The STRANGELY WONDERFUL tale of Count Balashazy
published by Medallion Press
Historical Fiction
Invigorated with the rain and the dash, they giggled nonsensically as they entered the reception room. Tomaj laughed at a stiff Antoine Youx, who stood formally against a wall with hands behind his back, like a bewigged servant waiting for orders. But who was this? Instead of the angelic sight of the affable Salvatore, a tall, gangly boor posed in the reception room. His hair was an unruly mass of curls like an explosion of strained potatoes upon his head, his misshapen nose resembled an inedible gourd, and he wrung an absurd wide-brimmed Quaker hat, appearing about to break out with a sermon at any moment.
Still panting from his run, Tomaj's mercurial spirit wasn't in the mood for strangers. Waving an arm at the unattractive man, he demanded of Youx, "And who is this? Where is Salvatore Ravenhurst?"
"Oh, Zeke," Dagny said almost with disgust as she handed her hat and parasol to a servant. "Why did you follow me? I told you I'm perfectly safe here at Barataria. You have no fear from the count. We were just having a perfectly amiable time in his beautiful glass-house. He was sketching me."
Ezekiel shuffled over stridently, making an angry bow to Tomaj. Tomaj deigned to nod his head in return. "Ezekiel Zhukov at your service, Count." Before Tomaj could open his mouth, the clown turned on Dagny and demanded, "Sketching! And what sort of beneficial activity is that, might I ask? What are we going to do with a loony sketch? Look, I've come to collect you, Dagny. There's important business to attend at home."
Smiling, Dagny took the fellow by the arm. "Oh, Zeke, Zeke." She turned to Tomaj. "May I properly introduce my other brother? I'm so sorry for his behavior—I'm afraid he doesn't get out in society much."
About to draw pistols, the two men nodded tersely at each other. Dagny carried on, "Zeke, I was just discussing clove plantations with the count here. It quite crossed my mind that Tomaj might be the ideal person to approach with your factory idea." Having had enough of this fellow who was clearly soft in the upper works, Tomaj strode to the sideboard to see what Ellie had set out on offer today. "Factory?" Dagny answered for her brother. "Yes, he has long had an idea to set up a factory in Tamatave, a sort of dry-goods store where he could act as a factor, perhaps distributing necessaries to the natives, and luxuries to the Europeans. He's an excellent merchant, good with figures, and he does drive a rough bargain. If you're in need of an intelligent man—"
With a tumbler of only the type of Kentucky whiskey Tomaj couldn't abide, he marched back over to the buffoon and demanded in his face, "If he's so intelligent, why can't he speak for himself?"
To Tomaj's pleasure, the dolt was clearly taken aback, his limbs instantly arranged in a combative stance. "Listen here, you Russian slime—" Tomaj chortled. "And who's the Russian slime, with a name like Zhukov?" Dagny inserted herself between them. "Gentlemen." She faced Tomaj, and he was not unmoved to feel her calming hands on his chest, to feel her warm breath against his throat. How could such a woman have a brother like this? "Tomaj. Please. If you were to assist Zeke, supply him with the goods he needs, a feat you're clearly able to achieve with all of the power you hold on this coast, why. . .you must think of me, if nothing else." Why did that jackfool have to be standing right there, breathing down his sister's neck? "Surely it's plain, if Zeke has lucrative employment, then I will be all the more free to pursue my scientific interests."
She had such sooty lashes! Tomaj fairly felt the breeze they created when she fluttered them. "Interests, indeed," he whispered. If that dolt were not there, he could easily lean down and kiss her. "Would you finish modeling for my portrait?"
She grinned coyly. "Of course, dear Tomaj! And seeing as how your estate is the most bountiful with lemurs, chameleons of all attitudes and sizes, and the rarest and most astonishing orchids I may ever hope to collect, I will be free to roam about—"
When Tomaj affectionately brushed her cheek with his fingers, she was torn brutally from him.
"Oh, that's the biggest load of cow dung I've heard in my life!" Zeke poked Tomaj in the chest with his boorish forefinger. "Don't you think, pal, for one pathetic moment that I'm not going to have my eyes on you at all times. I trust you about as far as I can throw my mother's boudoir. I've seen thousands like you, coming on all slick and noble on the outside, on the inside riddled with lechery—"
Tomaj's hand shot up. He grabbed the offending forefinger and gave it a wrench. Satisfied to hear it crack audibly, and to feel the bones crunch in his fist, Tomaj smiled as he turned his back and returned to the sideboard casually, utterly confident anything Zeke could do to him would be inconsequential. He cast a sideways, warm-hearted glance at Bellingham, impersonating a footman by the sideboard, doing his best to stifle a guffaw.
Tomaj turned back after gulping the entire glass of whiskey. Dagny comforted her injured brother. Tomaj hated him, though, so he strode back over and seethed, "No one on this coast other than me trades anything. Am I clear? Seeing as how I'm not currently in need of any half-witted scums of the mud of hell telling me what to do in my business, may I suggest you march your ragged ass out of my door, and return to your former occupation of plaiting bed mats from palm trees?"
Dagny struggled to restrain her brother, shoving him in the direction of the door while valiantly placing herself between the two men. To Tomaj she hissed, "Why do you have to be so mean?"
Not satisfied, Tomaj called out to the departing couple, "By the way, my good fellow. I have not the slightest interest in how far you are able to successfully fling your mother's linens and shifts, although you seem inordinately interested in it."
At that, Bellingham was able to contain it no more, and he erupted into a gale of mirthful laughter, doubled over holding onto the back of a chair. Youx also could not resist bursting forth into a round of hearty chuckles, trying to cover it up by going to the sideboard.
"The third Karen Mercury nineteenth century African adventure (see The Hinterlands and The Four Quarters Of The World) is an excellent historical tale in which once again the locale steals the show. The lead triangle is fully developed protagonists whose sexual activities make the equator feel like a polar cap. Using the real Queen Ranavalona adds to the realism of a great historiographic look at Madagascar through The Strangely Wonderful Tale Of Count Balashazy."
~ Harriet Klausner, Genre Go Round Reviews
"The setting gives this novel all the strangeness the reader could desire, and is written with a sly irony by the author, who received high acclaim for her previous books, The Hinterlands and The Four Quarters Of The World."
~ C. L. Rossman, Armchair Interviews
"This is one hot read! It is a wonderfully crafted historical read where one really feels as if they are in Madagascar with the characters. The scenes are very descriptive and once you start this novel you won’t want to put it down… This is a great book for anyone who likes their books full of well-written characters, a plot that keeps you on the edge of your seat and spicy, sizzling love scenes."
~ The Romance Studio
“Mercury has an outstanding vocabulary and knows how to use it.… Her characters gesture, move, and ultimately leap off the page and into the imagination.… This is not your mother’s historical romance.”
~ Alice Logsdon, Historical Novel Society
“With the most lavish of language, Karen Mercury has written an unusual but well researched historical romance . . . with zany humor, akin to “a series of unfortunate events.” Emotions ring true as you follow this unusual and changing love triangle.”
~ Audrey Lawrence, Fresh Fiction
“. . . a gripping historical tale that takes you on a roller-coaster ride . . .”
~ Dawna Richard, Historical Romance Club (January 2009)
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