FA+
Shop
529
Views
Views
6
Favorites
Favorites
Category
Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 659 x 1280
File Size 110.5 kB
Report this content
More from Walt46
Listed in Folders
Very Fawnedly Yours
© 2013 by Walter Reimer
(All characters courtesy of
EOCostello, 
MercMarten and 
Major Matt Mason. Any resemblance between characters depicted herein and any real person, living or dead, is too bad for them.)
The setting is Spontoon Island, in the story section Let's Doe It (Let's Fall In Love).
Art by
KatieKat
__________________________________________________
Part 59.
Willow:
By the time the train stopped again at Rock Springs, Wyoming, Lodge and Katie’s butler, Barclay, had things set up for two more passengers. A telegram was sent out, with a reply waiting for us at the next stop in Laramie.
A film projector was requested, and (of course) one was found. Lord Josslyn is a great planner.
When everything was finished, it was close to dinnertime, so we all met in Pocono for coffee. Newspapers had been delivered, and we were all glancing through the articles.
Reggie had seized the Clarion, and was catching up on Rocket Rat’s adventures.
Meanie.
“So, where will you be off to now, if you don’t mind my asking, Your Grace?” Reggie asked after he came up for air.
"Oh, it's back to Britain for me. Can't stay here in the States . . . not without a pilot's license. Need to go where I can fly again." She took another sip of her coffee, and Reggie and I shared a look.
"Well," said Reggie, "it so happens, we've got staterooms reserved on board the Queen Mary for Southampton. If we were to wire ahead Your Grace, I'm certain something might be arranged."
Katie smiled and raised a polite hoof. "I appreciate the offer, Reggie." She patted her injured leg. "But the docs say no more flying for at least another two months anyway, so I figure I'll winter up in Vermont 'til I'm a bit more healed, then make my crossing in the spring. Besides," and she nodded at the stack of newspapers on the table, "given my newfound status, I'm not so sure folks in America would appreciate my leaving for Britain so soon after my arrival."
I decided to choose my words carefully. "You may be right about that, Your Grace. A lot of Americans might think you still were holding a grudge over the Thompson Trophy scandal."
Our guest shook her head. "Not me, not this mare. After all I've seen and done these last three years - in Abyssinia, in Spain, and especially in China, that seems like the most trivial thing in the world right now."
"So what will you be doing, once you return to Britain?" Reggie asked.
For the briefest of moments, the Fighting Duchess (that’s what the papers were calling her, even the Hearst ones) looked . . . lost. She tried to cover it up by picking up her coffee cup, but you could see she hadn’t really thought about it.
The moment passed, and she put down the cup.
"In all honesty Reggie, I really don't know at the moment. And that's the other reason I don't want to go back to Britain just yet. I'd like to know what I'm going to do when I get there before I leave."
"Quite sensible."
***
Katie:
The Buckhorns were remarkable hosts.
At Omaha, an entire stack of telegrams was brought on board, and every one of them addressed to me. Most of these were set aside to be answered with a polite 'thank you' by one of my private secretaries later.
A few however, were not.
These came from:
Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Bianco, Cozumel, Mexico;
Mr. and Mrs. James Spanaway, New York City, New York;
Mr. James McKenna, Brisbane, Australia;
Signor Umberto Nobile, Santa Rosa, California;
Mr. Roscoe Turner, Miami Florida; and
the Rt. Honorable Winston Churchill, Chartwell House, Kent, England.
These were special, and deserved my fursonal attention. So I borrowed one of Reggie’s secretaries to jot down my replies. They were included in the telegrams the Buckhorns were sending out when the train reached Chicago.
The train had been shunted, quietly and unannounced, onto a platform some distance away from the rest of the station and away from any prying eyes.
Supplies were loaded, along with more newspapers.
It pleased me to see that someone had thought to get the most recent available copies of the London Daily Observer. I flipped one open, then another.
The third time was the charm, and there it was on the front page: “TERROR BY PROXY: How the Austrian Nazi Party spreads mayhem at the direction of Berlin." It was under Drake Hackett’s byline, so that was a relief. He’d managed to get the story, and get out of the Nazi’s paws safely.
Definitely going to have to read that one, but later.
Right now, I have to meet a few people.
