Spontoon Island
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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
9 February, 1937



Tuesday February 9th, 1937

A busy day! We had time in the morning to go sight-seeing, which we made good use of. Macao speaks mostly Portuguese and Chinese, and Maria has enough Spanish to make sense of most of the Euro signs and notices. She speaks French, German, Spanish and Spontoonie very well, as well as of course English and Italian, in which she is making her notes which should foil any casual investigators in our rooms expecting to read Lady Allworthy’s business plans . Actually the only thing she does not do as a secretary is shorthand; I tried to teach her my school’s Lexarc system in the first year but I fear I made a poor teacher.

    It is quite handy that we all speak Spontoonie, which over here is another language nobody is too likely to know especially as (my) Lady Allworthy has never been there and any eavesdroppers will hopefully be quite baffled. We found a nice public garden looking out over the bay and spent half an hour hammering out details. Rather ironic seeing where we are right now, that we always refer to one of these free-style mutual arguments as a “Chinese Parliament”, a phrase the older Songmark years taught us. Tonight I am the only one invited, as it will be a confidential discussion. But there is nothing to stop the rest of us being in the neighbourhood ready to move in at any signs of trouble - and as Miss Devinski has frequently impressed on us, one should always expect trouble especially when far from home.

    All being well, we will get to see the Direwolf when she arrives, ask the crew just what they really need (which should be a good guide to their intentions) and return with the information for Mr. Sapohatan. It is not impossible that we could be out of here in a week.

    Helen is rather upset about us having to leave our three maids when we go. I know what she means. But as Maria pointed out there are a million like them in China these days, and here they are at least fed and housed unlike so many. Besides, where could we take them? Getting documentation should be no trouble, but we can hardly drop them on the streets of Casino Island, or leave them on Tillamook on the way back for that matter. Dropping someone on a foreign shore however peaceful is not always doing them a favour; there is such a thing as jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. Many White Russians ended up in worse places than Vostok.

    The main shopping streets of Macao were absolutely packed and bustling, though there was a definite air of watchfulness and desperation away from the Euro areas.  The backstreets were lined with shanties put up with odd bits of wood, canvas and bamboo, crammed with refugees from the fighting in mainland China. One can certainly see how the hotels and less reputable places have their pick of staff for any “requirement” whatsoever. But the shops were full of goods, and the stalls piled high with food for anyone with the money to buy; Macao as a province is probably bustling and sending back a healthy harvest of taxes to its mother nation. After all, it assumes no responsibility for the refugees, so they cost it nothing - and since enough other folk are making a profit to generate taxes, the local Governor has nothing to lose as long as the money keeps rolling in.

    On the other paw, this was definitely not Krupmark Island, in that weapons were nowhere to be seen on sale. Krupmark is the only place I know where one could swap a crate of tinned food for a crate of new rifles and make a loss. Then, nobody would want to trade on Krupmark at any sane profit margin, and the most ordinary essentials are hugely over-priced. Here, the Governor wisely keeps all the weapons in official paws, as otherwise the prospect of a desperate mob grabbing arms would always be present. We have not seen any furs looking as if they were actually starving to death, but most in the alley shanties are thin and hungry-looking. An army, or indeed anyone, could recruit thousands here with the promise of a good meal, but it would take a good many such good meals before they would be up to much hard effort.

    Maria spotted me looking down the alleyways and told me in Spontoonie not to feel responsible. We could spend all the money we have down to the last emergency coin and perhaps feed one street on rice for a few days - but the overall effect would be minimal and soon forgotten. There are hundreds of streets. We are here for a mission, and have to stick to it. I understand what she means, but it hurts to walk away when we could do something however small. Some Spontoonies are poor in Euro terms, having only a longhouse and a garden plot to call their own, but unlike here they are all well-fed and can choose to dance for tourists if they want to earn some hard currency.
 
    Luncheon was a fine spiced fish meal, the restaurant having big glass tanks that I thought were ornamental aquaria until I spotted a diner point out which fish he wanted to eat! Well, one can hardly complain about the freshness, and in this climate it is a big point in favour of the system. I resolved to eat well but tip better; Maria’s comment being that our starving ourselves would not mean other folk ate any better. There is no actual shortage of foods around here, and we have a responsibility to Mr. Sapohatan to stay at our best. One gets the impression that Il Puce is not the only one of ruthless practicality in the family, something that has been coming out in Maria these past few months. She started off at Songmark resolutely keeping her eyes and ears open but her mouth shut; now she has rather more she feels qualified to say.

