After the Bighorn Chapter Four: ‘Council of War’, by Tracker

 

While I was waiting for the strategy meeting with Wyandotte Frick and a horde of Frick cousins to begin, I read the local newspaper, the Post-Gazette.  I am fascinated by the differences from city to city, in layout and organization, each city thinking its way is normal and the way other cities’ papers do things slightly off.  The Post-Gazette had an old fashioned news round-up column of strange and off-beat stories from around the world; “World’s biggest cucumber grown in Swansea, Wales.  That sort of thing.  Today the second last item was from Montana, the Bighorn country in fact.

 

It was that Dateline that got me to read further. 

 

Evidence of Old Cowboy Feud.  University of Montana archaeologists have discovered evidence linked to legends of a feud between old west outlaw gangs, The Hole in the Wall Gang and the Robber’s Roost Gang.  Old West folklore has long held that an 1887 battle took place between the two outfits, but more sober historians, who insist on evidence had pooh-poohed the tales.  Well now evidence has been found in the form of a burial pit inside a cave on the Lazy F ranch by the Bighorn.  University of Montana researchers, consisting of Professors and students found the cave with the aid of a foreman on the ranch, a man named Smith.  Mr Wilson Frick provided funds for the dig, and the bones recovered will be housed at the U of M Frick Museum of Western History.  On a side note: four U of M co-eds who wandered away from the dig-site are still missing, and feared eaten by Bears.

 

I smiled.  I did not think that the co-eds had been eaten by bears.  I believed that by now the young women had begun a journey through space to a new life. From an accompanying picture of the cave, I reconstructed what had happened.  It was the same cave to which the Fricks had carried the bodies of the slain mercenary contractors that had attacked the ranch earlier in the summer in an effort to force its sale. Knowing nothing of the Fricks, they had been surprised and overcome by the Fricks.  Their bodies, now disintegrated, had been recovered from the cave under the cover of an archaeological dig and would rest among the bones of thousands of others in the bowels of a museum.

 

Clever of the Fricks to remove the evidence from their land in such a way.  There was also a lesson there for me. Do not take an enemy for granted.  I emailed my office, ordering extra digging on Vincent VanRijn, his methods and resources.  Do not prepare for what you think the enemy might do, prepare for what they have the capability to do.

 

“Please, sir, you must help me.”  Of all the unnecessary interruptions, Chelsea Savannah Frick was the most unnecessary. “I apologize again for my behaviour earlier, but I just lost my father, and then my birthright was stolen from me.”  

 

I looked up.  Today Chelsea was playing the innocent, helpless waif, appealing for a man to protect her from the world.  What a ploy, when from what I saw earlier, she was as venomous as a snake. A very comely and fetching snake.  Chelsea launched into a tale of woe, of being thrust aside because she was a young girl. Could I not be her knight and champion her and other nonsense which I cut off swiftly.

 

“I am the lawyer for the Frick Companies. I will not entertain any conflict of interest.”

 

Which launched Chelsea into a tirade.

 

“I knew you were a weakling, a weakling man of Earth, afraid to stand up and fight for a lady. Weak. Weak. Weak.  I will show you.”

 

I moved to the door and as I was leaving, the she-snake went on, “that’s right, run away. You’re no good anyway.  I hope you lose, you chicken.”

 

Schoolyard abuse.  The only thing I was afraid of was that Woodrow or Zack Frick might resent it if I slapped a lady of House Frick, as she deserved.

 

My first impressions of Wyandotte Frick were not favourable ones.  Compared to the forceful man in the photographs that Mrs Magruder had shown me, he seemed just an early middle-aged businessman in a grey suit.  He was tall, and not pudgy, but did not have the aura of danger that Wilson Frick, or Woodrow Frick had. But I knew that appearances can be deceptive and that some snakes are even more dangerous for not having rattles.

 

One of my recreations, before I discovered the owning of enslaved women, was to read popular novels of previous decades.  Tai-pan, by James Clavell, came to my mind.  The protagonist, Dirk Struan was a force of nature that forced his world to bow to his will.  His son, who grew up in the great man’s shadow, never developed his own force and went down in history as Culum the Weak. So often strong men do not develop strong heirs. It seemed likely that this Wyandotte might prove a weak vacillating figure, a danger to the strength of the Frick Family to which I had aligned myself.

