendation to my superiors.” He hesitated. “And if I may be so bold, Sir, may I say on a personal level that I very much appreciate your understanding and compassion.”

“I thank you in turn.” Basaltberg gave a little shrug. “To be honest, Senior Chief, some of my colleagues find me too much a sentimentalist.”

“Again with your permission, Sir, I would disagree with the implied slight of that assessment. I’ve always found that a degree of sentiment, combined with logic, reason, and judgment, make the perfect combination for true leadership.”

“I would agree,” Basaltberg said. “Just as justice and mercy should always be present in some combination, with neither aspect ever completely sacrificed for the other.” He gestured toward Marcello. “So. You will make this happen?”

Chomps smiled. And this one was definitely a test. Basaltberg wanted to see just how much pull and influence Manticoran Intelligence had over Manticoran politics and the Manticoran military.

Actually, Chomps had no idea how far Calvingdell’s and Delphi’s reach really extended into either. But for this one, he was willing to move as much dirt and heaven as he could.

Because if Basaltberg’s mix of logic and sentiment could find a way to keep Travis and Lisa from having to spend their first year of married life apart, far be it from him to stand in the admiral’s way.

* * *

“Senior Chief Townsend,” Lady Calvingdell growled, her voice stiff and painfully formal as it came from Chomps’s uni-link, “the powers that be are not happy with you. They are not happy at all.”

Chomps clamped his teeth together. “I really don’t see the problem, My Lady,” he said, matching her tone. Deference be damned—for once, on this one he was in the right. “No one who doesn’t already know about us is even going to notice this, let alone think twice about it. And it’s sure as hell not like we’re fooling the Andermani.”

“The problem is proper chain of command,” Calvingdell bit out. “You made the suggestion to me. Fine. But then, while I’m busy working Dapplelake and Cazenestro, you jump the line and go straight to Winterfall.”

Chomps clenched his teeth a little harder. If there was one thing the Navy had drummed into him, it was the whole chain of command thing. And he had tried.

Only it hadn’t been working. The Andermani visit was winding down, Calvingdell didn’t seem to be getting any traction with the upper brass, and Travis and Lisa were in danger of spending their first year at opposite ends of the universe.

And Winterfall was right there.

“Winterfall is Travis’s brother, and I’m a concerned friend with a clever idea,” Chomps said. “That’s all Winterfall heard. That’s all anyone else will hear. There’s no way this is going to raise a single eyebrow. Especially since Basaltberg is already on board with it.”

“Yes, and whose doing is that?” Calvingdell asked coldly. “What part of low profile did you miss?”

“I tell you, Basaltberg already knew,” Chomps insisted.

“Obviously. He got that in Silesia.”

“I mean my part,” Chomps said. “The fact that I’m some flavor of Manticoran Intelligence. All he got in Silesia was Travis’s part.”

“Which of course does him no good, now that Long’s gone back into the Navy,” Calvingdell said. “Basaltberg needed a new name and face to connect to us. Now he’s got yours. Welcome to the world of people who play the long game.”

Chomps frowned at his uni-link. For someone in Delphi to have even a tentative personal relationship with a foreign officer of Basaltberg’s status should be seen as a major coup. Why in hell was she so mad about that?

And then, suddenly, it clicked. For someone in Delphi

This wasn’t Calvingdell’s anger raining down on him. It was ONI’s. The hidebound admirals were jealous that the upstart had scored yet another point in this one-upmanship game they’d insisted on playing, and were scraping up whatever charges or mistakes they could find to try to take away some of the shine.

And the vehemence of Calvingdell’s tirade strongly suggested that one of ONI’s people was standing right there with her. Time for Chomps to key it back a notch.

“Well, it’s not like the Andermani are going to be visiting us once a week,” he muttered, trying to sound suitably chastened.

“That’s sort of the definition of the long game.” The uni-com hissed with a sigh. “Damn it, Townsend. I told you to stay away from Landing, and you disobeyed a direct order. I have no choice.”

