Act One, Part Two ~~~

"So much for our easy little babysitting job, huh, Jim?"

"Well, it's not exactly a surprise that things have worked out this way," Jim replied. He and Artie were on horseback, riding out from San Francisco to visit the Pterovnian West Coast Consulate. The Wanderer had brought the two of them along with their guests, Prince Stepanko and Captain Koloshko, all the way across the continent as swiftly as possible. Now the Crown Prince and his retainer were ensconced in the finest hotel suite in the city while the two Americans made a scouting excursion.

Not that the prince had been happy with this arrangement. He was all for hiring a carriage and rushing out to the consulate immediately. It had taken the combined efforts of both Americans along with his own man as well to convince him that it was wiser to let West and Gordon go first to see if all was safe for the prince's visit.

"Safe! But this is my country's consulate! How will I not be safe?" Stepanko had objected, flabbergasted.

"Your father was on his own yacht in the heart of your own country, Your Majesty. Where should he have been more safe?" Jim had pointed out.

"Ah. I take your point, Mr West," the young monarch had conceded. And so he and Koloshko had remained in the suite while Jim and Artie rode out.

"Strike you as strange, Jim?" asked Artie as they continued toward the consulate.

"The fact that the consulate is out in the countryside rather than somewhere within San Francisco itself? Yes, very strange."

Both men paid attention to the terrain as they traveled, making mental notes of areas that would make good spots for an ambush to be laid, keeping track too of any neighboring homesteads, but there were precious few of these. At length they came to a tall masonry wall topped by ornate spikes, though the purpose of those spikes, they knew, was not at all the decorative aspect of them. They continued riding and inspecting the area, eventually reaching a great gate of intricate wrought-iron tracery. They rode on past this though, continuing their inspection, until they came to the far corner of the wall. Here they reined up and Jim produced a spyglass. He surveyed the length of the wall, then passed the telescope to Artie.

"Stretches back a good long way, doesn't it?" said Artie. "All the way to those hills." He snapped the spyglass closed, then handed it back.

"I had in mind us riding the whole perimeter first," said Jim.

In reply, Artie grimaced and shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

Jim grinned. "That's what I thought you'd say. All right, let's head back to the gate." He reined Blackjack around and started off.

"Bless you, James my boy!" Artie said happily and followed.

Soon they were before the gate again. Beyond it they could see a winding road disappearing amongst a lush collection of native flora. There was a small guardhouse within the wall alongside that road, but no guard was in view. To the side of the gate was a bell, so Jim took hold of the dangling bell pull and rang it.

Moments later the guardhouse door opened and out stepped three people in uniform. And while the two agents had of course been expecting that to happen, these particular guards took them by surprise. It wasn't the uniforms that startled them, even if they were an eye-stunning shade of chartreuse with gray piping anywhere and everywhere piping could possibly be included, both on the waist-length jackets and the form-fitting trousers. It wasn't the foot-tall shakos adorned with pheasant feathers either, not the fact that two of the guards emerged from the small building with their rifles already aimed directly at their visitors' hearts. No, the one fact that caught both Jim and Artie completely by surprise was that all three of the consulate guards were women.

The one in the middle, the only one who wasn't holding a weapon on the men, the one whose face strongly resembled a bulldog, stepped slightly forward of the others and spat out a few Pterovnian words in a harsh, rough voice.

Jim leaned toward Artie. "What did she say, that we should state our business?"

Artie nodded and replied to her, then told Jim, "I said we've come representing the prince."

The guard's eyes narrowed and she growled out something more.

"Wants to know where the prince is?" asked Jim.

Artie again nodded and again replied.

"And you told her that he's waiting for our report on what we find here at the consulate," Jim guessed.

"Mm-hmm. Very good, James, very good. Care to guess at her next response?"

"I don't need to," said Jim. For the guard in the middle, after considering the two men narrowly, barked out an order to the others and they lowered their guns. She gave another order, and now one of the flanking guards came forward. She reached through the bars of the gate and collected the men's credentials, then brought them back to her superior officer and handed them over.

The chief guard scrutinized the identifications closely, then pored over the letter of introduction the prince had sent along with them. At length she nodded, gave back the papers, then waved a hand at the gate. Now both of her attendants came forward, one of them to return the credentials while the other unlocked the gate. The two guards tugged the gate open to permit the agents entry. Each man touched the brim of his hat to the women politely, which only earned them glares.

"We are not play-toys to be smiled at!" the chief guard growled out in English, her accent strong and thick. "Do not patronize us!" She added something in her native tongue, and now another guard, also a woman, appeared from behind the guardhouse, leading a horse. As the pair of guards at the gate locked up again, the chief guard mounted her horse and made a perfunctory gesture at the guests, saying, "Veshte djozí!"

