Collision of Worlds - Chapter 11

When Crater arrived at the noblewoman’s manor, his mood soured even further. The frivolity of the Cortet family was disgusting; they wasted money on useless things. Get rid of a few fountains and he could mount a gun on the Cudgel. Not that he needed a gun, but it would serve better than fountains.

Scale the central manor down to half the size and he could buy another ship. Hell, a fleet of ships. He hated having to come and beg on knee for favors from people whose only success in life was popping out of the correct womb.

Why would he even want to be a noble? The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how pathetic these people were. They had adopted him into the Royal Family and were reneging on their promise. He didn’t want to be one of them. He still had his dignity.

Unfortunately, right now it had a low return on investment.

Worse, the guards at the cathedral door gave him a disgusted look as he limped toward them. He cursed his bad foot and the woman that gave it to him. But he doubted that alone was why he earned their scorn. To be fair, he wasn’t wearing clothes fitting for such a pretentious gathering, but he was still a recognized dignitary, damn it. They had no right to question him.

A look of recognition dawned on one man’s face as Jim drew near. “Sir,” the guard on the left said, snapping to attention and saluting. The other spared only a sideways glance before mimicking his compatriot.  “Lady Margaret is expecting you.”

“What?” Jim asked, confused. Expecting him?

“Enjoy the party, sir,” the guard said, opening one door as his partner opened the other.

Crater nodded and walked past. Their quick respectful response did much to lift his flagging spirits. He entered the gloomy interior of the great hall. It was a big room, annoyingly so, and stupid pictures decorated the walls. A butler greeted him and began guiding him farther into the chamber.

There weren’t a lot of guests. Either the party was winding down or Margaret wasn’t very popular. He didn’t spot Oliver, but he did see a large group of women to one side of the hall. One woman stuck out in the group, wearing a more expensive gown. She looked to be in her early twenties. Isn’t Margaret young? Jim thought Oliver told him she was only a child, twelve or thirteen.

The woman was standing near a buffet table. It was covered in a sampling of what appeared to be the most exotic foods the caterers could round up: little balls of some kind of fish, a bowl of syrupy fruit, and some sort of cheese wrapped in green leaves. Most of it looked inedible.

Crater was used to eating dry rations. He decided to steer clear of the odd fish substances and vegetables.

His eyes wandered and spotted an open bar.

He refused to acknowledge it. He focused back on the young woman. She was beautiful. She lacked the frumpy face and dark skin of the current King and his Wife.  It has to be her. Lady Margaret. She spotted him across the hall and headed his way, her entourage falling in like a flock of well-dressed ducklings. 

Margaret was in a red dress that shimmered and perfectly contrasted her flowing green hair. Her skin showed a blue glossy treatment that some prominent women were indulging in. It was a current fad, and when Crater had heard about it on the intranet, it sickened and annoyed him.

Any skin treatment costing the same as a new air filtration system was a total waste. But hearing about it and seeing the actual effect had no comparison. It gave Margaret an exotic appeal that made him wonder just what it would feel like to touch.

Not that I’d ever get the chance to find out. Oliver maybe, but not me. It’s probably toxic anyway. She bowed her head as she came to him. He bowed low in return, sweeping his Safari hat before him.

“Admiral Crater,” Margaret said, smiling and gently touching his arm. “I’m so pleased you could make it.”

“I am as well, my Lady,” he said, taking her right hand and brushing his lips against her rings and finger. Hopefully not toxic. “I had some urgent business to take care of in the city. I pray you will forgive my tardiness.”

“Of course. Unfortunately, I believe that the party is winding down. I am soon to retire.”

Crater nodded, resigned. “I understand. I’m sorry that I couldn’t come earlier.” For the best, I suppose. “Pray, do you know where my friend is? Oliver.”

She smiled a knowing smile. “He left earlier.”

There’s more you aren’t saying, he knew, but he didn’t press the issue.

“I was wondering if you would like to join me for a light supper,” she said, drawing him from his thoughts. “It is already prepared.”

Jim was caught off guard. “I...uh...absolutely,” he stammered. Margaret nodded, slipped her arm through his. She nodded to her delegation to signal that they would be moving.

As soon as they were outside the hall, she began to chatter, leaving him no room to talk as she discussed a wide range of topics from seasonal weather to modern music and art. Jim barely heard her, wondering what had inspired this odd circumstance.

They passed a fountain with an angelic being spraying water out of a harp.

She led him through a garden decorated with exotic and colorful flowers, well tended.

What could she possibly want from me? She was noble, a blood cousin to the King, and doubtless among the group of people who had the most to lose by Jim’s rise to fame. So why is she being so friendly?

But there was a simple explanation: She is going to make me work for her. Doing something illegal, most likely. And when someone in the Royal Family demands something, I cannot refuse. Great, just great. I shouldn’t have come after all, Crater thought. The prospect of fleeing from Jaril seemed much more difficult with a noblewoman breathing down his neck.