A tingle ran up Chomps’s back. “My Lady?” he asked carefully.

“Starting immediately,” Calvingdell said, her tone somehow going even more stiff and formal, “you’re no longer a part of the Special Intelligence Service. All privileges and responsibilities thereof and thereto are revoked and cancelled.”

Chomps stared at the uni-link. “My Lady—” He broke off, his brain frozen beyond the possibility of coherent speech. He’d been fired? For going to a friend’s wedding? “Can I at least appeal?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll see.”

Chomps took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly. “So…I’m going back into the Navy?”

Actually, now that he said it aloud it didn’t sound so bad. Travis was back in, after all. Maybe they’d even serve together again someday.

“I don’t know that, either,” Calvingdell said. “You certainly won’t be going back in immediately. I’ve talked to BuPers, and right now they don’t have a berth for you.”

“They don’t have room for a senior chief?” Chomps demanded. “That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s reality,” Calvingdell said. “Remember all the enlistments in the wake of the Volsung invasion? There you go. The point is that until they find something you’re on extended leave.”

“Exactly how extended a leave are we talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Calvingdell said, some of her formality cracking a little. “I’m sorry about this, Townsend. I really am. But we have to deal with the Cabinet and ONI, and the Navy has bureaucracy, and you unfortunately have been caught in the middle.”

“Yes, My Lady,” Chomps said.

And as his brain began to unfreeze he started to see the sheer depth of the mud he was standing in.

His apartment was chartered to Delphi, which he was no longer part of, while the bachelor barracks in Landing were reserved for fully active personnel, which he also wasn’t. In a single minute, he’d gone from a man straddling both the Intel and Navy branches of government to someone who’d fallen off both of them.

“Listen, I’ve spoken to a couple I know in Serisburg Duchy—Ralph and Eileen Lassaline,” Calvingdell continued. “They run a little country inn called the Three Corners, and their daughter Terry’s a sheriff’s deputy there. The Lassalines are doing some renovation and could use an extra hand. If you’re willing to help out when and where they need you, they’ve agreed to give you room and board until we get this straightened out.”

Chomps scowled at the uni-link. So this was what he’d come to? Hired muscle? Seriously?

“Your other choice is to go back to Sphinx while you wait,” Calvingdell added. “Though without knowing when you might get a hearing or assignment…” She left the sentence unfinished.

“I understand, My Lady,” Chomps said with a sigh. Yes, hired muscle was indeed what he’d come to. At least if he hoped to salvage some shred of his career. “Can you send me their contact information?”

“I’ll send their address and directions,” Calvingdell said. “They already know to expect you.”

“Ah,” Chomps said. Which meant Calvingdell had known from the start he’d take the job. Typical. “I’ll head out as soon as I’ve packed up my apartment.”

“No, you’ll stay put right where you are,” Calvingdell corrected tartly. “You’re supposed to stay out of Landing, remember? Your current hotel room is already paid for, so you can stay there. Once the Andermani are gone you can put your belongings into storage and head out to Serisburg.”

For a fraction of a second Chomps considered reminding her that he was no longer in her employ, and therefore didn’t have to give a damn about what she might want him to do.

But if he hadn’t killed his career already, a comment like that would definitely do it. “Yes, My Lady,” he said instead. “Any idea when that might be?”

“Probably another couple of weeks,” Calvingdell said. “I’m sure you’ll hear about their departure on the news.”

Chomps sighed. In other words, she wasn’t even promising to personally let him know when it was safe to go home. Backpedaling from him for all she was worth.

“Have fun in Serisburg,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.” The connection clicked off.

For a long moment Chomps just stared out his hotel room window, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Calvingdell and the Navy had simultaneously decided they didn’t want him. The only people on Manticore who did want him only wanted him for his Sphinxian build, and were furthermore way the hell over in Serisburg.

If Chomps had tried to get someone as far out of sight and mind as possible, this was really close to how he would have done it.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than just everyone being mad at him.