Artie leaned toward Jim. "That means…"

" 'Follow.' Yeah, I guessed."

They followed, riding along the twisting trail. There were occasional well-disguised coverts, some of them manned - womaned? Artie wondered - by more of the guards, though these were dressed in more muted uniforms. It took a good three minutes to ride up from the gate to the consulate building itself. The chief guard then reined up, lifting a hand to order the men to do the same.

Stable boys, er, girls ran out from the corralled structure off to the right, taking the horses away after the three riders dismounted. With a scowl, the chief guard commanded, "You wait here!" She then stalked up the stairs into the consulate and the door shut loudly behind her.

"I take it back," Artie murmured to Jim. "That's the one who ought to play King Hamlet's ghost." He then fell silent as he and his partner looked around, making mental notes on the layout of the grounds.

Beyond the stables to the right they could see training grounds where more women in uniform were practicing marching, riding, shooting, and other such military pursuits. In front of the agents was the consulate itself, an imposing building with a wide colonnade that strongly resembled the façade of an ancient Greek temple. Indeed, the triangular tympanum in the pediment above the porch bore a sculptured relief of a regal-looking woman, crowned and enthroned, flanked by cows and peacocks. Closer to the men, on either side of the marble stairway the chief guard had recently climbed, were a pair of graceful statues. The one on the left was of a stern-faced young woman in ancient Greek attire, a helmet on her head, a shield on her arm, a sword at her side, and an owl on her shoulder. The statue to the right also depicted a young woman in ancient Greek clothing, but her skirt was shorter, her weapons a bow and quiver, and she was in a running stance, accompanied by a leaping stag.

"Hera," said Artie, indicating the regal woman above the portico. "And the one with the owl is Athena…"

Jim gave a small smile. "Yes, and I suppose you posed for that one, Artie," he said, pointing to the hunting woman.

"Oh ha ha ha, Jim. You know my opinion of my namesake. Any woman who would set the hounds on a man simply for accidentally walking in on her naked, that's a woman I'd prefer to stay far, far away from!"

At that moment, from off to their left where lay a tranquil ornamental garden, came a cry of "Oh!" as something rocketed toward the agents, hitting a tree just beyond them. Jim spotted the item, a baseball, and scooped it up. From the gardens came running a young teenager dressed in a deep purple velvet suit of jacket and knickerbockers, with long dark ringlets bounding about the child's shoulders. The youngster, carrying a baseball bat in one hand, came to a halt in front of the agents and said, "Teshnante djozí! I am so sorry, gentlemen! Señora Reyes pitched the ball to me and I did not expect when I hit it that it might endanger anyone! You are all right?"

"Yes, we're fine," said Jim, tossing the ball back.

The child dropped the bat to field the ball. "Kedurshte djo - that is to say, Thank you." Transferring the ball from right hand to left, the teen then offered the right to Jim, saying, "How do you do, sir? My name is Andreshko Gorashko."

Jim shook the hand while Artie said, "Ah, Andreshko - that's Pterovnian for Andrew, isn't it?"

"Dasda!" said the child cheerfully. "I mean to say, Yes!" and shook hands with Artie as well.

Jim's eyebrows arched.

"Something is wrong?" the boy asked, now looking worried.

"Oh no, no, nothing's wrong. It's only that you're the first male we've seen in this place."

A petite woman dressed entirely in black, including the lace mantilla covering her dark hair, came hurrying up out of the gardens now, followed by an ethereal vision of loveliness with creamy pale skin set off by her ebon-hued dress, a large book cradled in her hands. Andreshko made a sweeping gesture at the two women and introduced them as, "My sister Mireje," and she was the ethereal vision, "and our governess, Señora Reyes," and she was the black crow. "And you are…?" the boy prompted.

"James West."

"Artemus Gordon."

The governess nodded at the agents, then pulled the boy to one side, scolding him in Spanish sprinkled with Pterovnian. While Artie attempted to placate the woman by assuring her that no harm had been done, Jim smiled at the charming Mireje and said, "You enjoy Russian novels?"

"Why, yes," she said, her voice and accent as pleasant as her face. "But how did you know?"

"I guessed," he admitted easily. "That's a very thick book, and Russian authors are noted for their lengthy novels."

"True. But it could have been, say, a Victor Hugo, or an Alexandre Dumas, or perhaps something by Charles Dickens," she pointed out.

"Perhaps. But the Cyrillic lettering on the spine tends to support the theory that the book is Russian. Is it?"

She smiled. "In fact, yes. Tolstoy. You enjoy Tolstoy, sir?"