She prattled on until they came to a veranda. It sat beside a beautiful pond just inside the eastern walls of the estate. She sat down, and her retinue fanned out around the veranda, taking up pre-designated positions. Jim realized some of them were well-trained guards pretending to be guests. The thought made him respect Margaret more. This might all be a game, but at least she seemed to know how to play it.

They sat in silence as servants brought food to the table. Crater was starving, and everything smelled delicious. He hadn’t eaten since the day before and his stomach rumbled. He finished a bowl of a thin soup of mushrooms and leeks and then moved onto the second dish. It consisted of a choice cut steak—rare—and smothered in an orange-flavored peppery gravy.

There were also some of the rarest fruits, vegetables, and starches from a dozen planets, prepared in a variety of different ways. He helped himself to two bowls of a thick gray soup with chunks of brown cheese floating in it.

Jim moved swiftly from one dish to another. Delicious, he thought. I hadn’t realized I was so hungry.

A dawning realization crept into his mind: These were all of his favorite dishes. He stopped eating suddenly and looked up to see Margaret smiling at him. She had barely touched the food.

“Are you enjoying the meal?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. I get the feeling I’m supposed to. He hoped she hadn’t been planning to poison him; he had no governor where food was concerned.

“I am quite pleased that you made it to my home today. I was worried that you might not arrive.”

Jim hadn’t brought a weapon. He was regretting it.

“I had some business to attend to,” Jim said, and something in her eyes told him she knew exactly what sort of business. He fought the urge to shift in his chair. He was an admiral, not a child scorned by his mother. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

“I see,” she said, then, “there was something I wished to discuss with you. A mutually beneficial offer of support. My father had a modest fleet of ships built up over a number of years. He prayed for a son who might one day join the Admiralty, but alas I was an only child. All thirty ships are mine now, but I have no purpose for them. I would like to give them to you.”

Jim stared at her. Was she taunting him? What game is this? No one just offered a fleet of ships.

A waiter came up onto the veranda, handing them cups of a sweet-smelling black tea.

A robed man raked gravel in a pit nearby.

The servant bowed and left. Jim took a sip. It was flavored with honey and tasted faintly of Jasmine. Once again, one of his favorites, and he was more than a little annoyed. He didn’t enjoy being manipulated.

“No one just gives ships away. So you want something in return,” he suggested. He took another sip of the tea, cursing himself. Why did it have to be so delicious? But he was determined not to give in to her agenda. Not without a fight at least.

No one uses Jim Crater.

And yet…

If Margaret was willing to sell him her father’s fleet, he might be able to convince the Royal Family to extend his position. At least for a few more years. And with a fleet, he could recruit and make a name for himself. He might even be able to—

“On the contrary, it would be a gift,” Margaret countered, sipping her own tea. “A wedding gift.”

Jim dropped the tea cup. It hit his lap, spilling tea all over him, and crashed into the ground. He barely noticed. A servant was already on the way with a small broom and pan to sweep up the broken dish, but Jim waved the man away. “A what?”

“A bride’s gift, specifically,” she repeated. “A dowry, to use old custom. My father has been getting sick, and he has been pressuring me to wed before he dies, so I’ve been searching around for a possible husband that—”

“Wait, wait,” Jim said, grabbing a towel off the table and wiping the tea off his lap. It had almost no effect. “Married…to me?”

She smiled weakly. “Yes, of course. Does that thought displease you?”

Jim found himself shaking his head as though in a daze. “No,” he muttered. Marriage? She’s noble, and I’m…

“Yes, of course I accept.”

It didn’t exactly require a lot of thought.

The next half hour flashed past. Servants brought documents out for them to sign as well as pastries to nibble. He agreed to everything Margaret said or asked and signed all the papers she brought forth. It felt like he was in a dream; none of it seemed real. Even if she had tried to slip something past him—which, he discovered later when Oliver went over the documents, she didn’t—he was still making out like a bandit simply by acquiring her name. The fleet was icing on the cake.

But if it isn’t me she’s trying to screw over, then who is it?

When he finally stumbled back to the Cudgel, he found he was elated. The entire walk from the Cortet Estate had taken over an hour, but he barely remembered it.  Oliver was already there, smoking his pipe and grinning in the cockpit with his feet propped up. Maybe he already knows, Jim wondered, though he doubted it. Oliver must have been happy about something else.

“What is it?” Oliver asked, noticing his friend’s happiness. “You okay?”

Jim chuckled, still feeling lightheaded.

“Let’s see them deny my Admiralty when I have my own fleet.”

“Huh?” Oliver said, sitting forward. His eyes popped open. “You went to the Cortet house? Ha, she’s going to get in so much trouble with her brother.”

“I didn’t know she had a brother,” Jim said, confused. “She said she was an only child.”

Oliver shook his head and waved a hand in the air. “Never mind. Forget I said that. Well, congratulations, my friend, on your upcoming marriage to the King’s cousin,” he proclaimed. Oliver grinned, then burst out laughing. He set his pipe on the table.

“What?” Jim demanded. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, congratulations,” Oliver replied, standing up and slapping Jim on the shoulder before walking past into the cockpit. “Just don’t have high expectations for your wedding night.”