Maybe it was all a grand conspiracy. Or maybe someone had simply lost a bet or had their debt slate cleared.

He muttered a word he hadn’t used since he was a teenager. Damn Manticoran politics, anyway.

There was a knock on the door. Frowning, he crossed the room and opened the door.

“Senior Chief,” Flora Taylor greeted him calmly. Without waiting for an invitation she slipped past him into the room, deftly maneuvering her shoulder-slung messenger bag around her back to avoid brushing his bulk. “Enjoying your holiday?”

“Hardly,” Chomps said, frowning again as he closed the door behind her. “Holidays are where you’re supposed to be having fun.”

“Or just resting from your daily labors,” she said, walking to the table and sitting down on one of the two chairs. “I trust I’m not intruding?”

Chomps took a moment to glance studiously around the room. “No, I seem to be free at the moment,” he said. “The boss send you?”

Lady Calvingdell doesn’t command my off hours,” Flora said with the standard disapproving temperature drop on Calvingdell’s name. “That being said, she did mention that you might want to talk.”

“About my sudden and completely unwarranted exile?”

“Sudden, perhaps,” Flora agreed. “But unwarranted?” She gave a little shrug. “But no, the topic today isn’t exile. It’s politics.”

“In that case, I hope you brought a bottle in that satchel,” Chomps muttered.

And to his complete surprise, and Flora’s clear amusement, she pulled a bottle of whiskey out of her messenger bag. “That’s what Lady Calvingdell likes about you, Senior Chief. You somehow manage to stay one step ahead of everyone.”

“Sometimes apparently even ahead of myself,” Chomps managed. What the hell was going on?

“Indeed,” Flora said. “Grab a couple of glasses, will you? We need to talk about your little Serisburg exile.”

* * *

Two weeks of pomp, conversation, banquets, and official announcements later—and with an only marginally more relaxed closing ceremony than the one that had opened the Andermani visit in the first place—the four ships were in space.

Winterfall was sitting beside the viewport of his cabin aboard the Manticoran courier ship Diactoros, gazing back at the glowing spot that was Manticore A, when his door alert pinged. “Come,” he called, his voice-print order unlocking the hatch. It swung open, and he turned to see Travis step in from the passageway. “Travis,” he greeted his half-brother.

“Gavin,” Travis said, nodding in return as his eyes flicked across the room, taking in Winterfall’s position and posture. “You know, your viewscreen can give you a much better view.”

“So I was told,” Winterfall said. “But I was also told they have automatic color correction. I was wondering if Manticore A’s light would get visibly redder as we sped up.”

“Afraid not,” Travis said. “We’re not going to get much past nine percent of lightspeed before we make the translation.”

“Yes, that was the number I came up with, too,” Winterfall said, nodding. “Still thought it might be interesting. What can I do for you?”

“I just came to tell you Admiral Basaltberg has invited the two of us and Captain Marcello to Zhong Kui tonight for dinner,” Travis said. His tone was polite, without any friendship or animosity that Winterfall could detect. “Shuttle One leaves at eighteen hundred hours.”

“Thank you,” Winterfall said.

Travis nodded and turned back to the hatchway. He started to step through— “Travis?” Winterfall called.

Travis stopped and turned back. “Yes?”

For a moment Winterfall gazed at his brother, words that he wanted to say tumbling around each other in his brain. But Travis was still just looking at him, calm and official and uncurious.

An RMN officer. Not a brother.

“I wondered if Lisa was coming to dinner with us,” Winterfall improvised.

“Not this time,” Travis said. For a second it looked like he might actually smile, but the moment passed and there was nothing. “Someone has to keep Damocles flying.”

“Of course,” Winterfall said, quietly giving up. “Right. I’ll be at the shuttle at eighteen hundred.”

“See you then.” With a nod, Travis turned again and left, closing the hatch behind him.

Winterfall turned back to the viewport, feeling a sudden fresh flow of weariness. He didn’t know why he’d ever thought Travis would warm to him in the first place. Not after the way Winterfall had always treated his younger brother. And now they had four long months of travel ahead of them before they even reached the Andermani Empire.