"Jim," he corrected, then added with a twinkle in his eye, "And I have it on very good authority that Tolstoy is an excellent soporific."

Shocked, Mireje exclaimed, "Soporific! Why, whoever told you such a thing?"

"A young lady of your country, Miss Mireje, by the name of Anje Zelnurmofje."

"Oh, Anushche! She is my cousin! But why would she think that of Tolstoy?"

A feminine clearing of a throat drew their attention to the governess, who now had Andreshko firmly by the wrist as he endeavored to hold on to his baseball equipment. "Veshte dje, my lady," said Señora Reyes, and she swiftly led the children away into the gardens and out of sight.

"Is she another candidate to play King Hamlet's ghost?" Jim asked quietly.

"What, la señora? No, Jim, of course not!" Artie replied. "No, her I would cast as Lady Mac… that is, as the Scottish lady." He paused and rubbed at the back of his neck before adding, "By the way, Jim, la señora was not happy with the attention you were paying to Mireje."

Jim grinned. "I'm afraid la señora will just have to resign herself to the fact that her young charge is going to be attracting male attention wherever she goes."

"Mm," Artie agreed. "But not, I think, here at the consulate."

"Right." Jim took another look around the grounds. "Strange that there are no men here. Only the two of us and Andreshko."

"And presumably the consul as well."

"Unless he's dead in Pterovnia, yes."

The door of the consulate now opened and the bulldog-faced chief guard emerged, followed by a pair of women bearing long trumpets. To the agents' unbelieving eyes and ears, these proceeded to raise the instruments to their lips and play a fanfare. Upon the conclusion of the blaring flourish, an august woman stepped out onto the portico, attended by a set of five women who were undoubtedly her entourage. One of the trumpeters announced ringingly, "My lady the Baroness Vazilje Gorashche of Pterovnia!" The baroness, dressed in a silken gown of emerald green, no doubt to accentuate her auburn hair, lifted her nose on high as she looked down upon the Americans. She scowled at them and said, in a voice dripping with hauteur, "Whoever are you?"

Once again James and Artemus introduced themselves, presenting their credentials, only to have the woman dismiss them with a wave of her hand. "You are not welcome here. You are not necessary. Only His Majesty the Crown Prince Stepanko and his retinue are expected."

"Zernkje muje," said Artie politely, "for the time being, Mr West and I are members of the prince's retinue."

A scoffing noise escaped the woman. "You! You are Americans. Only Pterovnians may properly attend His Majesty. You are nothing but tuvnjekozí!"

"My lady," said Jim, following Artie's polite lead albeit in English, "I'll remind you that here in America, we have no noble class, and therefore no peasants either."

She gave a small chuckle. "Oh! So you know a little of the Pterovnian tongue, do you?"

"Enough to know when I'm being insulted, yes ma'am." His eyes met hers and did not look away.

Her own eyes narrowed. "And I will remind you, American, that the ground upon which you now stand is not 'here in America' as you put it, but the sovereign soil of Pterovnia, upon which you and your friend are not welcome!" Turning to her chief guard, she gave an order in her own language, at which the uniformed woman saluted and strode off toward the stables.

"She just ordered us our horses," Artie murmured to Jim.

As soon as the animals were brought forth to the men, the baroness pointed theatrically toward the gate. "Go!" she demanded. "Go and never return! And carry to our prince the message that we gladly await his presence, for this land is his land and this house his house."

"Before we go," said Jim, "may we please speak with the consul himself?"

"Yes, the Baron Ilishko Gorashko, please?" put in Artie. "Your husband? The one who is actually in charge of the consulate?"

Fury lit the baroness' face. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then instead whirled and stalked away, reentering the consulate with all her women save the chief guard. The door slammed behind her.

Mounting up on her own horse, the guard gave her by-now customary order of, "Veshte djozí!" and barely gave the men time enough to get on Blackjack and Henry before she set out back down the winding road, preceding them to the gate.

"Well! How pleasant to be kicked out of Pterovnia!" said Artie as the gate closed behind them and they set off to return to San Francisco. "See if I call that woman 'my lady' ever again!" he declared.

"And what role would you cast her in, Artie?"

He snorted. "Any role that calls for wholesale scenery chewing! Great Scott, what a ham she is!"

"She didn't like the idea of producing the consul," Jim observed.

"No, she certainly didn't." Artie glanced back at the wall they were yet passing, then murmured, "I suppose the clothing her children were wearing caught your attention?"

"Dark colors, yes. As if in mourning."

"She, on the other hand, was obviously not dressed in mourning attire." He shook his head. "I don't like this, Jim."

"I don't either, Artie. And I sincerely doubt if our friend Captain Koloshko will like it any more than we do."