Chairmen of the Border

[Jeremy 2.0]

Captain Stilton awoke the next morning to a knock at his door that turned out to be Professor Nelson and a rough looking lad holding a shovel.

“You’ve formed a protection racket?” Stilton guessed.

“You said you needed a worker as quickly as possible,” Nelson said, gesturing toward his companion. “Ernest here was the best available…in your timeframe.”

“Ernie!” the small man snapped. “My name’s Ernie! An’ if you call me anythin’ else again so help me I’ll rip yer bleedin’ face off and feed it to the bloody fish!”

Stilton nodded in a way he hoped conveyed some measure of control. In fact, he couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that he should have answered the door with his sword drawn.

Ernie appeared to be barely out of his teens and looked like he had spent most of that time committing felonies in direct sunlight. He had dark, narrow eyes that darted around too often and pale blonde hair cut very close to his scalp His skin was reddish tan and pulled tight over a wiry frame. He balanced the shovel across his shoulders in the nonchalant way of a man ready to swing it at the nearest jugular.

“Ernie,” Nelson said carefully “was a builder on the library project.”

“And then they gave me the sack, didn’t they?” Ernie said, spitting onto the ground. “An before that I was rowing one of the boats what brought us all out ‘ere, not that any of you lot care what happened to us when those bloody pirates showed up!”

“Wait a minute,” Stilton said. “If you’re still under contract with the Navy…”

“There’s no contract, mate. I was working off time, if you catch my meanin’.”

“How’ that?” Stilton asked.

“Ernie had incurred a…debt to society,” Nelson said, smiling.

“Oh, one of them. Do I want to know why?” Stilton asked.

“I doubt it,” Ernie said, grinning. His teeth looked like a deadlocked game of Othello.

“Well,” Stilton said. “I’m willing to give you a try as long as you can dig a straight road between here and that saltpeter.”

“Good as done,” Ernie said. “Anything’s better than rowing night and day. ‘Course you’ll have to do somethin’ about this ‘ere shovel. It’s too sharp.”

“Too sharp?”

“No argument from me. But if my parole office sees me it could be a bit ‘o a problem. E’s a stickler on that sorta thin’.”

“For similar reasons, Ernie isn’t allowed within 200 yards of a temple or any other religious structure,” Nelson added.

Stilton looked at both men.

“I said you don’t wanna know,” said Ernie, grinning again.



The village was so well concealed that Niles had nearly walked straight into it before he realized it was there. Only the voices rising above the constant jungle sounds had kept him from doing just that.

He crouched as low as he could manage against the dark loam and brushed something off his arm that had entirely too many legs. The village was cloaked in green leaves and vines but he could make out a scattering of rough huts and an occasional human barely covered in some kind of animal skin. He had yet to see a weapon, which he supposed was somewhat encouraging.

Would it have killed Stilton to let him borrow the sword? Scouts from other nations got to carry weapons, right? And now seemed like a damn fine time to have something in hands to swing. It didn’t matter that Niles didn’t know how to use the bloody thing. Maybe he could trade it with the natives for something valuable. Like his life, for instance.

There were plenty of trees nearby but nothing he could have made into anything dangerous. The entire jungle seemed full of damp and rot. Of course the people living here would know all about that. They would have long sense bent nature’s will to their own. Niles swallowed hard at the thought of thorns and claws and poisons and diseases and all the other horrors of the deep jungle, thoughts that now constantly preyed on his mind.

He wiped his face with his sleeve, wondering absently if it was humidity or fear that made the sweat pour out of him. Even the air here was thick with moisture. It was like being smothered with a warm, wet blanket.

The village continued on about its business, unaware of Niles. For now, anyway. He tried picturing their reaction to him and it always seemed to end abruptly with something sharp.

Would they be friendly? Would they be hostile? Were they were aware of the world outside the jungle? Would he be looked at as something other than an oddly dressed appetizer?

There was only one way to find out, he thought, automatically reminding himself that his usual speed advantage didn’t apply here.

He moved an inch forward and froze as a distant jungle bird called across the treetops. He waited until he could confirm that his heart was still beating before deciding his next move.

What if they had maps of the area? Or technology? What if they gave him gold? What if finding this village was key to the British survival on this island?

Or what if they took one look and decided he’d make a decent canapé?

My job here is to explore, he said to himself. And I now know there’s a village here. Okay, good. Now I can continue on and maybe stop in on my way back to Colin City. That would work, right?

Another jungle animal howled in the distance as Niles rose to his feet and moved away as quickly as he dared.



Stilton hated him. That had to be it.

