The Guns of Two-Space (26 page)

"Now tell us yer tale, lad!" said Strongfar.

"Ha!" cried Captain Strongfar after Melville had related every detail of their battle, marking the positions of the various Ships with tankards atop the table, and charting their maneuvers in wet streaks of ale. "That is one
grand
tale to be telling yer babes and grandbabies in the years to come!"

A densely packed host of Dwarrowdelf had crowded around to hear the story, responding with roars of pleasure as Melville told of each Guldur Ship sunk or captured. His audience was especially enthusiastic when he told of Broadax's exploits in the battle.

Admiral Smitehard, the senior Dwarrowdelf naval commander, called out, "A toast to our brave friends: to Melville and his
Fang
, true Friends, noble Friends,
worthy
Friends of the Dwarrowdelf League!" This was greeted with a great roar of agreement and much quaffing of ale from the crowd. The admiral had a white avalanche of a beard, and the avalanche flowed with rock slides of golden ale as he drained his tankard.

Ambassador Theilharsen, the Westerness representative to Nordheim, was a fourth-generation citizen of this hi-gee world. He looked a lot like a Dwarrowdelf and had taken on distinctly Dwarrowdelf tendencies. The ambassador's eyes filled with tears of pride as he heard his countryman's tale.

"Tell me what it is you need, lad," boomed the ambassador. "And tell me what it is that you have to offer in payment, and I'll do my best to make sure these rascals don't swindle you."

"Swindle!" cried Admiral Smitehard. "Swindle, ye say! We'd nay swindle a hero and a friend such as this."

"Ha!" replied Ambassador Theilharsen. "You'd try to cheat your own mother if she wasn't twice as smart as you'll ever hope to be, you wretched rascal."

"Oh, aye, and me mother'd disown me if I didn't try," replied the admiral, "but that has nothing to do with this case.
This
is different. By the Lady I swear to ye, I barter with no axe in my hand!"

"Don't listen to him, son," said the ambassador. "When it comes to trade, these scalawags always go for the throat. It's in their genes. They don't know
how
to do anything else. They're like sharks smelling the scent of blood, or lawyers drawn by the promise of contingency fees."

"'Lawyers!'" roared the admiral, thumping his hand on the thick, wooden slab of a table with such force that the tankards bounced. An angry roar went up from the crowd as he continued. "'Lawyers' ye say! By me gramma's gray beard, ye've gone
too
low, sir! If ye weren't an ambassador that would demand a duel, it would!"

Melville looked at the thick underbrush of bristling beards that were crowding in around them. It occurred to him that if not for a steady dousing of ale, one stray spark could send them all up like dry straw.

"Pay no heed to him," said the ambassador with a wink. He seemed remarkably calm as he leaned back to take a drink of ale. "It's all bluff and bluster. They could teach greed to lawyers, and bloodsucking to leeches, but as long as you have something they want, you've got 'em by the beard. So what is it you're offering?"

"Well, sir," drawled Melville, working hard to remain nonchalant and cool in the face of so many angry Dwarrowdelf, "I'll tell you, but are you sure this is something we want everyone in the tavern to hear? If they're such fierce negotiators, is it wise to put all of our chips on the table?"

"
Well
said, Captain!" replied the ambassador, thumping his tankard down on the table. "Well said. Let us retire to your Ship, and these wretches can all stew in their juices. You outline the situation to me, and then I'll come back and cut a deal for you."

"Nay, nay!" cried the admiral and Captain Strongfar in what appeared to be sincere consternation.

"There's no need for that, laddie," said the admiral. "Ye can trust us to take good care of ye. Don't ye be turning us over to that penny-pinching, pencil-necked pen pusher. Anything but that!"

"Aye," replied Ambassador Theilharsen. "What he means is that I know their tricks, and I know to get it all down in writing, in triplicate. They hate to get their agreements in writing you know."

"O woe. Woe and doom! There it is!" cried the admiral, burying his head in his arms. "The writin' of it down with words on paper it is, and the living with it for generations to come. How's an honest man's children ever to re-negotiate—"

"You mean renege!" added the ambassador.

"—or rework a deal—" continued the admiral doggedly.