    Two hours walk was enough to cover most of the island, then a rickshaw ride (Helen with me, Molly and Maria following in another) back to the hotel got us there by mid-afternoon. The manager waved Maria aside as we entered the lobby, and they had a minute’s whispered conversation. As she relayed to me when we were back in the suite, he had asked if our three maids were proving satisfactory, having asked them various rather detailed questions. If not, he had declared, he would have them immediately dismissed and find me some more to my satisfaction.

    I think my ears must have drooped like wilted lettuces, and my tail certainly hit the carpet. Of course, he is doing his very best to please the tastes of Lady Susan Allworthy and not Lady Amelia of the same title - and it might be bad policy to explain his mistake, in terms of our cover identities. Maria had reassured him that we would like to keep them for our stay here, despite his offers of finding various exotic species for me at no extra charge. Not exactly what I had in mind! It rather brought home the uncomfortable fact; one hears the phrase “life is cheap” a lot, but here and now the lighting, laundry and room service meals probably make up more on the bill than our maids. Damages and breakages included.

    While Molly ran the bath, I had the difficult task of putting all that quite out of my mind and concentrating on the evening ahead. I pulled out my shorthand notebooks and looked at my appraisal of just what the Barrow-in-Furryness shipyards actually could supply, with managers’ notes about how long it would take and how much it would sell for. Though Mr. Sapohatan did say it was all the same to him whether I placed an order or not, I am in the uncomfortable position right now of having two sides to satisfy as long as I have to carry the Allworthy title. Three, if one includes Songmark.

    A steaming hot bath proved most refreshing, and indeed it is one of the “facilities” of the hotel I am very happy to take advantage of. The improvised tub at Songmark is a big improvement on three years of showers, but it is of rather meagre dimensions (Maria, Irma Bundt and Missy K hardly fit in it) and there is always someone else wanting their turn. This one is big enough for a honeymoon suite for a pair of elephants or hippos! I was just relaxing in the hot water when Maria came in and in Spontoonie explained we had better give our three workers some work to do. I thought she meant cleaning the rooms, so agreed - when in came Lin, Lao and Kahavarti, all decidedly in their barest fur or feathers.

    I would have generally shooed them away and chucked a wet loofah Maria’s way for the cheek of it, but the hotel management seem to be paying its staff for performance and not by the day. So I had to think of some orders I could give; the first one was for them to have a thorough wash and soak. I asked Lao what they usually get; apparently the servant’s quarter has only cold showers that are fed from the not entirely clean roof water-cachement tanks rather than the expensive drinking water mains. It was something, to see them enjoying the hot scented water.

    Definitely, we should have brought Belle or Carmen with us; in the circumstances I would have just left them to it. There is nothing wrong with letting our maids scrub my back, or indeed give me a thorough fur-combing; Songmark dorms generally do that for each other anyway. They seemed quite relieved at my letting them groom me, and indeed they were most expert at the job. Lao found the gold ring in my tail-root while combing, and was very surprised to see it there, as they were surprised to see the fur trimming style both Molly and I have adopted since she was rescued in our first year. Meaning to put them at their ease, I told them Molly was fur-trimmed just the same.

    Having been cleaned, dried and dressed in my best, I readied myself for a tricky evening. Possibly Beryl or someone used to the crowd at the Temple Of Continual Reward might be better prepared for a social swim with the sharks of international shady business. Molly is the obvious candidate, but it would look rather odd with me asking my maid intricate questions about such things. Besides, this is an invite for me alone. Molly is to stay and make sure nobody ransacks our rooms, and to keep an eye on what our own staff are doing. I am sure she will get on well with them as a fourth maid.

    At six I was down in the lobby again with Helen and Maria to see me off; they were to make their way separately to the Direwolf’s reception and stand by for my signal if needed. It is one thing to get behind a bush and “stake out” a suspect campsite or airfield in the middle of the countryside, but without a convincing cover (the Spontoonie street-cleaners come to mind) one is liable to attract attention from the police or other furs eager to know what one is doing. Still, they have done this sort of thing before, as have we all. As they teach us in Songmark, there is a lot of “urban jungle” around the world just as deadly as anything with literal quicksand or leeches.

