He Who Dares: Book Three (21 page)

With that, they left the building and quickly made their way back to the Crown and Anchor, to pick up Taffy, hearing the police sirens approaching as they turned the corner. Only after he got back to the pub did he start feeling a little shaky as the adrenaline from the fight wore off, but a couple of stiff drinks helped. Some first aid and a can of “quick heal” and he was soon back on his feet. Of course, Taffy was as mad as hell at having missed all the fun, and the two of them would probably be hearing about it for weeks knowing Taffy. As promised, Taffy had arranged with his friend to take over in his absence, and between the two of them he and Jenks said a tearful goodbye to all four barmaids that included a lot of hugging and kissing before they could get out the door. Two hours later, just as dusk was falling, all three made their way to the Free Traders Guild Hall and quickly vanished inside. No matter who was looking for them, once inside the imposing structure it would have taken an army to get them back out.

After being checked out by the Guild doctor and getting a little extra first aid, Mike slept for twelve hours straight.

The rest of the week passed slowly as the R.S.V.P.s began trickling in, not that Mike was interested in any of them except the one from the palace. It arrived on Saturday morning, much to his relief, stating that Lords Seaforth and Ross would be attending with a companion. Nowhere did it say, Lady Anne, as he was hoping. He just hoped Albright’s message to the palace chamberlain had had the desired effect and that the Lady Anne could be persuaded to attend.

Sunday evening came at long last, and the first guests arrived, but playing Max to the hilt, Mike seconded himself in a side room and held court with Jenks acting as his long-suffering aide.

*  *  *  *  *  *

It was with some misgivings that Admiral Rawlings, and his aid, Rolly Vargas, exited the ground car and walked up the steps to the Guild Hall confident the ballistic armor under their uniforms would stop anything lethal from penetrating. Armed uniformed guards from a local security company stood on each side of the open doorway, and Admiral Rawlings noted in passing, as he paused to let the people in front proceed up the staircase, that the doors themselves were a lot thicker than they appeared to be. They might look like wood from the outside as they were meant to, but he would bet they wouldn’t be out of place as hull plates on a battleship except for their appearance, of course. He smiled for a moment as the image of these two doors mounted on the hull of his ship. The two people standing at the top of the staircase were just as imposing as the ornate door to the Free Traders Guild Hall. One, he knew, was the Avalon Ambassador, Andrew MacTavish. A powerfully built man in what appeared to be middle age, but then again with people from Avalon looks could be deceptive. He might be an old man of ninety for all he knew, if half the stories he heard were true. The stunningly beautiful woman standing beside him would have made a fashion model green with envy and sent her home crying to her mother. If they were aware of how intimidating they were, nothing showed on their faces. They greeted everyone warmly as if they were old friends, immediately knowing who and what they were even as they were announced. It was a performance on par with a royal function, and one look around the glittering lower floor had Admiral Rawlings rethinking the term “rich.” This place went way beyond such a simple word, yet there was nothing gaudy or pretentious about the place. The giant room was a work of art from floor to ceiling, and the lighting was meant to illuminate not glare in peoples' eyes.

“Admiral Rawlings. So nice of you to take time out of your busy schedule to come,” Ambassador MacTavish murmured softly, as if greeting an old friend. “There are one or two people I’d like you to meet very soon.” His handshake was firm, and the Admiral got the impression that the ambassador was taking care not to squeeze too hard.

“Thank you, Ambassador, I’m glad I was invited. The word is that Max Tregallion is here.” Even if the official invitation hadn’t said so. If he thought to surprise MacTavish by knowing Max Tregallion was in residence, he was disappointed. It hadn’t taken long for the news to reach him about the incident with the Robo-cab or the name of the person riding in it.

“True and he is one of the people I will introduce to you a little later.”