 

Small talk was made while a group of middle-aged and older men, men with little force or seeming intelligence arrived in ones and twos.  We were served more coffee and breakfast pastries, while I hankered for something more substantial after my overnight flight. Almost last to arrive was Woodrow Frick from the Lazy F, a breath of fresh air after these fusty non-entities.  I tried to get near him to talk, but about half the grey suited men crowded around him, seeming to court his good opinion, while the other half avoided Woodrow as though he had a disease.  Change has come for the Fricks, I thought. Wyandotte Frick was watching the group of courtiers around Woodrow; he did not appear pleased, but he had not been happy since I had met him.

 

Young Zack Frick opened a pair of double pocket doors that led out of the parlour and invited us to follow him.  Beyond the doors was a dining room, with a large mahogany table and chairs.  Wyandotte nearly sat in the chair next to the chair at the head of the table, but at the last moment, took the seat at the head of the table. He seemed ill at ease there.  Half the grey-suited men sat near Wyandotte, half around Woodrow near the other end.  Two kajirae I recognized from the Lazy F ranch, Tiffani and Fliss, wearing black silk tunics, placed water carafes on silver plates on the table and then knelt by another set of doors which I assumed led to the kitchen.  Woodrow nodded at them, which recollected Wyandotte to the fact that he was Master in this House now.

 

“You are dismissed.” 

 

They rose and left. Juli is graceful, but I see now she needs more training to become as graceful in movement as the House Kajirae of the Fricks.  Thoughts of my girl almost overwhelmed me, she has grown so much in my affections since I put my collar on her.

 

Zach Frick closed and locked the kitchen doors, then took a seat by the doors to the parlour.  He did not join the rest at the table.  I was at one end facing Wyandotte Frick.

 

He made some welcoming noises, Chamber of Commerce style, paying tribute to my talents, thanking me for coming etc. I preferred a more direct style of just getting down to business, but Wyandotte needed to talk, I suppose.  My mind wandered a bit.

 

Finally, we got down to business with me dismissing from my mind all thoughts of Fliss and Tiffani and their grace, my speculations regarding the suitability of Scarlett the flight attendant for the collar, and Leigh for a free woman’s clothes.  Free Woman’s clothes led my thoughts to the tight ‘mourning’ outfit of Chelsea Frick, which led my thoughts to her kneeling naked next to my Juli, both in collars.

 

Finally to business.  I laid out the history of Vincent VanRijn.  His family had settled in New York with the Dutch and had been unscrupulous landlords and merchants for generations.  They had moved to San Francisco in gold rush times after their family estate of Dragonwyk had been burned out during the Land Wars.  He made his money squatting like a troll on other people’s inventions, claiming defective patents or dubious infringements.  Poorly capitalized companies ended up losing everything, while other people mostly paid him to go away.

 

I laid out for them the legal options.  VanRijn really had no case, but paying him to go away was the cheapest option.

 

Endless discussion ensued.  Most of the cousins favoured this option, but wanted the money to come from Wyandotte and Wilson, and certainly not from them.  Finally Wyandotte asked what other options there were.

 

I explained they could fight a long-drawn-out legal battle, countering every argument as he put it forth.  It could go on for years and might never reach a decision.  The last option was the most expensive and risky.  Put his claims to the test, challenge everything pre-emptively, Crush arguments he hadn’t even raised yet.  It would mean demanding large amounts of discovery from him, hours of sifting through papers.  The Fricks would either lose or win swiftly.

 

There was, of course, more discussion.  To my disappointment but not surprise, Wyandotte did not lead the discussion but listened to all points.

 

Finally Woodrow weighed in.  He scared them, he pointed out that with the family weakened by the death of Willard and his removal from the Council, the Family must appear strong.  The attack on the Lazy F must be hidden, wealth could not be drained away in payoffs, “for blackmailers always return again for more.  Like a disobedient slave-girl this VanRijn must receive a strong chastisement now.”

 

The majority were afraid of a fight, afraid of any confrontation.  Mostly they supported the middle option, don’t pay, but let the matter drag on indefinitely, the worst option.

 

Finally Wyandotte called for a vote.  Two or three were for biting the bullet and making a payoff; the majority were for fighting on the cheap and over a long time; entering a quagmire.

 

Woodrow voted for the Intense Fight Back option.  To my surprise, so did Wyandotte.

 

“I am Head of the Family, we need to fight, we need to project strength and confidence. Patrick Masters will lead his team and our corporate counsel will support.”

“Meeting adjourned”

 

So, the right decision.  But if Wyandotte had been more decisive, we would not have wasted two and a half hours.