    Herr Kramm seems a very busy hound, or possibly I am his special responsibility. One thing folk are not short of in this part of the world is people, though folk of suitable background and qualifications are thinner on the ground. Anyway, he bowed politely and escorted me into a waiting taxi. This was the risky part; we are discouraged from getting alone into closed cars in strange cities, but this is a risk Lady Allworthy has to take. I am here in Macao to sell not to buy, so I have little that anyone wants to take from me.

    The drive was uneventful and I did not have to put into practice those lessons in getting out of moving vehicles. Actually, the sound of a swing band could be heard as I stepped out at the embassy; possibly even those folk who might not like the music would appreciate the background noise making it hard to eavesdrop.

    Inside, the old ballroom was quite crowded with respectably dressed furs. Anyone in the gun-running trade is likely to be able to afford a nice suit, even if they do spend more time running blockades dressed as a fisher-fur. There were five quite grey-furred Euros in a uniform I recognised from my brother’s picture books; the difference being the lack of villainous expressions and manic laughter as they send another unarmed passenger liner to the bottom with a surprise torpedo. One would almost think the books were biased.

    Herr Kramm introduced me to more of his crew and associates; lacking a permanent home port the Direwolf has a travelling shore crew as well as a sailing crew. It is as if every ship in the Navy had its own share of dockyard and all the support furs travelling around the world to look after it. A hard life the Direwolf has; it was one thing to be a Pyrate in the days of sail, but another thing to do it in these days where every nut, bolt and radio valve has to be paid for! The wind was free for the old pirates and ropes and cannonballs might be looted, but the chances of these Hula Junkers finding the right spare parts on a battlefield of Chinese warlords is slim.

    Count Ulrich was greeting everyone as they came in, and announced that the bidding would start in half an hour. At least, furs would say what they were bidding for on the shopping list, and it would proceed from there. Very efficient. I recall our first-year Eva Schiller has school badges that some folk say were awarded for ruthless efficiency, and indeed her country-furs have not lost anything of that in all the years they have been exposed to the mysterious East.

    I was introduced to the competition as Lady Allworthy, of the Barrow-in-Furryness yards, and nobody immediately denounced me as an impostor. So far, so good.  Indeed, one grey French boar was rather better informed than the hotel management - he said he had done business with my late husband before his “unfortunate legal troubles”, and commiserated me on my widowhood.
 
    I managed to suppress my tail drooping as he talked about trading profitably with Leon Allworthy in Monaco ten years ago. If I am going to claim the title however temporarily I will have to tell myself that I really did marry Leon, and willingly took his ring (and everything else.) There is really no way around this. I explained that we were married on Krupmark in the best ceremony the island could provide, and that I had been in the famous Krupmark chapel taking part in certain ceremonies there. Quite true, although the two facts were not linked as they sounded.  By his reaction, some people have heard about that chapel and the ceremonies that took place there. Maria had wanted to destroy the absolutely dangerous paintings on the walls, but there was no time what with Kansas Smith jumping us.

    There were perhaps thirty furs who seemed to be the bidders, in that they were not in the Direwolf’s uniform or serving food and drinks. Most were Euro species, but there was one big Sumatran rhino and a jet-black jaguar, possibly from Mixteca or thereabouts. I had spotted Lars Nordstrom right away, though his horns are currently “in velvet” and growing they make him quite conspicuous. Of course I had to wait to be introduced as a stranger; he bowed politely and winked as he said he hoped I leave Macao with a deal I will never forget.
 
    A few rounds of introductions and canapés later, we got down to business. Three quarters of it was regular, uncontroversial supplies that any other ship could have sailed into Casino Island and ordered from the chandlers; food and fuel and welding supplies, tools and clothing and the like.  The best received bids were not always the cheapest; one agent boasted that he had depots all across the Pacific, while another who was based at the main refinery in unoccupied China was almost waved aside despite his good quote. An hour or so later I could start to put together an idea; the Direwolf looks as if it really is planning to leave the mainland harbours behind and head out. Nobody could blame them, with the situation in China.
 