Hollywood couldn’t have set up a more film noir setting. Swirling steam from the engine, dim lights on the platform . . . you almost expected cloak and dagger stuff.
Well, you might say this was something like that.
Here come two shadows, carrying their own luggage (railroad porters are notorious gossips). I recognize one as being Jack Finlayson; hard to tell who the other one is. Barclay and a couple other members of my staff step out to relieve them of their overnight bags.
Dammit, I know the other guy from somewhere! Thin pronghorn antelope, heavy double-breasted coat and a Homburg pulled low over his eyes.
"Your Grace?" and Major Finlayson stepped forward with his paw outstretched. "Thanks much for agreeing to meet with us. And may I say how good it is to see you alive and well. The initial word was that you had died when your plane went down in the Yangtze."
"Well, the rumors of my death were slightly exaggerated," and I shook his paw. I suppose the proper thing to do would have been for me to extend my paw for him to kiss, but I was in no way in the mood for protocol at the moment. I lifted my crutches slightly. "Although, not quite well just yet, I'm afraid."
"But you will be soon enough?" Odd; he sounded uneasy – and hopeful.
"Oh yeah," I said, "I'm not missing any flights, Major. Just postponing them."
"Good, good." The raccoon gestured to the antelope beside him, who was shifting his weight from hoof to hoof and blowing into his gloved paws. Poor guy. They don't call Chicago The Windy City for nothing. As thin as he is, he’s probably suffering.
"And may I present Mr. Harry Hopkins, of Washington, DC?"
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace." the pronghorn says as he steps closer and extends his hoof. "I've heard a lot of good things about you."
Good grief. Talk about an awkward meeting, and I’m not talking about the fact that I’m on crutches.
Harry Hopkins? Christmas, he was only President Moosevelt's single most trusted advisor (God rest the poor man’s soul), quite possibly the most powerful fur in Washington, outside of the President himself. He had so much influence in the White House that Long kept him on after Moosevelt died.
Some wags refer to him as 'the assistant President' - and it’s NOT meant as a term of affection.
It actually made me feel a bit better that Long had kept him on.
"Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hopkins. And now what say we get out of this cold and into some hot coffee?"
The parlor car had been transformed into something like a boardroom. The leather-topped tables had been pushed to the center of the car and placed together, forming an unbroken surface. Three chairs had been placed around one end of the table. In front of each table were three sharpened pencils and some sheets of F.R. Buckhorn & Sons stationery, neatly squared in a folder.
At my request, a movie projector had been brought out, and I was pleased to see that someone (possibly Josslyn Buckhorn) had the foresight to install a pulldown projection screen at one end of the parlor. A side table held an ice bucket, some glasses, some soft drinks and water, a carafe of coffee (Brazilian, from the smell), and some sandwiches under a silver dome.
I nodded to Ewan and Lodge, both of whom bowed, and made sure the parlor doors were both locked after they vanished through one of them. I knew that Raibassu would be seated on the other side, with Shang Li-Sung ready to spell him.
Hopkins looked around the parlor car with a wry grin and shook his head. "The President was deeply concerned about your choice of meeting venue, Your Grace. He's afraid so much close contact with all this luxury will turn me into a Republican."
I grinned. "Well, you can get Mrs. Moosevelt to kiss you, and you'll turn back into a Democrat."
And on that relatively light note, the meeting began.
Apart from asking for more coffee and another tray of sandwiches, we didn’t come out of that room for what seemed like ages.
And NO, I will not tell you what went on in there.
I did call Ewan in to take down a telegram for me, to Zeke Bronsteil in Inglewood, California. In a nutshell, it told him to drop everything and meet me up in Burlington, expenses covered, with Maggie and the kits more than welcome.
"And wire him $500 with that for travel, Ewan."
"Right away, Your Grace."
Ewan also gave me some news. The train was being detoured south to Washington, through West Virginia and Maryland, because of a derailment near Altoona. For us, it was a lucky break.
It meant that Hopkins and Major Finlayson could get off at Union Station. Quietly and discreetly, in the middle of the night, and no one the wiser. They were known to have been out of town, and even the fur who wrote "Washington Merry-Go-Round" would have a difficult time piecing together the story.