“Yes. I’d be interested in hearing his version of what happened with the cab.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll have a story to tell.” The Admiral could tell that the ambassador’s smile was genuine, and that puzzled him. There was something else going on here besides this supposed official trade reception. They passed on down the line meeting several embassy personnel, but unlike most of these functions, it wasn’t in some sort of descending order of importance. Here, the last person in line could be the one to keep an eye on. He and Rolly walked down the inner steps and each took an offered glass of Avalon champagne.

“What do you think, Rolly?” The admiral asked.

“A bit intimidating if you ask me, sir.”

“As intended.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Remember, this is the Free Traders Guild Hall, and not, as some believe, the Avalon Embassy.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Rolly eyed the room as the admiral waved his glass around.

“All this is donated by the Free Trader captains to impress their trading partners. This is where most of the trading is done, and it makes a statement not to screw with them.”

“I think I see.”

“Oh, I’m not saying they will cheat you, far from it, they expect a fair deal, or fair trade, for what they are selling, and expect the same in return. You only come through that door once if you cheat them, and neither they, nor any other trader, will come near you again if you do.”

“Do we… I mean the Royal Navy have any idea how far out into the black they have been, sir?”

Admiral Rawlings chuckled. “That’s a great question. Up the spiral arm, yes. We know pretty much how far out they, and we, have been as well. Past the
Rift
, it’s anyone’s guess.”

“Not telling?”

“No. They and the Voss are very closed lipped about how far out they have been, and what they’ve seen. The whisper is that both have been to the core and seen the elephant.”

“Elephant, sir?”

“Yes, the elephant. If our observations are correct, there’s one hell of a large black hole at the center of our galaxy that some wag named the ‘Elephant’.”

Rolly knew the expression, one familiar to enlisted men who wrote home saying “they’d seen the elephant” or "I'm off to see the elephant." Using it to describe the experiences of war and soldiering. The term has many possible origins going back as far as 3rd Century B.C. when Alexander the Great and his Macedonian warriors defeated the elephant-mounted army of King Porus in the Indus valley.

“That’s a long way out, sir. Do you believe it?”

The admiral looked at him a moment, then nodded, “Yes, these free traders are a hardy lot, and I wouldn’t put it past them to have gone that far and up one of the other arms of our galaxy. Maybe one of these days they’ll tell us.” After that, they mingled with the rest of the movers and shakers of London, nodded to some, shaking hands with others they knew. The admiral listened with half an ear as people were announced, and his ears pricked up when he heard one particular name called.

“Well, well, well. Now what is Tirra Lightly doing here?” He murmured.

“Who… sir?” Rolly asked.

“Tirra Lightly. She’s the chief Sirrien spook hereabouts. Although her title is commercial attaché,” the admiral replied.

“Oh, I see.”

“Trying to sneak a few spy bots in would be my guess. Good luck to her doing that.”

Tirra Lightly walked up the white marble steps and greeted the Avalon ambassador warmly, at least to all appearances, wishing she could stick a knife in between his ribs instead of shaking hands with him. “Glad to see you again, Ambassador.” She greeted softly.

“And you, Ms. Lightly. It’s not often you leave the confines of the Sirrien Embassy.”

“I wouldn’t miss meeting the great Max Tregallion for anything.” She answered, switching her attention to Victoria Dennison

“Nice to see you again, Ms. Lightly. I’ll see if he has time to meet you.” Victoria shook hands, and for a moment, they got into a hand squeezing contest, but much to Tirra’s displeasure, Victoria just smiled as if nothing was happening. By unspoken agreement they disengaged neither the winner, although in Victoria’s case she hadn’t exerted anywhere near her full strength to counter Tirra Lightly’s grip. To Victoria, it was more amusing, and educational, as she now knew the Sirrien spy chief was augmented. Stupid of her really to give away that much information. As for meeting Max Tregallion, it would be a cold day in hell before she’d let Ms. Lightly within shouting distance

Tirra Lightly carried on down the greeting line making note of who was here and who wasn’t. It annoyed her that she hadn’t been able to make Victoria Dennison squirm a little, but it did confirm that she was a lot stronger than she looked. Avalon had a nasty habit of turning over their unofficial embassy staff on an irregular basis, thereby keeping all the other intelligence services guessing who was who. Just then, the majordomo announced another guest and she looked over her shoulder with interest.