Still, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. They had time, and they were all cooped up together with the other three members of Winterfall’s hastily assembled diplomatic team. Maybe he could find a way to break through the barriers, to find some way to reach out to Travis before they were sealed in this indifference forever.

It was only much later that it occurred to him that Travis could just as easily have screened him with the dinner invitation instead of coming by in person.

* * *

Based on the Three Corners Inn’s location and rustic name, Chomps had formed an instant mental image of the place, an image he hadn’t bothered to check against available pictures. As a result, he found himself surprised to find a small but modern hotel nestled at a T-junction of two old-time roads, one of which wended its way along the edge of the deep forest running down the middle of Serisburg Duchy, the other of which headed at right angles into the forest’s interior.

Both roads dated to before air cars were the norm, and were now host to tufts of grass and the occasional small bush. But they were still there, a tribute to the people who’d built them and to the economic inefficiency of tearing them out.

He set his air car down in the landing area behind the inn, making sure it was well clear of the two other air cars and four ground cars already parked there. He didn’t take vacations very often, but his limited experience suggested that other vacationers tended to drink more on the road than they probably did in their everyday lives, with a higher probability of bumping hard objects into other people’s vehicles as they tried to get to their own. Leaving his carrybags in the trunk, he headed inside.

A middle-aged woman was sitting behind the front desk, a pleasantly welcoming expression on her face as Chomps stepped inside. “Hello,” Chomps said, nodding a greeting. “I’m Charles Townsend. My—” former boss “—friend Lady Calvingdell sent me.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Townsend,” the woman said, her smile going a little wider as she stood up. “I’m Eileen Lassaline, co-owner of the Three Corners Inn. Welcome to the absolute best part of Serisburg Duchy.”

“Thank you,” Chomps said, smiling back in spite of his lingering grump at what Calvingdell had done to him. The sheer enthusiasm, even surrounding a clearly canned speech, was infectious. “I was told I could help out around here in return for room and board for a while?”

“Yes, indeed,” Eileen said, her eyes flicking up and down his body. “We’ve been trying to do some work on the east wing, and Ralph isn’t strong enough to do all the heavy lifting himself.” Her nose wrinkled. “And I’m not much help—injured my right shoulder as a teen and don’t have a lot of flexibility in that arm.”

“I’ll be delighted to help in any way I can,” Chomps said. “Do you want me to start now, or do I have time to bring in my bags first?”

Eileen laughed. “Oh heavens, Mr. Townsend. No, you have plenty of time to bring in your bags. And to settle into your room and to have dinner and to have a nice evening watching the sun go down. We’re not quite so frantic out here as you are in Landing.”

“Ah.” From the direction of the parking lot came the faint sound of an air car setting down. “You certainly have the location for not being frantic. You get mostly hikers and birdwatchers here, I assume?”

“Mostly,” Eileen said. “The duke forbade hunting in this part of Drobne Forest, so it’s been a nice tourist area.” Her nose wrinkled again, this time in a more ominous way. “Though now that we’re part of the Queen’s Lands, I don’t know if that’ll hold up. Lord knows there are a lot of game animals in Drobne, and a lot of people who like to catch their own dinner.”

“I don’t see why Queen Elizabeth would change the land usage regulations just because it’s her property now,” Chomps said.

“I doubt the queen herself has much to do with the matter,” Eileen said sourly. “Probably some minor lord or bureaucrat who oversees her lands for her.”

“And who dreams of being a major lord?”

“Or a wealthy retired bureaucrat,” Eileen said. “Especially what with the queen’s new child and the Andermani—” she broke off, peering closely at Chomps. “Did you see them? The Andermani, I mean. Did you get to see any of them?”

“Yes, I saw a couple,” Chomps said carefully. “I think so, anyway. They’re really not any different from the rest of us.” On the back of his neck he felt the subtle change in air pressure as someone opened the door.