Nelson mopped his face with a white cloth and stuffed it back in his pocket. He had planned to spend the morning collecting some of the local plant life for study since after all he was a botanist and not an expert on saltpeter, regardless of what Stilton wanted.

And for that matter he wasn’t an expert on road construction, either.

“I think the Captain wanted you to dig a little more…away from the water,” Nelson said, gesturing with the hand that wasn’t holding the parasol. “You know, a little more toward…well…the saltpeter.”

Ernie, apparently not hearing him, continued to dig a markedly crooked path.

“Because, you see, the uh…saltpeter is where we’re actually wanting the road to ah…go to,” Nelson continued.

“You know what?” Ernie said while still digging. “You remind me of my parole officer.”

“That’s understandable,” Nelson said. “Person of authority tend to have certain qualities that—“

“He’s a fat little bastard, too.”

Nelson refrained from responding, not wanting to be beaten to death with a shovel. Or a parasol, for that matter. Besides, the little bugger was straightening up the path. It can be taught , he thought.

“You know, I’m a bit of a mythology buff myself,” he said a few minutes later.

“What are you going on about?” Ernie said over his shoulder. He was making decent headway now, at least in Nelson’s inexpert view.

“The tattoo on your forearm there,” he said. “It’s Medusa if I’m not mistaken.”

Ernie jabbed the shovel into the ground and held up his arm. “This ‘ere?”

“Not Medusa?” Nelson asked. He was fast regretting having brought up the topic at all.

“This is me mum,” Ernie said, staring at Nelson.

“Ah, I see.” Nelson said, backing away slowly. “You know, I understand Medusa was once quite love--.”

Ernie walked up and thrust his arm in Nelson’s face.

“I hate the old bag!” he said, stabbing a forefinger toward the tattoo. “That’s why I got this, just so’s I’d never forget!”

“You what?” Nelson said. “You got a tattoo to remember to hate your mother?”

“Yeah. I used to use this string tied ‘round my finger but it kept comin’ off.”

Nelson digested this while Ernie went back to digging the road.

“I sure can’t wait for those other workers to get here,” Ernie said a little later.

“I thought the governor said they were going to build a harbor next,” Nelson said. “Or was it a barracks?”

“I dunno about the city. I mean on that ship over there.”

Nelson looked back at the ocean and after a moment saw the outline of a large sailing vessel tacking directly toward the island.

“That’s not one of our ships!” Nelson said. “I think it’s a German galleon.”

He turned back to Ernie. “What it the world made you think it was bringing workers here?”

Ernie stopped shoveling long enough to shrug. “Mister, you may have noticed I’m not exactly the sharpest window in the kitchen.

“The sharpest…? What?” Nelson said. “That doesn’t make any damn sense!”

“You know, Ernie said, shaking his head. “Now you’re starting to sound just like me mum.”

[Jeremy 2.0]

The German galleon was nearly on top of them by the time Nelson and Ernie could warn Stilton. He stepped outside the gates of Colin City just as the great ship passed in front of what he hoped would someday be a harbor.

“Did you see that?” Stilton shouted. Nelson was standing right next to him but speaking at a normal level seemed somehow anticlimactic.

“Musketmen!” Nelson shouted back, getting into the spirit. “And a worker, too, from the look of it!”

“Worker my ,” Ernie said. “That’s a settler!”

“He had a hat, didn’t he?” the Governor said. He was used to sleeping late and as a result was still in a robe and slippers.

“Settler?” Stilton said, thinking fast. “Professor, is that saltpeter within our border yet?”

“I’m not sure we could say that it’s in our border, exactly,” Nelson said. “I mean, we’re the ones with a city here. But fundamentally isn’t the question—“

“Is the saltpeter within the damn glowing orange line?” Stilton yelled.

“The what?”

Stilton glared at Nelson but only for a moment. Niles had said how hard it was to notice. Maybe Nelson didn’t know about it.

“We’ve got to stop them from landing on the island,” Stilton said. “Or at least we’ve got to stop them from landing on the saltpeter. If they build a city on top of it, they’ve defeated the whole purpose of our being here.”

“You can take the road,” Nelson said. “Ernie here was halfway to the deposit when he spotted the Germans. Maybe you can get there before them.”

“And then we’ll beat the hell out of ‘em!” Ernie said. His hands gripped his shovel with a depraved urgency.

“No, then we keep them from building a city on the saltpeter,” Stilton said.

“By beating the hell out of ‘em!” Ernie said.

“I think we’ll let that play out when we get there,” Stilton said.