To add to the cover, the train had to be switched from a steam engine to an electric for the trip up the Northeast Corridor.
There was a shaking of paws, a brief exchange of words, and then my two visitors departed into the Washington night.
A suitably noir ending to the proceedings.
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
© 2013 by Walter Reimer
(All characters courtesy of
EOCostello, 
MercMarten and 
Major Matt Mason. Any resemblance between characters depicted herein and any real person, living or dead, is too bad for them.)The setting is Spontoon Island, in the story section Let's Doe It (Let's Fall In Love).
Art by
KatieKat__________________________________________________
Part 59.
Willow:
By the time the train stopped again at Rock Springs, Wyoming, Lodge and Katie’s butler, Barclay, had things set up for two more passengers. A telegram was sent out, with a reply waiting for us at the next stop in Laramie.
A film projector was requested, and (of course) one was found. Lord Josslyn is a great planner.
When everything was finished, it was close to dinnertime, so we all met in Pocono for coffee. Newspapers had been delivered, and we were all glancing through the articles.
Reggie had seized the Clarion, and was catching up on Rocket Rat’s adventures.
Meanie.
“So, where will you be off to now, if you don’t mind my asking, Your Grace?” Reggie asked after he came up for air.
"Oh, it's back to Britain for me. Can't stay here in the States . . . not without a pilot's license. Need to go where I can fly again." She took another sip of her coffee, and Reggie and I shared a look.
"Well," said Reggie, "it so happens, we've got staterooms reserved on board the Queen Mary for Southampton. If we were to wire ahead Your Grace, I'm certain something might be arranged."
Katie smiled and raised a polite hoof. "I appreciate the offer, Reggie." She patted her injured leg. "But the docs say no more flying for at least another two months anyway, so I figure I'll winter up in Vermont 'til I'm a bit more healed, then make my crossing in the spring. Besides," and she nodded at the stack of newspapers on the table, "given my newfound status, I'm not so sure folks in America would appreciate my leaving for Britain so soon after my arrival."
I decided to choose my words carefully. "You may be right about that, Your Grace. A lot of Americans might think you still were holding a grudge over the Thompson Trophy scandal."
Our guest shook her head. "Not me, not this mare. After all I've seen and done these last three years - in Abyssinia, in Spain, and especially in China, that seems like the most trivial thing in the world right now."
"So what will you be doing, once you return to Britain?" Reggie asked.
For the briefest of moments, the Fighting Duchess (that’s what the papers were calling her, even the Hearst ones) looked . . . lost. She tried to cover it up by picking up her coffee cup, but you could see she hadn’t really thought about it.
The moment passed, and she put down the cup.
"In all honesty Reggie, I really don't know at the moment. And that's the other reason I don't want to go back to Britain just yet. I'd like to know what I'm going to do when I get there before I leave."
"Quite sensible."
***
Katie:
The Buckhorns were remarkable hosts.
At Omaha, an entire stack of telegrams was brought on board, and every one of them addressed to me. Most of these were set aside to be answered with a polite 'thank you' by one of my private secretaries later.
A few however, were not.
These came from:
Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Bianco, Cozumel, Mexico;
Mr. and Mrs. James Spanaway, New York City, New York;
Mr. James McKenna, Brisbane, Australia;
Signor Umberto Nobile, Santa Rosa, California;
Mr. Roscoe Turner, Miami Florida; and
the Rt. Honorable Winston Churchill, Chartwell House, Kent, England.
These were special, and deserved my fursonal attention. So I borrowed one of Reggie’s secretaries to jot down my replies. They were included in the telegrams the Buckhorns were sending out when the train reached Chicago.
The train had been shunted, quietly and unannounced, onto a platform some distance away from the rest of the station and away from any prying eyes.
Supplies were loaded, along with more newspapers.
It pleased me to see that someone had thought to get the most recent available copies of the London Daily Observer. I flipped one open, then another.
The third time was the charm, and there it was on the front page: “TERROR BY PROXY: How the Austrian Nazi Party spreads mayhem at the direction of Berlin." It was under Drake Hackett’s byline, so that was a relief. He’d managed to get the story, and get out of the Nazi’s paws safely.
Definitely going to have to read that one, but later.
Right now, I have to meet a few people.
