Edward Lane's Argosy Ch. 05

Chapter Five:

The Hopi Monk In The Beer Hall

When Chief Jacob Two Star, of the Cherokee Nation, and Chief Everett Mauser of the Chocktaw led their bands of native mercenaries to the frontier of the White Man's empires to found the Oklahoma Kingdom on the basis of the vast reserves of gasses naturally occurring to the otherwise bland and disinteresting land, they had invited (some said kidnapped) a number of German chemists to assist them in exploiting the resource.

The Germans were fabulous chemists and physicists, and they had happily assisted the Prairie Crown in developing the industry to wrest the gas from the earth, then separate out the precious helium from the less noble elements. The pay was extravagant, compared to what they could command as instructors and professors in the universities of the Rhine, and many worked two and five year contracts with the Crown and retired to Europe rich men. But their presence had had another, unintentional effect, however: the construction of an authentic German beer hall in the middle of a dusty native Kingdom.

Das Jagerhaus had the feel of a Saxon hunting lodge – or, that was what the original design had intended. Made of wattle-and-daub, complete with rune-like exposed beams, Das Jagerhaus had become the unofficial headquarters for both the German scientists who toiled for the Prairie Crown's Helium monopoly and the airship mercenaries who protected it. The two groups mixed freely, providing one of the few truly cosmopolitan venues in Tillassa, both attracted by the hall's near-monopoly on the brewing and dispensing of good German beer.

King Steven Two Star, noting his own people's poor history with strong drink, had thus restricted the production and sale of such spirits to fully licensed purveyors – of which Das Jagerhaus was one of three in Tillassa. While the restriction had not completely protected the Indians from indulging in the wickedness of drunkenness, it had made the frequently violent outbursts a drunken native was reputed to be capable of a rarity. A native could go to Das Jagerhaus and get a drink, but did so under watchful eyes of foreigners and fellow tribesmen, both of which took a dim view of such behavior. Indeed only a few, notably the mercenary marines like Wolf Rider and his men, made a habit of entering the German tavern, and a marine who could not maintain his control with drink there would not be employed long. None of them would have risked their well-paying positions by hazarding a stupor.

But the European, American, and Louisianan airmen mercenaries were more accustomed to liquor, and had no hesitation about the lure of strong drink. They made Das Jagerhaus their unofficial home, place of business, and recreation hall. Each ship had a section of the large hall where they were in the habit of congregating after a flight, concentrating around an Indian-style fetish on the wall above upon which they bestowed ribbons signifying their battles and triumphs.

The usual air of celebration was muted today, however, due to the silence coming from the Hobgoblin's empty table. No one had yet removed the ship's trophies, which had been draped in black in mourning while the fallen airmen's comrades drank to their memory.

The corner where the Star of Baton Rouge's crew drank was muted, at best. Five of their number had fallen in the Atlan skirmish, but they had only barely escaped the Hobgoblin's fate when a massive Borealis nearly clipped them in midair. The ship had spun crazily, but Fortune or some unknown native Sky God had favored them, merely leaving them unpowered and battered, not fallen. The bounty on their kill – which Gideon had been only too happy to confirm to the Crown's representative – would be barely enough to pay for repairs, a process which would keep the ship out of service for at least a fortnight.

The big round table where the Victrix's crew was stationed, however, was as jubilant as propriety allowed, under the circumstances. By tradition, the large table was reserved for the marines and flight crew, while a rectangular table nearby attracted the engineers from the ship. As captain, Gideon had the pick of the tables but mostly clung to the larger, in deference to his sister's reign at the latter.

Having successfully nursed his prize ship back to port, as well as his relatively unscathed Victrix, Gideon's band of "Sky Panthers" (he had relayed the Beanie dame's sobriquet for the mercenaries to his men, if not the circumstances under which the intelligence was gathered, and they had adopted the moniker with savage pride and humor) had been richly rewarded for their bravery and efforts. The prize ship was already in the process of being converted into an Oklahoman warship – resigned to patrol, due to her primitive nature – by being repaired and outfitted with Helium balloon and good Manchester rockets. When the conversion was complete, she would work the pickets along the southern frontier, along with her relatively weak sister-ships, espying on the land of her birth like a captive Sabine pining from Rome.