 

But one of the querulous old men spoke up.  “This is the wrong decision.  You cannot risk the future of the Family in this way.  You are as bad as Willard Frick, taking too much risk.  We must conserve our resources, temporize, compromise, beg our way back on to the council.  I demand you reverse this decision.  The money you are using for this fight, the money you are risking in general, comes from our trust accounts. You cannot be allowed to do this. I demand you make peace.”

 

He took a gun, a pistol, from his pocket.

 

Wyandotte looked up, he did not stir.

 

“Demand, you cannot demand. You live on the funds of the family without contributing anything.  You are cast out from the family.  Dismissed. Disowned.”  His voice when handing down this sentence was no different from when he was delivering the platitudes at the start of the meeting.

 

The man with the gun wavered.  Woodrow Frick knocked the gun from his shaking fingers, sliding it along the table to stop in front of Wyandotte.  The mass of the grey men, muttered and looked down, not daring to either look at Wyandotte or the condemned man.  Those who looked at Woodrow Frick quickly looked away.

 

Wyandotte got up, and left the room, followed by the rest of the Frick council.  The man who had confronted Wyandotte started to leave, but was stopped by Woodrow placing a hand on the arm of his grey silk suit.  As I left the room with Zach Frick, the grey man sank back into his chair.  Woodrow stopped by the end of the table, where Wyandotte had left the pistol.

 

“Franklin Atherton Frick, you know what you have to do.”  He then slid the gun down the table to in front of Franklin Frick, joined me by the door.  We went through into the parlour, Woodrow closed the doors.  As we walked over towards the coffee service, we heard a shot from the Dining room where we had had our council.

Nobody moved towards the Dining Room.  I knew though that the Fricks had plenty of experience in dealing with removing embarrassment bodies.

 

*************************

 

Another three quarters of an hour was wasted getting the old cousins out of the house.  They wanted to talk and talk about how good the old times were, and not face the dangerous future.  Finally, they were gone.  While Wyandotte and Woodrow talked, I was left to chat with Zach.  

 

“You did not give anything away during that long conference. I can’t read you when you want to shut down your face.”

 

“I could not really interfere with the decision. I am you lawyer, not your boss.”

 

“And what were you really thinking about.”

 

I deflected, I did not want to tell him about my encounter with Chelsea.

 

“Mostly Fliss and Tiffani, a bit about Angela, the running of a big house, the management of the household duties.  I need more help than I expected running Drysdale House.”  

 

Zack surprised me by mentioning his cousin himself.

 

“Did you know that Cousin Chelsea had snuck into the parlour and was listening at the door?”

 

He grinned at my surprise.

 

“She has not given up, that one.  She wants things she can’t have; things that don’t suit her.”

 

“Have you told Wyandotte, or Mrs Magruder?”

 

“No, I will keep that to myself for now.  No need to bother Wyandotte, he has enough on his mind.”

 

I contacted my office and spoke to Billy Purden, the managing director of resources. He was to get a team out here to Pittsburgh as soon as possible to liaise with the Frick corporate lawyers and go through their patent files.

 

Juli’s Narrative.

 

I shelved books last night for three hours.  Without direction, I am sure I am doing things wrong.  Now he is my Master, Patrick can whip me if displeased.  And I cannot keep up with the cleaning, and my stitching, I am sure is not yet good enough.  Additionally, the automatic feeding machine does not add the flavour packets to the Nutri-girl and so I live on unflavoured mush.  With all the work, no company and no slave orgasms, the life of a slave whose Master is away is very miserable.  

I dread going to Master Patrick’s office now that he has left for Pittsburgh.  Even before he left, it was hard after I was collared.  Even without knowing my changed circumstances, the people at the office treated my differently than they had when I was free.  Before when I went to his offices, at reception, it was always, “Good morning Miss Chen”, or at the very most, “Hello, Juliet, go right back.”

 

But now that I am barely dressed, I am always made to wait, “I will check if Mr Masters is available to see you, Juli.”  They have picked up by the change in Master Patrick’s attitude towards me that I am less than a free woman.  I am due less respect.  Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Miss Caroline Pomerantz are particularly nasty.  Miss Pomerantz is very prim, while Miss Bennet only pretends to be, while both treated me with respect before, now I only feel their contempt.  Going there without Master Patrick’s protection frightens me.  Even on Earth it seems that Free Women fear and despise kajirae.