Hollywood couldn’t have set up a more film noir setting. Swirling steam from the engine, dim lights on the platform . . . you almost expected cloak and dagger stuff.
Well, you might say this was something like that.
Here come two shadows, carrying their own luggage (railroad porters are notorious gossips). I recognize one as being Jack Finlayson; hard to tell who the other one is. Barclay and a couple other members of my staff step out to relieve them of their overnight bags.
Dammit, I know the other guy from somewhere! Thin pronghorn antelope, heavy double-breasted coat and a Homburg pulled low over his eyes.
"Your Grace?" and Major Finlayson stepped forward with his paw outstretched. "Thanks much for agreeing to meet with us. And may I say how good it is to see you alive and well. The initial word was that you had died when your plane went down in the Yangtze."
"Well, the rumors of my death were slightly exaggerated," and I shook his paw. I suppose the proper thing to do would have been for me to extend my paw for him to kiss, but I was in no way in the mood for protocol at the moment. I lifted my crutches slightly. "Although, not quite well just yet, I'm afraid."
"But you will be soon enough?" Odd; he sounded uneasy – and hopeful.
"Oh yeah," I said, "I'm not missing any flights, Major. Just postponing them."
"Good, good." The raccoon gestured to the antelope beside him, who was shifting his weight from hoof to hoof and blowing into his gloved paws. Poor guy. They don't call Chicago The Windy City for nothing. As thin as he is, he’s probably suffering.
"And may I present Mr. Harry Hopkins, of Washington, DC?"
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace." the pronghorn says as he steps closer and extends his hoof. "I've heard a lot of good things about you."
Good grief. Talk about an awkward meeting, and I’m not talking about the fact that I’m on crutches.
Harry Hopkins? Christmas, he was only President Moosevelt's single most trusted advisor (God rest the poor man’s soul), quite possibly the most powerful fur in Washington, outside of the President himself. He had so much influence in the White House that Long kept him on after Moosevelt died.
Some wags refer to him as 'the assistant President' - and it’s NOT meant as a term of affection.
It actually made me feel a bit better that Long had kept him on.
"Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hopkins. And now what say we get out of this cold and into some hot coffee?"
The parlor car had been transformed into something like a boardroom. The leather-topped tables had been pushed to the center of the car and placed together, forming an unbroken surface. Three chairs had been placed around one end of the table. In front of each table were three sharpened pencils and some sheets of F.R. Buckhorn & Sons stationery, neatly squared in a folder.
At my request, a movie projector had been brought out, and I was pleased to see that someone (possibly Josslyn Buckhorn) had the foresight to install a pulldown projection screen at one end of the parlor. A side table held an ice bucket, some glasses, some soft drinks and water, a carafe of coffee (Brazilian, from the smell), and some sandwiches under a silver dome.
I nodded to Ewan and Lodge, both of whom bowed, and made sure the parlor doors were both locked after they vanished through one of them. I knew that Raibassu would be seated on the other side, with Shang Li-Sung ready to spell him.
Hopkins looked around the parlor car with a wry grin and shook his head. "The President was deeply concerned about your choice of meeting venue, Your Grace. He's afraid so much close contact with all this luxury will turn me into a Republican."
I grinned. "Well, you can get Mrs. Moosevelt to kiss you, and you'll turn back into a Democrat."
And on that relatively light note, the meeting began.
Apart from asking for more coffee and another tray of sandwiches, we didn’t come out of that room for what seemed like ages.
And NO, I will not tell you what went on in there.
I did call Ewan in to take down a telegram for me, to Zeke Bronsteil in Inglewood, California. In a nutshell, it told him to drop everything and meet me up in Burlington, expenses covered, with Maggie and the kits more than welcome.
"And wire him $500 with that for travel, Ewan."
"Right away, Your Grace."
Ewan also gave me some news. The train was being detoured south to Washington, through West Virginia and Maryland, because of a derailment near Altoona. For us, it was a lucky break.
It meant that Hopkins and Major Finlayson could get off at Union Station. Quietly and discreetly, in the middle of the night, and no one the wiser. They were known to have been out of town, and even the fur who wrote "Washington Merry-Go-Round" would have a difficult time piecing together the story.