Gideon was glad that he had driven such a hard bargain for her, too, commanding a good thirty percent over his last prize. Still, the Crown had been eager to pay it – even with the additional expense of overhauling her to Okie standards, it was less expensive than purchasing such a craft new from Europe or even America or Louisiana, both of which had nascent airship manufactories. Yet while he had haggled with the wily old Baron Amadahy (made easier by his relation as an uncle or something to his sister Tayanita), he had also discovered the incipient arrival of five brand new warships purchased from the French, through the Louisianans, for the purpose of interdiction duty.

Each was half again the size of his Victrix, real three-hundred-meter Emperor Napoleon I-class air frigates armed with the latest French Imperial military-grade accoutrements throughout. They were devastating war machines, as the Indochinese discovered during their recent rebellion, able to over-match all but the largest German-made Atlan ships.

In addition to the nine smaller airships the Kingdom currently used for patrol and interdiction duties (ten, with the addition of Gideon's prize), the five would essentially replace the mercenaries that had protected the Crown and its lucrative Helium for the last decade. It had been a complex, complicated bargain that Baron Amadahy had personally negotiated, but it seemed as if the tenure of easy money for airship mercenaries was drawing to a close. While the ships would not arrive for another month, and take a month beyond to be fully crewed, the Victrix would be redundant soon enough. Even with Amadahy's assurance that Gideon would always be welcome in the Okie Kingdom as a friend to the Crown, he could tell that he was being sacked, albeit gently.

That suited Gideon's own plans nicely – between the bounty for the prize and the likely ransom for Marta the Beanie Dame (who had taken up residence in his Marine barracks, and seemed to be determined to make up for time lost in the convent by making the full acquaintance of the phallus in all of its manifestations ere she was redeemed), he would have easily fifteen fully-loaded cylinders of Helium in a fortnight, with credits payable for up to two more on account with the Crown. That was a titanic fortune, by any account. In truth, he hadn't been particularly surprised by the knowledge - he had heard the rumors of the French ships for months, now, and had factored them into his plotting. Witnessing the Hobgoblin's ignoble destruction had further convinced him that remaining in Oklahoma indefinitely was not in his future.

Gideon's sister seemed more enthusiastic than even he was about winning the day and capturing the prize. Despite her allegedly noble upbringing and gentle appearance, Lady Tayanita made a regular practice of joining the rougher elements of the Victrix's crew with her own Engineers, and tonight she wore a proper lady's dress in defiance of her usual custom of boyish trousers, braces, shirt and cap. She sat amid her German and Dutch mechanics, sipping brandy and talking with some of the scientists from the Gas Works about some exciting ideas she'd had.

The scientists, lonely, far from home, and drunk, were captivated with the physically ravishing and intellectually brilliant half-native beauty and hung on her every word. Gideon liked to pretend that they were more enthralled with her impressive brain as much as her shapely bubbies, but the gentleman in him knew better. Still, Tayanita could handle herself in nearly any situation, and here she was surrounded by shipmates. Indeed, Das Jagerhaus seemed almost like a home – a shabby, smelly home where he needn't worry about appearances or his family or anything but buying the next round and shagging the next girl. To proceed with his plan meant abandoning this comfortable lifestyle and going back to stuffy Europe, where this kind of frontier camaraderie was rare.

"So where to now, Cap'n?" Bonney suddenly asked Gideon, breaking him from his reverie.

"What do you mean, Bonney?"

"Cap, I know good 'n' well that look in your eye – seen it in the lookin' glass myself a time or two. I'd swear on a stack of Bibles that you was lookin' about, sayin' farewell to this place."

Gideon laughed despite himself. "Well struck, Bill! You are not far wrong. Pray, don't speak of it to the rest of the crew yet, but yes, we are not long for Oklahoma." No sense in keeping the information too close to his vest -- the arrival of the ships was hardly a state secret now. "The Crown has procured a real aerofleet, now, and will be using mercenaries less and less," he explained quietly.

"So, bringin' me back to my earlier point, where to now?" The man didn't seem shaken by the idea of abandoning Oklahoma. That was one reason he liked Bonney -- always on the lookout for adventure.

"Well, I've given it some thought," Gideon admitted. "And much of my plans revolve around my sister."