And only a few minutes later, Stilton, Nelson, Ernie, and the Governor stood side-by-side along the coastline between the Germans and the saltpeter.

“All right, everyone. Human chain right along the beach. That’s it, Professor!” Stilton called.

“Dammit, I’m a botanist, not a barrier!” Nelson yelled.

“Then think of all those wonderful plants you’ll never be able to study if the Germans get the saltpeter on this island,” Stilton said. “I see something green and leafy in the water there. How about you study that while we’re here?”

“This is never going to work,” Nelson said.

“I’m open to better ideas if you’ve got any,” Stilton said. “In the meantime, everybody wave at our German friends. A wave consists of more than one finger, Ernie.”

“Says you,” Ernie groused.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance I could slip back to the city and put on something more, you know, dignified?” the Governor said.

“You look fine,” Stilton said, not taking his eyes off the galleon. “Power needs no uniform.”

“You look like a poof,” Ernie chuckled.

“Knock it off,” Stilton said. “If you want to help how about building us a city on that saltpeter behind us?”

“What? I can’t do that,” Ernie said. “I’m a worker, right? Them there settlers are the ones what with the hats and stuff, right?”

“I’m not exactly in a position to pick nits,” Stilton said. “So if you think you can manage to start up a city – any city – by all means, feel free.”

Ernie looked back at the saltpeter and back at Stilton. “No way, mate. I can barely scratch out a decent road.”

Stilton nodded. It was a long shot, just like this human wall. If only Colin City could crank out a settler fast enough…



“I say we blast them off the beach and then make landfall where the hell we want to!”

Ludwig looked at Captain Schwieger. “Remind me to institute some sort of diplomacy schedule for the Navy when we get back to Hamburg, he said.

“He’s got a point,” Gunter said to Ludwig. “It would make this job a lot simpler.”

“I hate to sound like a broken…like someone who keeps repeating himself, but I’ll remind everyone that we aren’t at war with the British,” Ludwig said.

“Yeah,” Gunter said, nodding morosely. “Too bad.”

“Excuse me,” said a rugged man in a hat from behind them.

“Yes?” Ludwig said.

“Are you really planning to build a city right next to the British town there?” the settler asked.

“No, but I plan for you to do so,” Ludwig said, smiling.

“Oh, I see.”

“And by that I don’t mean right next to it,” Ludwig said. “And furthermore I think the focus should be what you’ll be building on, not near. And that of course is why we’re all here.”

“You mean the saltpeter?”

“No, the bananas,” Ludwig said. “Yes, of course the saltpeter.”

“Sure is close to those Brits.”

Ludwig sighed. “I understand that as a craftsman you may have some…artistic concerns regarding the placement of the city we ask you to construct. Please understand that under ordinary circumstances we would never ask you to…showcase your talents in so restrictive an environment. But the situation here is unique and under these conditions we must call for extraordinary valor.”

“I don’t know, “ the settler said. “Don’t we already have saltpeter?”

“Sure do,” said a musketman leaning against a mast. “Made me the man I am today.”

“But the point is one of supply and demand,” Ludwig said. “Or perhaps it’s one of monopoly. Regardless, I think we can all agree that the more saltpeter we have, the better off we are, especially if there is a direct, inverse relationship to the amount the British have.”

“I actually followed that,” Gunter said, impressed.

“So I may not have the ability to stretch my artistic wings, so to speak,” the settler said. “But my city will be an invaluable part of our cultural dominance?”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Ludwig said. “Faster, perhaps, but that’s a separate argument.”


Stilton had hoped that somehow the Great Wall of Colin City could keep the Germans from landing on the island long enough for a settler to be built and travel out this far. He had hoped that somehow they could build a city on the saltpeter, before the damn Germans did, which was surely their goal.

He may as well have wished for a chocolate sunrise and marshmallow clouds.

The galleon shot passed them all and dropped off a group of men just a few hundred feet away from the saltpeter deposit. Stilton saw a man holding what could only be a musket along with a scout, a man he couldn’t place, and a settler.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Damn the luck.”

“I’ve been begging you to build a university here,” Nelson said to the Governor. “If you had done that to begin with..!”

“I say we rush ‘em!” Ernie said, hefting his shovel. “They look like a pack of girlies from ‘ere!”

“Ones that could pop you from a hundred yards without so much as blinking,” Stilton said, watching the musketman. “Not to mention how we aren’t at war with them yet.”

“Yet,” Nelson said.

Stilton turned and started to say something to the professor when the Governor pointed toward the Germans.

“I say, who are they?” he said.

