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Saturday, April 26, 2025

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 Welcome back to our new serial story, The Dance of Discord.  We’ve arrived at episode-3.  Here are links to the previous episodes 1: Afoot, and 2: A Note. 

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A few real-life historic figures will show up in this serial.  The first of those is Albert I of Belgium (not the British one).  Although at the time of this story, he has not yet ascended to the throne.  Learn more about Prince Albert here.

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Since this is a spy story, of course there must be at least a few coded messages.  There will be more than one type of code.  However, the first one occurs today, thanks to one of the random reader things being “electric telegraph.”  Learn more about that marvel of bygone days at this link.

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Who suggested that thing?  Today I’m spotlighting photographer and fellow blogger, Fraggle.  She’s been following my serials for years and always leaves terrific “things.”  She paused in rocking her camera across the universe (as she says) to leave items to drive this episode.   Fraggle‘s random reader things are electric telegraph, apple pie, and fife.

Without further ado, on to the new serial story.

Dance of Discord

3.  A Code

Brass wheels turned lazily, sending flecks of reflected sunlight to dance across the room.  My interest was held by the man at the nearby desk.  He was a little beyond middle age.  Both his hair and moustache were white.  His bright eyes tended to hold a deceptively guileless expression — Secret Service Bureau Chief Stuart Drummond.

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I found the man was fascinating.  So were his curious motions, as he tinkered with a contraption he had placed on the desk.  I sat up straighter in my chair beside the window, when clicking sounds emanated from the machine.

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He glanced up at me from his incomprehensible task and smoothed his white handlebar moustache with his pinky finger.  Coyly, I pretended to watch not him but a bird in a nearby cherry tree.

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Chief Drummond was about to speak to me when the door opened, admitting the aroma of apple pie, which preceded my companion.  Milo Quick’s British uncle, Elgin — or formally, Lord Elgin Quick, Earl of Seaford, had come to the United States as an ambassador, but then he chose to stay permanently.  Milo inherited the mostly empty mansion from his uncle.  However, it was as much my house as Milo’s, because Elgin loved me more than life, and made provisions in his will accordingly.

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Perhaps it isn’t such a nuisance after all, that Stuart Drummond invaded my home, I thought.  He proves quite interesting.  He even speaks directly to me.  Since I can’t speak any of their languages in return, that seems most courteous of him.

“How are you getting along?” Milo queried.

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“With Dutchess Gattone?  She has a downright fierce stare,” Mr. Drummond replied with an impudent wink at me.  “Actually, her lack of conversation is quite companionable,” he added, and I forgave him for his impertinence.

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“No, Chief, I meant your new command post.  Suitable?  Good, but do remember that it’s only temporary,” Milo replied dryly.

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“Any new report, Mr. Quick?” Drummond queried in the formal manner of speaking used during those times, but Milo shook his head, eliciting a grunt from his chief.  “You might at least have brought some of that pie I smell.”

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“Unfortunately, Mr. Drummond, Gideon isn’t likely to let us near that confection until dinnertime,” Milo replied with exaggerated sadness.  “Ah, I see you’ve already setup the electric telegraph.  Is it working?  How did you know how to operate it anyway?  That takes in-depth training.”

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“Pshaw…  Lad, it’s my business to know things,” Drummond answered.  “Tested it just now.  We should get a cable soon.”

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“Your business to know…  Lawsy, Chief!  You’re a veritable human card index, a governmental ready-reference, updated minute by minute.  You sit in your office day after day, with hundreds of threads coming from the big outside world that are tied to your fingers.  Your hand firmly and constantly on the diplomatic pulse of Washington.  I expect that you’re nearer to knowing everything that happens here than any other man living,” Milo remarked in admiration.

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Indeed, I had often heard Milo remark that his chief’s memory was well-nigh infallible.  However, Drummond’s genius had no accompanying charisma.  It consisted solely of facts and details, although that brain was as serene and orderly as library.

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The brass wheels of the contraption began to turn anew.  A ribbon of narrow paper fed through it as the clicking began again.  Drummond bent his head, intently studying the unique code.

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Leaning over Drummond’s shoulder Milo Quick could not have looked more different than the chief.  He was more than a decade younger, physically well proportioned, with pleasing features and languid eyes, and his clothing showed fastidious care.  It gave the impression that he was a dandy and a shirker, but Milo was nothing of the sort.  Although that impression worked to his advantage in his secret assignments.

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Sentence by sentence the intricate code revealed itself to the “card index” mind of Stuart Drummond.  Word by word, the seeming chaos of it took intelligible form on the sheet of paper under his right hand.