"Beg pardon?" Bill asked, surprised. He gave the Engineer and his occasional lover her due as an officer and a woman – but Gideon alone of the Victrix's non-engineering crew saw Tayanita's potential as a visionary in airship design. He had seen her portfolios, crammed with sketches and designs and hundreds of pages of technical notes she had put together over her years of casual conversations with engineers, scientists, and airmen. While he doubted the utility of all of her work – likely because he lacked the intellectual foundation to comprehend it – he had seen his dusky sibling work miracles in the air. The improvements she had made on the Victrix's archaic design had made her a model of graceful efficiency compared to other ships in her class – and as a result many of the modifications had been adopted by the other mercenary crews.

"She has an idea to build a new kind of airship," Gideon explained. "I'm going to see her vision come to life. And I will command it," he added, as if there might be some doubt.

"Huh? Little Tayanita?" Bonney asked, mystified.

"Indeed," Gideon nodded. "When we quit here, likely we will travel to Europe to find a proper yard. With the loot I've gathered, we should be able to fund most of the construction."

"Most?" Bonney inquired again.

"Most," agreed Gideon. "The rest we can steal. Or earn, if we have to. With a bag full of Helium, we would be in high demand in some places. But there remain plenty of opportunities for a crafty and adventurous airman out there, Bonney, and I dare say we'll find a few on our travels."

"You mean to include me in y'all's excursions?" he asked, again surprised.

"Where we travel, we are likely to need someone with your skills. Wolf Rider and his men, too. Unless you would prefer to terminate your service . . ."

"Oh, hell no, Cap'n!" Bonney swore. "Do you jest? The Victrix's crew is the first place I felt a part o' somethin' akin to a family. Worked my share of ranches and such, might have lifted a horse or two that weren't mine, technically speakin', but I never felt a man until I was aloft," he said, sincerely. "If you'll have me, I'll stay hitched to your star as long as I can!"

"Good to hear!" Gideon agreed, happy that the itinerant gunman was willing to accompany him. He could trust the man, he knew, and that was worth more than a pile of German degrees. "Persuading your native colleagues might be more problematic – Wolf Rider himself was mentioning settling down to ranch, when he put down his guns. But I imagine I'll be able to find a dozen or so healthy rascals who don't mind a fight."

"They're a scrappin' people, assured," Billy agreed, admiringly. "Your sis amongst them. Buit she's sore as hell at me right now. She found out I dipped my wick in that Atlan cunt, she 'bout threw me outta her engine room. Ain't let me near her yet. I know she's your sis an' all, but I confess I'm sweet on her."

"She's likely to forgive, eventually," Gideon said, kindly. "She has a temper, no doubt about it, but she checks it at need and forgets trespasses quickly. Thank Jupiter – else she would have ended me months ago!"

"Sure is a hoot knowin' you're a real English Lord, and she's your daddy's bastard," Bonney chuckled, finishing his beer. "I think it's noble as hell o' you runnin' away from your family castle and bein' with her. Family's important," the orphan assured him.

"It's the only important thing, really," Gideon sighed. "I might hate my father, pity my brother, and despise my sisters and mother for their many shallow faults, but I shall love them all until the day I die. I confess that it is only their intractability in the matter of Sissy's legitimacy that estranges me yet from them."

"Well, hope you and your kin come to accord," Bonney said, raising his mug after receiving a refill from the buxom Saxon daughter of the tavernkeeper.

"Hope springs eternal," Gideon grumbled, raising his own glass.

"Gid!" his sister called suddenly from her table. "GID! Get o'er here!" She had the sparkling quality in her voice that told her brother that she was already half-drunk and giddy over something. Gideon also knew that she was stubborn enough not to let him at peace until he saw what excited her so. With a nod to his gunman, he rose and came dutifully over to the Engineer's table, where Tayanita held court.

"Gid, this fella here is Herr Doctor Planck. Maxie!" she said, correcting herself. "Maxie works o'er at th' Gas Works, an' I, we been talkin'," she slurred, conspiratorially. Gideon glanced at the young German scientist, who seemed more than a little intimidated by his sister. That was a common reaction in the Germans, who saw most natives as mere laborers or servants, not potentially brilliant scientists and technicians. Or his awkwardness might have been inspired by the way Sissy was pushing her vivacious breasts around. While they were slight, compared to some women, she seemed determined to make up for their lack of size by increasing their visibility. The dress she wore, of colorful native fabrics, was cut low enough to incite scandal in polite society in London.

Therefore, he loved it on her.