To add to the cover, the train had to be switched from a steam engine to an electric for the trip up the Northeast Corridor.
There was a shaking of paws, a brief exchange of words, and then my two visitors departed into the Washington night.
A suitably noir ending to the proceedings.
<PREVIOUS><FIRST><NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 659 x 1280px
File Size 110.5 kB
Listed in Folders
Wheels within wheels. So... the bull moose really WAS a moose in this world, eh? And so his cousins would be as well...
But now I am intrigued. Do the Spontoon stories have anything more about this world's political establishments? I haven't run across the right ones yet, if so. What happened in New Haven, and why was it not quashed by the US (whether or not they were part of the Union.)
But now I am intrigued. Do the Spontoon stories have anything more about this world's political establishments? I haven't run across the right ones yet, if so. What happened in New Haven, and why was it not quashed by the US (whether or not they were part of the Union.)
Well, there are a few things:
Zog I of Albania still rules, and sent several of the feuding clans from his country to settle the Albanian South Indies.
Edward VIII is King-Emperor, with PM Lord Oswald Mosley.
The Notorious Paper-hanger is in charge in Berlin.
Mussolini is still protecting Austria, and the Spanish Civil War is still ongoing.
The USS of R is led by Iosif Starling, and the remnant Imperial Regime is situated on the Vostok Island archipelago.
The Showa Emperor is in charge in Tokyo.
Huey Long is President of the United States, with no Vice-President (he never nominated one, believing that any one he picked would try to undermine him).
The Committee of Nine of the Party of the People's Will (a/k/a The Red Fist) are ruling the People's Republic of New Haven, a small and (since 1780) independent state bounded by the US states of New York and Connecticut. It's Communist, yes - but Trotskyite.
On the opposite coast of North America, you have the small Sea Bear Republic (parts of northern California and Oregon) and the Rain Island Anarchcracy. Rain Island's an anarcho-syndicalist state, and having even two small socialist entities near them gives the Americans a bit of heartburn. Still, Rain Island believes in money, and does trade with the USA. New Haven, on the other paw, sealed its border "to keep the riff-raff out," which only annoyed those Yankees who were nipping across the border to get a drink (an independent republic, New Haven never had Prohibition).
Zog I of Albania still rules, and sent several of the feuding clans from his country to settle the Albanian South Indies.
Edward VIII is King-Emperor, with PM Lord Oswald Mosley.
The Notorious Paper-hanger is in charge in Berlin.
Mussolini is still protecting Austria, and the Spanish Civil War is still ongoing.
The USS of R is led by Iosif Starling, and the remnant Imperial Regime is situated on the Vostok Island archipelago.
The Showa Emperor is in charge in Tokyo.
Huey Long is President of the United States, with no Vice-President (he never nominated one, believing that any one he picked would try to undermine him).
The Committee of Nine of the Party of the People's Will (a/k/a The Red Fist) are ruling the People's Republic of New Haven, a small and (since 1780) independent state bounded by the US states of New York and Connecticut. It's Communist, yes - but Trotskyite.
On the opposite coast of North America, you have the small Sea Bear Republic (parts of northern California and Oregon) and the Rain Island Anarchcracy. Rain Island's an anarcho-syndicalist state, and having even two small socialist entities near them gives the Americans a bit of heartburn. Still, Rain Island believes in money, and does trade with the USA. New Haven, on the other paw, sealed its border "to keep the riff-raff out," which only annoyed those Yankees who were nipping across the border to get a drink (an independent republic, New Haven never had Prohibition).
Hmmm. Rain Island being Vancouver Island in our world? And that explains New Haven, thanks. Historically... should've been Rhode Island. They very nearly didn't sign the Constitution. Ah, well, some differences aren't cusp points but just random.
As for a Veep - if he is serving out Moosevelt's term, there was no system in place at the time for replacing a Veep - but if he's elected in his own right, there HAS to be one, and if he didn't nominate a running mate, either his opponent's Veep candidate should have the job (having gotten the most electoral votes - heck, it would probably have been a clean sweep of the States) or the Senate should have chosen one.
Might want to retrofit a non-entity in that case. Long was savvy enough not to have taken the chance of having an actual opposition VP as his next-in-line.