"Ha! You mean go back on your word!" interjected the ambassador.

"—in a world that's full of writing and paper everywhere?"

"Come on then, Captain Melville," said Ambassador Theilharsen as he stood up and finished his ale with a gulp.

Melville looked over at Brother Theo, who had been sitting serenely throughout the conversation, contentedly nursing his ale and never saying a word. The monk simply looked over at his captain with a benevolent smile and nodded.

"Aye, sir," replied Melville, standing up. "Under one condition, and that is that you keep my purser with you every step of the way, and he has final approval on the deal."

"Captain," said the ambassador, "you are young, but it is obvious that you are wise for one of your age. And the surest sign of that wisdom is your willingness to delegate to those who are experts in their field. My friends, one last toast to Captain Melville, and his good Ship,
Fang
!" Then he took the admiral's mug off the table, raised it high, and gulped it down.

Suddenly all the anger and animosity in the room fell away like the facade it so obviously was. A great roar of agreement shook the room, the admiral snatched a drink away from a hapless bystander, and everyone in the tavern drank to the toast. Except for the one fuming, flustered bystander.

"Well, it worked," said Ambassador Theilharsen three days later, as he sat in Melville's office aboard the
Fang
. Theilharsen was less than five feet tall, and twice as wide as a normal man, with a good-sized gut to go with it. Melville imagined he could hear the ambassador's chair groan as he plopped down into it.

McAndrews hustled in with two big mugs of ale while the monkey on his shoulder clutched a bowl of pretzels. Melville handed one mug to his guest and took the other as he sat down across the table while the steward set the pretzels between them. The ambassador grunted his thanks and drank deeply before he continued. "Once the Dwarrowdelf checked with their local chapterhouse of the Celebrimbor Shipwrights guild, they were ready to sell their mother's beards for two of those 24-pounders. How did you know it would take two guns? What do you suppose that's all about?"

"I don't know for sure, sir," replied Melville, "but when we were on Osgil the Sylvans were prepared to trade just about anything for
two
24-pounders. I hate to even guess about matters involving the Celebri. Nobody in the galaxy wants to get crosswise of
them
. Still, I can't help but think they need two guns to... well to breed more."

"Damn!" replied the ambassador. "Breeding you say!" His thick gray beard burrowed into his barrel chest as he scratched his head in thought. "Do you really think so?"

"Well, it's one possible explanation," said Melville, taking a deep drink of his ale. "For whatever reason, however they do it, they seem to need at least two to create more, and I'd call that breeding stock."

"Aye, son. It may be best not to spread
that
thought around, but I appreciate you sharing it with me. Knowledge is power, but if you become too powerful you become a target. Whatever the reason, it worked.
And
the Dwarrowdelf were excited about what your pint-sized alien allies could do for them."

The ambassador chuckled and lifted his ale in a mock salute to the monkey on Melville's shoulder. The creature responded with a nod, an "Eep!" and a sip from Melville's mug as the ambassador continued.

"Broadax's little demonstration made true believers out of the admiral and old Strongfar," continued the ambassador. "Who'd have thought that critter could stop bullets like that? Your Broadax didn't seem worried, but damn her monkey fussed when they shot at her!" The Ambassador looked down thoughtfully and said, "You know, no offense intended, but in my humble opinion, anybody who would volunteer to be shot at, no matter how confident they are, is either foolishly optimistic or nuts!"

"And our Broadax is both!" said Melville with a chuckle.

"Aye," continued the Ambassador. "Anyway, after Broadax demonstrated that the monkeys can actually block bullets, Admiral Smitehard readily found a couple of Dwarrowdelf marine sergeants who were willing to transfer to the Westerness Navy and serve on the
Biter
and the
Gnasher
."

"Thank you sir," said Melville with a satisfied nod as he held his mug up, offering his monkey a drink. "This is one of the best gifts I can give those young commanders. Broadax has proven the value of a good Dwarrowdelf to lead their marines. And it will take time, but this is their best route to get some monkeys. I'm betting one will adopt them shortly after arriving aboard. When their enlistment ends they'll probably bring their monkey back with them, and wherever there is one, soon there will be more."