“I suppose,” Eileen said. “They talk funny, though, right?”

“It’s called German, Mom,” a pleasant alto voice came from behind him. “You must be Townsend.”

“And you must be Terry,” Chomps said, turning around.

He’d already noted that her voice was pleasant. Now, he saw, the rest of her was a pretty nice package, too. Terry Lassaline was taller than her mother, and chunkier, though she carried the extra weight well. She was dressed in a brown sheriff deputy’s uniform, a silver star glinting on her upper chest, a hefty-sized handgun holstered at her waist on a Sam Browne belt. Her eyes flicked over him like her mother’s had a moment ago, but Chomps could sense Terry’s assessment went deeper than just the surface, with the full weight of law enforcement experience behind it.

And that weight didn’t end at her eyes. “That’s Deputy Lassaline,” she corrected him tartly.

“Terry!” Eileen said, sounding mildly scandalized. “Mr. Townsend is our guest.”

“Everyone here is a guest,” Terry countered. “You want them all pretending I’m their good friend?”

“No, Deputy Lassaline is right,” Chomps interjected before Eileen could object further. “I know a little something about respect for the uniform and the one who wears it. My apologies, Deputy.”

“Accepted,” Terry said. “Welcome to Three Corners, Mr. Townsend. Dad can definitely use the help.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Chomps said. “So what are things like out here, law enforcement-wise?”

“Why, you looking to start a crime spree?” Terry asked. “Because I really wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Chomps hastened to assure her. Flora had vouched for Terry as a law enforcement officer, and the lady certainly seemed to fit the part. Unfortunately, there was really only one way to test someone’s abilities in the event that push came to shove. “I just thought I’d let you know that I dealt with a lot of drunk-and-disorderlies when I was in the Navy, and I’m available if you should want any help.”

“Awfully generous of you,” Terry said, the temperature in her voice dropping a few degrees. “This may surprise you, but we have a fully functional legal system out here, including a sheriff and two other deputies. I think we can manage.”

“I’m sure you can,” Chomps agreed. “I’m just putting it out there. Sometimes extra eyes can be handy.”

“Extra eyes?” Terry asked archly. “Or extra muscle?”

“Either.”

“Yeah,” Terry said. “Let’s cut to the chase here. You don’t think I can do my job.”

“I didn’t say that,” Chomps assured her, wincing inside. He hated goading people this way, especially when the buttons were so visible and so easy to push. But he needed to know how well she’d been trained, and this was as good a time as any to find out. “I’m sure you’re very competent. It’s just that…” He waved his arms. “Sometimes you want to be able to talk someone down without having to draw your weapon.”

“Ah.” Terry nodded, a hint of a tight smile touching her lips. “In other words, you don’t think I can subdue a suspect without shooting him.”

“I just—”

“We have some big men in Serisburg Duchy, Townsend. A couple are even bigger than you.”

“And one of them likes to get drunk in public,” Eileen murmured from behind him.

“And you’ve taken him down?” Chomps asked.

“Would you like a demonstration?” Terry offered.

“Terry,” Eileen said warningly.

“Actually, yes, I’d kind of like to see that,” Chomps said.

“Fine,” Terry said. She started toward Chomps, angling to pass him, fiddling with her gun belt buckle as she walked.

“Terry, that’s enough,” Eileen said, putting some steel into her tone. “Chief Townsend is a guest—”

And as Terry brushed past Chomps, she abruptly abandoned her effort to unfasten her belt. She half turned, grabbing his left wrist with her left hand, shoving the palm of her right hand against his elbow, and giving the backs of his knees a pair of light one-two kicks with the edge of her right boot.

Then, before he could even react she let go and took another step away behind him. “You have now been introduced to the floor,” she announced.

“Terry!” Eileen protested.

“No, that’s all right,” Chomps said, turning around to face the two women. So. Clean and precise, even in a mock-combat setting. Just as important, she knew exactly how much force to apply to a given situation. Good enough. “Nice move, Deputy. Generally requires a bit better weight ratio, though.”