Stilton spun around. It was a fair distance away but on the horizon, past the Germans and all the way to the saltpeter, were…well, people.

He cupped both hands over his eyes and stared toward the jungle edge. There, walking toward Colin City, were two men.

One of whom Stilton knew quite well.

“What the hell is he doing here?"



Niles’ boots crunched on the saltpeter deposit in a welcome change from the shifting jungle soil.

He squinted and saw Stilton in the distance with several others. They were waving frantically and pointing.

He turned and saw another group of men.

“I know you,” Niles said. “You’re the German scout I showed the border lights too.”

“That’s right,” Gunter said. “But there’s no border here.”

“No,” Niles said. “Just the saltpeter.”

Gunter and the others said nothing.

“And this time it’s not sauerkraut, is it?”

“We’re not at war,” said a man next to Gunter that Niles didn’t recognize. “We’re just here as you are, as explorers. We ask for the same courtesies as you.”

Niles looked down at the terrain below him.

“You know what I think? I think you’re trying to capture the only other source of saltpeter in this part of the world. Am I right?”

Gunter and the others said nothing.

“And I think that maybe if we had our own supply, then your country and mine would continue to not be at war with one another, even if for just a little longer. What do you think?”

The musketman looked to the man Niles didn’t recognize.

“Look,” the man said. “We just ask for the opportunity to explore. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

Niles nodded. “Exploring is in our nature, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” the man said. “Yes, I do.”

“You never know what you might find.”

“That’s true,” the man said with a growing suspicion.

“Very good,” Niles said. “And here’s a perfect example.”

He turned to the man behind him. “This looks like a good spot, doesn’t it?” Niles said.

[Jeremy 2.0]

On the whole, Stilton would have done something about the name.

“All I’m saying is that it doesn’t quite roll off the tongue, eh?” he said.

Niles drew on his cigar and shrugged. “I felt that under the circumstances he should be able to name it whatever he wanted to.”

“Yes, I quite a agree,” Stilton said. “But really, man…”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it lends a…diversity to our nation,” Nelson said.

“And you academic types are all about that, aren’t you?” Stilton said, relighting his own cigar.

Nelson let it drop, choosing instead to focus his efforts on the fire they had all gathered around. There had been far too much excitement around here as far as he was concerned. And anyway, before long the hustle and bustle of the growing city would never allow a bonfire in the city square.

“You know,” he said. “These cigars really are awful.”

Stilton smiled. “They don’t seem to travel well, do they? Perhaps we can manage a rolling factory here someday.”

“After the harbor and the barracks and the musketmen and the city walls and god knows what else,” the Governor of Colin City said.

“Yes,” Stilton sighed. “After all that.”

“A bloody pool hall wouldn’t kill anybody either,” Ernie said.

A man carrying a drink tray arrived shortly afterward. Stilton lifted a snifter and smiled.

“At least the brandy made the trip in one piece,” he said.

Nelson took a glass, whirled the liquid around, and nodded appreciatively.

Stilton stood and raised his glass. “I’d like to toast our friend Niles, who delivered us in a most unexpected manner.”

“Hear, hear,” the Governor said.

Niles looked into his glass and shook his head. “The thanks should go to the Vandals. They’re the ones who decided to join up and give us a settler.”

Stilton pointed at Niles. “That’s true. But you’re the one who had to go in there and find them. That wasn’t easy.”

Niles consulted his glass again a few moments before raising his head and returning Stilton’s salute.

“No,” he said, “Sometimes it just takes more time than you’d think.”

Stilton glanced at Niles quizzically but was interrupted but the always-insightful Ernie.

“This tastes like ,” Ernie said.

“We call that an acquired taste,” Nelson said.

“I don’t think I want ‘elp enjoying something what tastes like horse ,” Ernie said.

“Here’s to saltpeter,” the Governor said.

“Absolutely,” Stilton said. “And for that matter here’s to the city itself. Er, I’m going to need a little help here, Niles.”

Niles sat up in his chair. “The Vandal settler didn’t speak English, of course, so it’s an approximation.”

He raised his glass. “So here’s to Eey-gah.”

Stilton finished his brandy and let the liquor’s warmth settle into him before speaking again. “So…are you sure that’s what the old boy wanted to call this city?”

Niles didn’t answer. Instead, he sat up in his chair and tilted his head.

“What’s the matter?” Nelson asked.

“Nothing,” Niles said. “It’s just that…does anyone else smell sauerkraut?”

“What?” Stilton yelped, nearly spilling his drink.

Nelson and the Governor shared a horrified look and began sniffing the air.