“The Lady Anne and her escort, Lord Seaford.” Few paid attention to the announcement, concentrating more on the free food and drink, or chatting with several traders or brokers. A second name drew the admiral’s attention as well.

“The Lady Bridgett and her escort, Leftenant Michael Ross. Duke of Argyle and the Outer Islands.”

“Hmmm. Brought out a couple of the big guns did they?” The admiral murmured into his glass as he took a sip of the excellent champagne.

“Pardon, sir?”

“Nothing, just an observation on the quality of the guest list, is all.”

Rolly looked at the Lady Anne for a moment and smiled slightly, “I must say, that I would have thought Lord Seaford might have found a more suitable partner to bring to the party, sir.” Homely was about as charitable as he could manage.

“Who… what?” The admiral asked, looking around.

“The Lady Anne, sir.” Rolly Vargas shook his head slightly in wonder. The Lady Anne was a frumpy looking young woman with mousy brown hair, thick eyebrows, buck teeth, and cow brown eyes. Her dress almost looked like a hand-me-down from an older sister. Why any young woman in this day and age would willingly walk around looking like she did when she could go to any competent doctor’s office and fix it was beyond him.

“Oh, yes. I see what you mean.” He stopped for a moment, frowning. “As far as I know, the Lady Anne is just a King’s Messenger… Humm, I wonder why she’s here?” It surprised the admiral somewhat that the Lord Seaford was her escort unless he and the Lady Anne had been dragooned into coming by the King.

“Ha… there you are, Admiral Rawlings,” Victoria Dennison seemed to glide across the floor as she walked. “If you’d be so kind. I’d like you to come and meet this evening’s guest of honor.”

“Max Tregallion?” Seeing the Lady nod. “Why, by all means. I’ve always wanted to meet the man in person.” He responded, placing his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter.

“You as well, Leftenant Vargas. I’m sure you’d both like to meet the legendary Max Tregallion.”

“Me? Oh… yes. I’d be delighted.” Suddenly, Rolly felt ill at ease. It was one thing to meet an admiral or two here and there in his duties, but to meet a living legend and the founder and owner of Avalon, was in a class by itself.

“Legendary, indeed!” The admiral snorted softly. “If you listened to the half the stories told about him you’d think he was ten feet tall and ate little children for breakfast.” He muttered to Rolly as he followed behind ambassador’s aide.

Victoria Dennison guided them through the crowd to a small sitting room off to the side where Max Tregallion was holding court. Several people exited the room as they approached, some looking a little red around the ears, hearing harsh laughter float out behind them. They entered, with Victoria leading the way, and saw a tall, portly older man and a smaller one holding a bottle.

“Well! Are you going to refill my glass before I die of thirst or stand there looking mournful with your thumb up your ass?” The old man growled at the smaller man standing off to one side.

Leaning on his cane, he turned and held his glass out. The other man was only short in comparison with the older man, who stood about six feet three tall. His salt and pepper hair and lined face spoke of old age. How old it was difficult to say. If this was Max Tregallion, he had to be over a hundred and fifty years old, but it didn’t look as if age was slowing him down any. The shorter man poured more Torgon brandy into the glass and stepped back his eyes constantly sweeping the room.

“So, who have you brought now, Victoria?” The old man grumbled.

“Behave yourself, Max,” Victoria snapped, “and slow down on the brandy. You’ve a long evening ahead of you. And please be polite to our guests.”

“Har! That’s what I like to see. A girl with beauty and brains.” His old face broke into a grin. “And who the hell are you, sailor boy?”

“Admiral Rawlings, Mr. Tregallion. At your service.” Admiral Rawlings answered gruffly, not used to people treating him to lightly, “sailor boy” indeed.