“If I’d been serious I’d have hit your elbow instead of just pushing on it,” Terry said calmly. “I find that serious pain can cancel out a weight imbalance.”

“So it can,” Chomps acknowledged. “Okay. I’m convinced.”

“Not that you needed to be.” Terry turned to face her mother. “So. Anything else interesting going on? How many guests do you have.”

“Six,” Eileen said, throwing a look of disapproval at Terry that miraculously turned into a look of apology as she shifted her eyes to Chomps, then resumed their glower as she looked back at her daughter. “Five one- or two-nighters, and an ornithologist who’s coming tonight for some long-term studies. Actually, Chief Townsend, I believe he said he was a former Navy NCO. You and he might have some nice conversations.”

“Thank you,” Chomps said. “But frankly, I’ve had my fill of the Navy, Navy personnel, and Navy bureaucracy at the moment. Anyway, I’m here to work, not socialize.”

“Speaking of which, I have Dad’s shipment of bracing struts in my car,” Terry said. “You want to give me a hand, Townsend?”

“Terry, he’s barely even checked in,” Eileen objected.

“He just said he was here to work,” Terry said. “So are we working or aren’t we?”

“We’re working,” Chomps confirmed. “I’ll bring in my bags later, if that’s all right.”

“Whenever you want,” Eileen said, giving him a strained smile. “Welcome to the Three Corners Inn, Mr. Townsend. The absolute best part of Serisburg Duchy.”

“Already loving it,” Chomps assured her. “Lead the way, Deputy.”

He followed her out the door and around the side of the inn. “He’s working on a couple of the east end rooms right now,” Terry explained. “I parked as close as I could without landing on my mother’s shrubbery—it’ll be easier to get them inside through one of the windows.” She looked sideways at him. “You didn’t have a problem back there, did you?”

“Not at all,” Chomps assures her. “One of the first things we’re taught to do in a new situation is assess everything around us in terms of assets and liabilities. If we wind up in trouble somewhere, you’ll definitely be in the first category.”

“I’m flattered. But unless you plan to get drunk and disorderly in my jurisdiction, I don’t foresee us getting into trouble.”

“You never know,” Chomps said. “By the way, where’s the other corner?”

“What other corner?”

“You’re the Three Corners Inn,” Chomps said, waving at the sign as they passed it. “The T-junction out there gives you two corners. I assume you’re not counting your driveway. Anyone actually use those roads anymore, by the way?”

“Not as roads,” Terry said. “But there are some nice trails in the area, and the road’s a good place for day hikers to park. And no, we don’t count the driveway. One of the major trails angles off from Drobne Cross Highway, right across the street from us. Comes right to the junction, so we end up with three corners.”

“Ah. I missed that.”

“You wouldn’t have if you’d been here a few months ago. So why don’t you want to talk to that other Navy man who’s coming in?”

“Not really something I want to talk about.”

“Fine. Just asking.” She popped the trunk lid of her car to reveal a collection of building struts. “Can you carry one of these by yourself, or do we need to double-team it?”

They spent the next hour moving the struts from Terry’s car to Ralph’s work site. Ralph himself was as cheerful as his wife, thanked Chomps profusely for his help—as if Chomps was doing the family a favor instead of the other way around—and promised to call on him for anything that required muscle. When the lugging was finished Terry walked Chomps back inside, promised her mother she’d come for dinner someday soon, and then left.

An hour after that, Chomps was in his room, freshly showered from the long drive, a drink in his hand from one of the Sphinxian whiskey bottles Flora had left with him, staring out at the forest spreading majestically outside his window. The forest, and the narrow hiking trail he could now see leading off among the trees.

It was an idyllic setting. Some would call it peaceful. Others would call it inspiring, or invigorating.

Chomps called it hell on wheels. And the way things were shaping up, there was a good chance he’d be stuck here for quite a while.

He just hoped it would all be over before his whiskey supply ran out.


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Framed