“Just kidding,” said Niles, smiling and settling back in his chair.



Assistant Spymaster Ludwig sat alone in his galleon cabin consulting a group of charts when the knock came.

“I wasn’t sure this would be a good time,” Gunter said, stepping in.

“Time doesn’t seem to be a current issue,” Ludwig said. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, the musketman wants to invade the new English city, the settler wants somewhere to explore his artistic freedom, and you I’m not so sure about.”

“Me? What about you?”

Gunter shrugged. “Drop me off somewhere and I do my thing. You know that.” He sat down on a rough wooden table and placed both arms on the table. “But you…I don’t know.”

Ludwig joined him at the table and smiled. “Concern, Gunter?”

“For you? Not at all. But I need you to be sharp in order to do my job properly. Otherwise mistakes get made and I get dropped off in a hornet’s nest of barbarians or the like.”

Ludwig smiled and unrolled a sheet of paper.

“This is a map I’ve made from your land observations and that of our ships and…private contractors.”

Gunter shifted in his seat for a better view.

“And what I keep noticing,” Ludwig said “is that with the water depth and some land features out here, I think we’ve all made a rather incorrect assumption.”

“Which is?”

“Which is that this island is actually an island,” Ludwig said. “As a matter of fact, I think we’ve only scratched the surface of an entirely new continent.”

Gunter looked at the map and frowned.

“Let me guess; I’m going to spend a lot of time in the jungle soon, aren’t I?”

‘Why Gunter,” Ludwig said. “Is that the sweet sound of a volunteer?”

[Jeremy 2.0]

Thanks to all who took the time to read and/or comment on this story. I hope you enjoyed it.

[Richelieu]

I'm about halfway through and i love it.

[Richelieu]

Just finished it.

Again: great stuff!

[DarkCloud]

Best lines in the second part:

Ludwig’s own confusion took a left turn into much deeper territory. “You drew a skull and…but isn’t the Babylonian flag already a skull and cross bones?” he asked.

and CULTURAL BORDERS!

The orange line stretched through the field of grass and disappeared into the horizon. It passed unscathed through stone and wood and, as we’ll soon see, a swordsman’s foot.

If you looked closely enough, you would see the line brighten and dim very, very faintly, giving a suggestion of movement, like the steady purr of a reclining jungle cat.

It was very hard not to think of it as a living thing.

“Has this always been here?” Captain Stilton asked, passing his boot through the light. The warming sensation he felt was so slight that he thought possibly that he’d imagined it.

“Ever since we built Colin City, yes,” said Niles. “It’s a little easier to see here in the evening, but not much. Did you notice it’s expanding?”

Stilton crouched closer and reached a tentative finger toward the line. “I think you’re right. It’s moving in a broad path toward the jungle there.”

“Toward the saltpeter ,” Niles said. “It’s the library that’s doing it, just like I told you earlier.”

This one is Prachetesque in its footnotoriety:

*With Fascism having yet to be discovered by the English, Niles is actually referring to a Pictish word he once encountered that means roughly “Jerk who won’t let me borrow his sword.” The Picts are very particular with their insults. And their swords, as it turns out.

...

“You what?” Nelson said. “You got a tattoo to remember to hate your mother?”

“Yeah. I used to use this string tied ‘round my finger but it kept comin’ off.”

oh no... the lost continent

“Let me guess; I’m going to spend a lot of time in the jungle soon, aren’t I?”

‘Why Gunter,” Ludwig said. “Is that the sweet sound of a volunteer?”

Loved it. I was a little worried about the first two chapters of the continuation, but it quickly evolved into something very exciting.

[Anaximander]

I have to say, that is one of the best stories I have read. Great job!!!

[Jeremy 2.0]

Thank you all for taking the time to read and respond. It's always cool to get feedback.

I finished an outline for a Chairmen of the Border sequel late last month (2400 words by itself, not too bad when you figure the original COtB was something like 11K total.) I don't know when I'll start posting it as I'm still hammering away at the first chapter and have been working on Ch 2 most of this evening. (I have a habit - we won't label it bad just yet - of writing the parts of the story that 'want to be written' rather than writing the story in some coherent order.)

I feel an obligation to make this one better than round one if for no other reason than it will have been written as a multi-part story from the get-go.

I also have a story about horses that I've been playing with for longer than I'd care to say and then of course there's always that damn Bijou thing that needs finishing. I'd have more of this done already but I picked up a new PC a couple weeks back and can finally play the huge Civ3 maps without the game slowing to a crawl.

[Paddy]

Keep it rolling mate