As for a Veep - if he is serving out Moosevelt's term, there was no system in place at the time for replacing a Veep - but if he's elected in his own right, there HAS to be one, and if he didn't nominate a running mate, either his opponent's Veep candidate should have the job (having gotten the most electoral votes - heck, it would probably have been a clean sweep of the States) or the Senate should have chosen one.
Might want to retrofit a non-entity in that case. Long was savvy enough not to have taken the chance of having an actual opposition VP as his next-in-line.
(grins) Moosevelt, fed up with Long's hectoring during the primaries, nominated him as Veep for the 1936 election. Franklin thought that he could 'muzzle the hound' by sidelining him.
However, between winning the '36 election and the inauguration in January, Moosevelt died of a heart attack. Long was sworn in as President, and immediately started badgering the Congress into passing the Revenue Reapportionment Act of 1937 (also known as the Red, or Reds, Act).
The Pacific basin of the Spontoon world has a lot more islands in it. Rain Island's analogous to Vancouver, but has a large number of landmasses as part of its territory. That territory extends west to the Tillamook Confederacy and the Tsarist regime on Vostok Island. North of the Anarchcracy is the Free States of Alaska, a Switzerland-style cantonal federation.
However, between winning the '36 election and the inauguration in January, Moosevelt died of a heart attack. Long was sworn in as President, and immediately started badgering the Congress into passing the Revenue Reapportionment Act of 1937 (also known as the Red, or Reds, Act).
The Pacific basin of the Spontoon world has a lot more islands in it. Rain Island's analogous to Vancouver, but has a large number of landmasses as part of its territory. That territory extends west to the Tillamook Confederacy and the Tsarist regime on Vostok Island. North of the Anarchcracy is the Free States of Alaska, a Switzerland-style cantonal federation.
In our world, New Haven colony merged with Connecticut colony in the 1660s, in part owing to New Haven's shaky financial state. The city outfitted "The Great Ship," which of course foundered on its first voyage, pretty much putting the seal on things. The merger was not a particularly happy one, since Connecticut was Congregational, and New Haven Quaker. Connecticut more or less had two capitals well into the 19th century as a result, and even still, the two cities snipe at each other.
In the world I created for the Inspector Stagg stories in Spontoon, the merger with Connecticut never happened. At the time of the American Revolution, for whatever reason, New Haven went its own way and did not join the other colonies, retaining its own independence. It was a neutral country that few paid attention to until World War I, when for various reasons, the government of the day decided to intervene in the War, in part to reaffirm the right of small nations. (Inspector Stagg served as an intelligence officer in the Great War.) The decision proved costly, in more ways than one. New Haven got ignored at Versailles, and the social and financial costs of the War caused sharp splits in New Haven's polity, with the two parties locked in a series of futile struggles that meant New Haven had little stable government during the 1920s. (Stagg's half-brother Prescott was the power behind the right-wing party.) When the Crash came, New Haven's economy collapsed, and the Red Fist organization seized power in a coup. Stagg, who was head of the State Police, was arrested, and most of his family murdered. His eldest daughter escaped; he thought she had died, and there's a memorial stained glass window in St. Anthony's Church, Meeting Island, Spontoon to the family's memory.
In the world I created for the Inspector Stagg stories in Spontoon, the merger with Connecticut never happened. At the time of the American Revolution, for whatever reason, New Haven went its own way and did not join the other colonies, retaining its own independence. It was a neutral country that few paid attention to until World War I, when for various reasons, the government of the day decided to intervene in the War, in part to reaffirm the right of small nations. (Inspector Stagg served as an intelligence officer in the Great War.) The decision proved costly, in more ways than one. New Haven got ignored at Versailles, and the social and financial costs of the War caused sharp splits in New Haven's polity, with the two parties locked in a series of futile struggles that meant New Haven had little stable government during the 1920s. (Stagg's half-brother Prescott was the power behind the right-wing party.) When the Crash came, New Haven's economy collapsed, and the Red Fist organization seized power in a coup. Stagg, who was head of the State Police, was arrested, and most of his family murdered. His eldest daughter escaped; he thought she had died, and there's a memorial stained glass window in St. Anthony's Church, Meeting Island, Spontoon to the family's memory.
Comments