I am posting pages from my new book, available at the Book Shelf on Mission St. in Mt. Pleasant. If you want more information click HERE.





Oh yes, the inside walls of the car were armored.

The steam locomotive, far ahead, braced itself against the blowing and drifting snow. Its pistons pushed and pulled mightily on the rods and links that made the drivers go round. Its great headlight pushed a cone of light ahead, revealing a chaos of snow, yet its beam was bright enough to allow the engineer only a hint of what lay ahead. The train itself was but a snow snake twisting and turning in the blackness and in the howling, relentless snow.

The timetable insisted that the arrival time would be at dawn. The storm had other plans, and it was near noon when the train pulled into the sprawling terminal in Dolphene. Great clots of ice and snow splashed from the cars unto the platform and melted rapidly, making large black steamy patches on the concrete.

There was a metal barrier on the platform that protected the last car from the rest of the train. Two guards emerged from the car, weapons drawn. When they were sure all was in order, the minister and the remaining guards came forth. They were met by an official cluster of important-looking people. Ms. Phyllis Inownit, the vice president of Nordlandt, stepped forward briskly and shook the minister’s cold hand. She looked accustomed to welcoming important guests.

She had a set face caught in what might be a smile. The group moved quickly to one of the side exits of the terminal where vehicles awaited.
The Palace of Peace, which housed the government was modern, grand, and by its sweep, intimidating. The vice president took the visitors from Centralia to a suite of rooms where they could freshen up before meeting the president.


A New Beginning

The somber and determined Maelstrom had brought an idea from his king so startling the visit turned into a diplomatic conference lasting three days. Arthur Pholde, president of Nordlandt, and his staff looked at every detail covered in the draft document. At last, they weighed the costs and the benefits and found adoption beneficial to both sides.

The presidential train was quite splendid; a sleek, polished streamlined locomotive with matching tender pulled twelve passenger cars, a kitchen car, ten freight cars, and the armored car that had brought the Centralian contingent north coupled on the end.

It sped swiftly south and west, the glittering snow brushed aside by the locomotive sparkled past the windows. The presidential car was magnificent, divided in two major sections: the sleeping quarters for the president and a conference room with an intricately carved table with matching armchairs, which while attached to the floor could be maneuvered back and forth, right and left. Most convenient and very comfortable. The cars were so well suspended one could hardly feel that the train was moving.

The train arrived at Pierian Spring and coasted to a gentle stop in a well-guarded fenced siding. King Drosophila and his ministers waited at the platform. When the door of the president’s car opened, a band struck up the Nordlandtic national anthem. Pholde, in perfect protocol, clicked his heels, removed his hat, and bowed his head. The king responded by touching his crown and extending his hand. As they shook hands, the president commented that it was cold here and escorted His Highness to the car’s conference room. Both sides introduced their various officers and sat down. At each place, there was a small teapot, cup, and saucer.

Pholde began, “Your Highness has surprised us with this offer, but we find it most appealing. It would certainly stop Sudlandt’s marauding ventures, at least for awhile.”

The next morning was New Year’s Day of 959 AST. At the royal palace, stewards opened the doors to the many citizens eager to hear the king’s New Year address. He then announced to all present what was to happen, “My loyal subjects, it is with your greatest interest in mind that I have asked aid from Nordlandt. King Fugal and his legions will regroup and attack us again, given the chance. I am about to reduce that chance to nearly nothing. This document that President Pholde and I are about to ratify unites West Centralia and Nordlandt. Our mutual forces can withstand the Myrmidons. Better, you all shall become free subjects of Nordlandt. Our heritage, our language, and our beliefs are nearly identical. You shall elect those you wish to govern you and abide by the Nordlandtic Constitution that makes the governed the masters of their fate. I leave the throne with a happy heart, knowing you shall all benefit from this action.”

Then with a stroke of his pen, he signed the official treaty. As he set each letter of his name on the page, he hoped the poet who wrote “The hand that signed the paper felled a city” was wrong. Without a word, Pholde followed, signing the pact with a flourish.


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