    At last they reached the areas I could bid for, and the fur really began to fly. I put in a bid for the torpedo breaker system they wanted, but I have little hope of getting it. Two furs already announced they had test systems going, one of whom had it installed on a ship in Macao harbour right now and ready to demonstrate. It would take months or more likely years for Barrow-in-Furryness to design, test and build such even if it worked.
 
    I bid for hydrophones, direction-finders, range-finders and a few other items I know very little about but have a shipyard that does. The Direwolf is really taking aircraft threats seriously, they want ten anti-aircraft guns fitting! Not something the original designers worried about in 1910. They also want a seaplane hangar, the aircraft landing on one of those towed floating mat affairs we used on the Parsifal last year and being winched up on deck. I bid for the crane and weather hangar, having been given schematics of the vessel as to where things might fit.

    It felt decidedly unreal. The winner of this will be expected to start work right away; in my case there are folk back in England waiting to see if I will put wages in their pockets. And if I do; when that order is filled I will have to do it again and again, as long as I claim to be Lady Allworthy.
 
    The general meeting broke up into huddles, with at least one member of the Direwolf’s commissariat taking notes in each and all the different areas of suppliers sizing each other up and making deals. I told myself that I am Lady Allworthy, owner and controller of a shipyard making things the Direwolf wants to buy. Confidence is everything. With a slight twinge of conscience I imagined how Beryl would do this; one never sees her nervous or hesitant, she just swings in with an air of quiet confidence. Fools may rush in where angels fear to tread, but it does not take a star-nosed mole to scent fear and that is definitely something I could not show in such a place. Madame Maxine advised me that it is always best to act as if one knows far more in such situations than one is letting on.

    Actually, once my initial shock had worn off it proved jolly interesting. I was soon talking with a brown Kodiak bear from Vostok (his ancestors evidently canoed along the Aleutians from Alaska) and was soon deep in details I had learned from listening to Molly enthusing. Personally I would not have known or cared tuppence about the protective merits of German “Wotan hard plate” battleship armour versus the old “Krupp Cemented”, but Molly reads the most amazing technical books and often doodles snapshots of shells tearing through armour steel at a thousand feet per second. I would think less of that and more about the furs who happen to be on the other side of the plate. Very few girls back in Saint Winifred’s ever got excited reading about spall cones, shot shatter or plugging failures. Except for Chloe Bryce-Mainwaring, of course, but that is quite another story.

    Certainly, once such a crowd of furs starts to talk shop one hears the most interesting things. One American badger has enough brand new anti-aircraft guns in stock for all the Direwolf’s needs in his warehouse already. When asked where he got them, he just winked and hinted that was a question their new Tankette-Destroyer Command would love to know the answer to, as well as Interpol. It always seemed odd to me the Americans have such a force; most armies seem to feel the best counter to a marauding tankette is another tankette.

    An hour of fascinating talk had all sorts of alliances and cabals forming, as furs teamed up to outbid and undercut each other. Rather the idea, from the Direwolf’s point of view. Some who had local warehouses and suchlike were planning presentations for the crew, ready to deliver samples in the next few days - the others were rapidly scribbling on radio telegraph forms to have such things air-freighted in. These are not folk who wait around till the public wire offices open at nine tomorrow; in Macao there are private facilities to send and receive twenty-four hours a day.
 
    I noticed Lars was getting his share of attention from the others, having a wide catalogue of items that could be described as “one not so careful previous owner.” It seems that a lot of material that is officially scrapped may be sent to scrap-yards but never gets melted down. Folk with quiet contacts in the trade keep catalogues, and there is as much “inventory” available in scrap-yards as most armouries have on the official lists. Not all of it is obsolete either; I have never asked him how Spontoon and Rain Island got hold of all those T-Gew rifles after 1918, but he might be one of the few people who could tell me. When the Allied Control Commission ordered everything destroyed, some of the front-line and experimental designs were far ahead of anything the victors had. I doubt there are any spare Paris Cannons lying around, much to Molly’s disappointment, but most other things have been in the scrap-yards kept carefully oiled and rust-free for years.