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Looking on, Milo Quick barely seemed interested in the extraordinary message he read.  I was never sure if his listless attitude was an act, or a misinterpreted natural behavior.  The only clue that he paid attention was that his eyes narrowed a little.

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“It’s from Espert?  I thought he was in Catalonia,” Milo asked but, but his chief absently smoothed that white moustache with barely perceptible shake of his head.

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“No.  Rather, it’s not the conflict brewing with Morocco.  Espert was reassigned to Belgium.  He’s got intelligence that a secret pact has formed against the English-speaking nations.  They’ve tried to pull in King Leopold II, but he hasn’t taken the bait.  The principals will gather in Washington to get signatures on their treaty.”

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“You’ve suspected that pact was in the making,” Milo remarked casually, but his previously languid eyes grew concerned.

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“The threat-level escalated.  The pact’s intentions have shifted from defensive to offensive,” Drummond explained as he re-read the translated code.  “The number of countries involved has expanded too.  Mexico, Cuba, and Spain, as well as France.  Germany was approached, but refuses as yet.  However, the attitudes of Russia and Japan are unknown.”

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“Does Belgium remain neutral?” Milo asked.

“Prince Albert, the nephew of Leopold II is believed to be in Washington now.  He’s been given absolute power to sign for Italy, and Spain, and France.  That’s being kept profoundly secret.  Espert learned about it through his contacts inside the palace.”

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His nonchalant façade gone, Milo whistled.  The sound was as shrill as a fife.

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Placing fingertips to his temples as if his head hurt, Stuart Drummond grunted, but he seemed to try to shake off his stress.  Clasping his hands behind his head, he leaned back in his chair.  He sat that way for a long moment, with a resolute gaze on the impassive face of his subordinate.

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Milo perched on the edge of the desk and with his legs dangling read the translated code a second time, and a third, undoubtedly weighing various implications of those bald facts.

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“Balderdash…  If any agent other than Espert had sent that, I would have said he was a lunatic,” he observed slowly, causing Drummond to snort.

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“Mr. Quick, the peace of the world is in peril,” the chief stated after a pause, and in his guileless eyes something different settled, a darkening shadow.  “Of course, it had to come… the United States, Canada, and England pitted against large swaths of Europe and Latin America.  Yes, it was bound to come.”

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“How so, Chief?  And to what purpose?”

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“A world-war has long been a whispered boogeyman, Mr. Quick,” he remarked, and Milo looked at him sharply.  “The purpose of such an alliance?  It is reasonable for us to conclude that this is a first step toward a worldwide war — a war of reprisal and conquest beside which the other great wars of the past would seem trivial.  Being practical people, the nations of the world have realized that ultimately the nations who have given the world most its modern practical inventions, like electricity, the telegraph, the railroad, steamships — all of these inventions are modernizing forces, slowly but surely winning the marketplaces of the world.  Wherever the English or the American flag is planted, wherever the English language is being spoken.”

“So, you believe they see that as an economic threat?” Milo began.  “I suppose no small amount of resentment would fuel that reasoning.  The advancements in transportation and engineering would be seen as a military threat as well?” he asked, and the chief nodded.

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“Now, I can understand how you could foresee the entire world at war,” Milo added.  “If their forces were to unite, it would be an enormous power to reckon with.”

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“Will soon sign compact in Washington,” Drummond read the message aloud broodingly.  “I don’t know that the signing of that compact can be prevented, but the signing of it on United States soil can be prevented. You will see to that, Mr. Quick.”

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Mr. Drummond abruptly turned and picked up the receiver of the telephone.

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“Get me the White House, please,” he requested tersely, and the call was transferred.  “Hello.  Yes, please ask the president if he will receive Mr. Stuart Drummond of the Secret Service immediately.  Yes,” he said and paused again.  “Yes, I’m here.  In half an hour?  Thank you.”

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End Episode 3

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 Fraggle‘s electric telegraph added a tech layer to the espionage aspect of this story.  It also necessitated the Bureau’s makeshift office in the mansion Milo Quick inherited from his uncle… which means that his chief, Stuart Drummond is likely to be a more prominent character than I expected when I brought him into episode-1.  Or at least that’s how it works in my twisting brain.

What does any of the above have to do with the two mysterious Belgian characters we met in Episode-2?  Stay tuned for the fourth installment of Dance of Discord. Friendly comments are welcome.  Hugs!

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Of course, here’s the obligatory shameless self-promotion.

Real Steampunkery Tech: True Contraptions of the Steam and Diesel Eras

Universal Purchase Links

E-book:  relinks.me/B0DHC6JFVT

Paperback:  relinks.me/B0DHD9BSJB

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This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2025 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

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