"Aye, so I understand," replied the Ambassador. "In a galaxy full of wondrous and amazing occurrences, those mysterious monkeys of yours are one of the damnedest things I've ever seen."

"Amen to
that
, sir. But how does it look for the
Fang
to get a few more Dwarrowdelf to enlist with our marines?"

"Ah, not so good there, lad. When a Dwarrowdelf goes out on a
Wander-yahr
and leaves his own people like this, he—or she—has to do it alone. So you only get one per Ship. It's a matter of honor, you see. With the Dwarrowdelf you either get a Shipload, or you get one, nothing in between."

"I guess it was too much to hope for more marines like Broadax on my Ship," replied Melville. "But just one could make all the difference for Archer and Crater. I figured the Dwarrowdelf would be willing to do it, just for the possibility of picking up some monkeys along the line. But, sir, do you think there's any way we can keep this business about the monkeys a secret, even to Earth?"

"Son, they wouldn't believe me, even if I told them. Hell, I'm not sure
I
believe myself, and I saw it! Besides, I'm doing this as a private contractor, making a tidy commission along the way. And what I do in private is nobody's damned business but my own. Eh?"

Then the ambassador stood up, finished his ale, wiped the froth from his beard, and concluded, "The Pier's dockyard captain superintendent will be coordinating with you tomorrow morning, and the dockyard will be giving their very best to each of your Ships. And Nordheim's best is very good indeed!"

Under the steely eyes of Dwarrowdelf dockyard officers, the three Ships were careened, and all damage was repaired.
Fang
,
Gnasher
, and
Biter
were rebuilt, reinforced, and made better than new with wood especially grown and twisted to shape over centuries on Nordheim's wintry slopes.

While the dockyard was doing their work, Melville was locked in a bitter struggle with himself. He yearned to steal some 24-pounders from
Gnasher
and
Biter
, and now was the time to make the transfer. He had the authority. Archer and Crater couldn't stop him, they wouldn't even try. They were happy just to have the Ships. They wouldn't complain. And it was his
right
, wasn't it? But Melville just couldn't do it. A war was coming, and he couldn't bring himself to rape those Ships and leave them with fewer 24-pounders than the
Fang
had.
Damn
he wanted more guns for his Ship! But,
by God!
, he wouldn't do it at Archer and Crater's expense.

Nordheim's dockyard was good and fast, but still it took almost a month to finish the work. Meanwhile, the crew of all three Ships had a chance to partake of Nordheim's various pleasures. Which consisted mostly of damned fine booze, and little else.

Most crew members agreed that the Dwarrowdelf food was almost as repulsive and unpalatable as their women, and any thought of a pleasant bar brawl with the locals was immediately rejected as a painful path to suicide. After imbibing enough of the excellent hooch, someone
might
have been drunk enough to consider the local ladies of negotiable virtue, but said "ladies" were completely uninterested in them.

Nor could they bring themselves to enjoy the bitter cold of any outdoors activity. As Ulrich put it, "I ain't seen my nutsk in t'ree days!"

So they adopted the standard operating procedures of the young sailor everywhere: "If it's cold outside, stay inside and drink until ya runs out of money, then head back to the Ship to eat and recover."

Even Roxy, their cook, had a miserable time as she bartered with the local victuallers for fresh food to fill the larders of their three Ships. This time of year about all that was avalable were potatoes and other root crops, along with dried peas and beans. There were also some smoked hams and plenty of venison jerky, but the Dwarrowdelf had strange ideas about spices that made even the jerky and the hams virtually inedible. And there was beer, of course.
Lots
of good beer.

Brother Theo, their purser, had limited success with his efforts to barter for goods to sell on Earth. The cargo they had aquired on Osgil was intended for trading to the earthlings, and the Dwarrowdelf had no interest in Sylvan luxury items. Theo couldn't get a good exchange for any of their current cargo, but he
was
able to use hard currency to purchase a good variety of luxurious furs, exotic wood, and splendid gems to fill
Gnasher
and
Biter's
holds. They were just lucky that the Ship's coffers were filled with gold from the Sylvan prize court. Gold
always
worked on Nordheim, and these items would bring spectacular prices on Earth.