    It was rather strange walking over to Lars as Lady Allworthy and introducing myself socially. He is a fine actor, and while entirely deadpan he said he had heard good things of me, and that the Allworthy yards were famous for fine work. He even commiserated me on the loss of my “dear husband” though as the only Krupmark Island dealer here he probably knew a lot about Lord Leon and can hardly think I would have chosen to be his bride.
 
    I have heard the main dealing at this kind of event happens behind the scenes, and by the time the evening drew to a close furs were arranging to meet each other to arrange deals. Some of the furs who lost out in the bids directly, seem to be happy enough to act as sub-contractors to the others. Then, there is only a certain amount of this kind of equipment in the word at any one time and it is hardly something one buys off the shelf. I will find out in two days’ time if the Barrow-in-Furryness yards have won any contracts; I certainly hope so. It is enough of a strain being Lady Allworthy without worrying about being a bad one. Lady Susan had at least the excuse of being an exile on Krupmark with warrants out for her. How she risked going to Spontoon I never found out, probably she had convincingly false papers. She was certainly less conspicuous than her brother, as well as a lot more mobile! One grey wolf bitch looks much like another, on a passport photograph that purports to be several years old even if the ink is barely dry on the forgery.

    Anyway, by ten o’clock the evening was over and Herr Kramm escorted me out to a waiting taxi, efficient as ever. There was no sign of Helen or Maria outside, but I hardly expected to see them standing on the pavement in the rain. Ten minutes later I was back at the hotel feeling decidedly worn out from the strain; being effectively on my own with a collection of ruthless furs like that is hard on the nerves. Although they were dressed in their best and being polite, I remember being with Lars on the Parsifal, the only time we really saw what he does for a living. All the furs tonight have probably done as much or more, the international gun-running trade hardly being noted for a quiet life or indeed a long one. Sporting behaviour seems to be very much at a discount.

    It is certainly nice to have someone to wait up for me! Molly was there in her full outfit; I had thought she would be able to drop the uniform for awhile when I am out but with the other 3 maids there she in under observation and has to stick with it. Hers is the standard European version of the costume, with a very much longer skirt than the local girls wear. Of course, the climate here is a lot warmer.

    Another ten minutes later, Helen and Maria arrived, soaked to the skin after having “staked out” the embassy. Helen seemed rather dispirited with the idea; I get to drink pink champagne (one glass, anyway) and nibble canapés while she sits on a tree branch in the rain looking through the window across the street. I sympathised, but we can hardly swap duties on this trip! Anyway, she rather dislikes wearing high fashion dresses and has had a lot to say about Molly and myself taking trips to Madame Maxine’s for more than one form of grooming.

    Maria had an interesting idea; she waved a sheaf of telegraph forms and suggested I contact Songmark, specifically that first-year mad scientist shrew from Cranium Island. Barrow-in-Furryness might be rather nonplussed at a radical project such as the torpedo breaker, but Cranium  Island has rather a liking for such ideas and has been known to assemble the most unlikely things at improbably short notice. Nothing ventured nothing gained, so a telegraph was drafted on the spot. One of the advantages of being in a high class hotel is they handle such things for their guests, and though somebody presumably had to go running out in the rain in the middle of the night to the nearest telegraph office, it was not us. Then, it is the small hours in Spontoon and nobody will read it till breakfast, but on the other paw it is about midday in England. What with radio and telegraph the world is becoming such a small place.

    While Helen and Maria tossed a coin as to who got the first bath, I enquired of my three local talents if there was anything they needed. Evidently not; they are greatly enjoying a rest, as when they are not sent to provide “personal service” to a suite they work fourteen hours a day scrubbing and cleaning around the hotel.

    A tiring day! And I have to deal with the sleeping arrangements, too. It is a good thing I am not allergic to feathers. Kahavarti seems to be shedding slightly; one hopes it is not with worry. At the Casino Island hospital we once saw a parrot gentleman whose chest feathers had all fallen out with shock following financial ruin; furless or featherless skin is not a pretty sight. It is a good thing the only furless mammal is that Mixtecan Hairless canine, and they are rare enough (though many folk would say they can never be rare enough). There are stories about a kind of naked mole-rat from the same part of the world that were all wiped out by the Conquistadores, but nobody has actually proved it.


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