"Go on," he encouraged, when he felt prompted.

"Anyway, me an' Maxie worked out . . . it's right here," she said, holding up a big sheet of foolscap covered with penciled equations, "we worked out a way to build a new kinda gun."

"A gun?" Gideon asked, his interest piqued. "What kind of gun? Like the infamous French gas cannon?"

"No, no, nothing so element-ry," she dismissed, haughtily, with a hiccough. "But I had this idea come from watching the water hose on th' ship, wonderin' if light acts like water an' what would happen if—"

"It's really a matter uv coherency," the German managed to get in, finally. "Ven you push light tru un tuben, tru a reactif matrix of transluscent matter und bounce it off a series of mirrors—"

"The upshot is, you should be able to knock light around with mirrors to get it to act like a cannon!" Tayanita explained, impatiently. "Under the proper conditions, it should be able to tear through a balloon and bring down a Hydrogen ship at over five times the range of a Manchester, afore dispersion sets in! Theoretically-ly, that is," she added with another hiccough.

"That's a fascinating theory," Gideon said, smiling indulgently. "And one of many you've explained to me that I'll have to take on faith, lacking the education or numbers to do otherwise. Tell me, Sissy, is Dr. Planck as convinced as you?" He hated to publicly doubt his sister's abilities, but she was drunk, he reasoned, and a little gracious investigation might help keep her enthusiasm properly channeled.

"He says so," she admitted, as if that hardly mattered. "But think of the implications!" she said, wide-eyed. "Think about shootin' down Beanies wi' a spray o' light, not Manchesters! No weight penalty, no chance o' fire, no missin' the fuckin' target . . ."

"It sounds magnificent, Sissy," Gideon agreed. "We'll have to install it aboard our new ship."

"New ship?" Planck asked confused. "Ze one you captured?"

"Nah, that shitbag?" Tayanita swore. "I wouldn't wipe my cunt with that flyin' turkey! No, me an' my dear brother, here, are going to build the most advanced airship in the world. One of the biggest, too!" she added, hugging her knees through her dress like a little girl. "It's gonna be called—"

"That's enough, Sissy," Gideon said, gently interrupting her. "I know you're enthusiastic, but we have yet to even lay the keel of the thing, much less fly it. If it flies," he added.

"It will fly!" she insisted, ardently. "It will! It's built on sound principals, just—"

"If you say it will fly," Gideon said, stopping her, "I will trust my life that it will do so. But let's not be casually mentioning our ultimate goal, shall we? Too many ears around." While the tavern was half-filled, and he recognized almost everyone there, he was also fully aware of the sensitivity of the situation. Since Das Jagerhaus was the nexus of the foreign mercenary and the foreign technician class in Oklahoma, naturally all of the major empires had observers here.

The French, of course, were intently interested in the goings on in Tillassa, as were the British and Germans. Add the American, Louisianan, and even Atlan spies that were no doubt prowling around trying to overhear valuable intelligence about the wildcat kingdom, and the beer hall, while quaint, was hardly a secure venue for sensitive matters.

"Oh, no one's gonna listen to li'l ol' me," Tayanita dismissed. "I'm just a girl."

"You are also the chief engineer of the most successful mercenary airship in the kingdom," he reminded her. "That gives you standing your sex does not."

"My sex ain't gettin' any standin' no how," Tayanita complained. "That fool Billy went and put his pecker in that Beanie cunt, an' I ain't ready to forgive him that . . . yet!" Gideon made note not to reveal his own sexual indiscretion with the captive, lest he incite his sister's wrath at him as well. "That was tant'mount to consortin' with th' enemy! So my poor li'l pussy goes to bed all alone tonight . . ." she pouted.

"I'm sure your genitalia will recover—hullo, what's this?" Gideon asked, interrupting himself as a commotion from the front of the tavern attracted his attention.

It wasn't completely out of the ordinary for the tavern to play scene to an altercation or disturbance, either due to distraught airmen, wild mercenaries, homesick Germans, or drunken natives or a mixture of any or all of them. Hans, the barrel-chested barkeep, had two husky native lads on hand to keep the peace, and the Royal Watch station was on Tacumsah Street, a mere dusty block away. But the tumult that had attracted Gideon's attention bore none of the hallmarks of a typical rowdy evening at the pub – the shouts weren't angry or fearful.