At the Queen's Command (8 page)

“But, Lieutenant, that will take time and the beef won’t be ready to go.”

“No, sir, so we will issue beef here from our stores, and then that will replace it.” The Lieutenant nodded reassuringly. “Just the way it is done here, sir.”

Owen shook his head. “But the butcher, he’ll take his customary forequarter, yes? And, forgive me, but don’t we have butchers in the Regiment? Shouldn’t they be doing that work?”

“And they would, sir, but they have other things to be doing.”

“I see.” Owen pointed to something else on the requisition. “Here they ask for brimstone and shot to make up five thousand rounds.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But they also ask for five
hundred
firestones. That much powder and shot only requires
fifty
firestones.”

“Well, sir, in the wilderness…”

Owen grabbed the Quartermaster’s jacket and yanked Palmerston across the desk. “I’ve fought on the Continent, sir, in pitched battles from which your unit
ran
. I’ve put a hundred-fifty, even two hundred shots through a firestone before it needed replacing. Those extra firestones, I would imagine, go for a pretty pence out here. You profit from that illegal trade, don’t you?”

“Now see here, sir…”

“No, Lieutenant, you listen to me. I came to do a job. Others may have been convinced to stay here in town while the Casks and the Branches did their work for them, but that is not me. War will be coming to Mystria. My job is to prepare for that war. If you’re not helping me do that, you’re giving aid and comfort to the enemy. That’s treason, sir, and I will prefer charges. Is this clear?”

The Lieutenant nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Owen shoved him back into his chair. “Langford is profiteering. I know that. He sends trade goods back to Norisle as military cargo, avoiding tariffs. I shall assume, based on the orders concerning the beef, that the ‘service charge’ is paid back to him by the Cask family? And that you never quite get as many barrels of preserved beef as ought to come out of the number of cattle sent off to slaughter?”

“Yes, sir. And one of the Casks is a tanner, too, sir, so he gets the hides. The bones are ground for meal, used in the fields.”

The Captain nodded. “And one of the reasons that our butchers are not available to slaughter our beef is that Langford has them off working as laborers?”

Palmerston’s face closed. “They work for Cask in the slaughter house.”

Getting away with hiring troops out as day labor would be simple to hide. Even if the troops reported this activity—and most wouldn’t since they were just following orders and didn’t know any better—where would the reports go? If the officers weren’t part of the deal, rank and file soldiers likely wouldn’t be believed. Many of the officers were convinced that the extra work would be good for the scum in the ranks. Even more would consider the whole thing beneath the honor of a
gentleman
, so if there were to be a court-martial, Langford would get off with a mild reprimand.

“How can you hide the loss of brimstone and firestones?” Mystria, for very sound reasons, was prohibited from manufacturing its own brimstone or firestones—both of which Her Majesty’s government sought to strictly control. For hundreds to be stolen each year and distributed on the black market could not escape notice.

Palmerston fidgeted. “Well, sir, I am not the one who writes reports that go back to Horse Guards. But if I understand it, the Colonel makes up little operations against raiding Twilight People. He reports successfully repelling attacks, sir, with appropriate expenditures of brimstone and firestone. It seems, sir, that as long as he’s winning, no one in Launston has any complaints. He even praises men like you, sir, in his reports; so there are those who say these things happen. If the Colonel likes you, sir, you might even get a medal.”

Owen’s stomach began to fold in on itself. “Tell me this, if you know it. The other expeditions, the ones the Casks and Branches did. How far did they go?”

The Lieutenant sighed. “I don’t know for certain, sir, but I can tell you this. Come spring every year after these expeditions, Rufus Branch’s wife has had her a baby. She ain’t much to look at, and fear of Rufus would keep most men away if she was. But he hain’t beat her for taking another man to her bed, and the children are all ruddy and red like their father. I’d say, sir, most all what’s in those reports was dreamed up, and most like while he was sleeping in his own bed here in the South End.”

Chapter Eight

April 28, 1763

The Frost Residence, Temperance

Temperance Bay, Mystria

T
he arrival of a breathless messenger saved Palmerston from any further interrogation. The Private, straightening his hat as he snapped to attention, saluted abruptly. “Begging your pardon, Captain Strake. The Colonel’s compliments, sir.”

Owen straightened and returned the salute. “Yes, Private?”

“The Colonel requests you come to Government House straight away, sir.” The soldier swallowed hard. “The Prince, sir, is in court and has requested the two of you attend him.”

“Very well, Private. Please convey to the Colonel my intention to join him forthwith.”

“If it pleases the Captain, the Colonel ordered me to conduct you there without delay.”

“Yes, Private. Wait outside for me to join you.”

The soldier departed and Owen turned to Palmerston. “You will write up a report concerning Langford’s illegal activities. You will make two copies. One you will entrust to Caleb Frost. The other you will prepare for me.”

Palmerston’s eyes grew wide. “The Colonel, he’d kill me, sir.”

“The only way you can prevent him from killing you, Lieutenant, is to prepare those reports. I will release them if any harm comes to you.” Owen tapped a finger on his own requisition. “You will prepare my supplies immediately and you will cut the other order down to fifty firestones, do you understand? I will come back and count them.”

“Yes, sir.” The man sighed. “I wasn’t meaning no harm, what I did.”

“I understand that, Lieutenant.” When the Tharyngian war ended, the army would shrink. Men like Palmerston would be retired on a fraction of their pay. The man likely had no other trade, no prospects, save for what he could put by. Avoiding poverty only made sense.

“You lost your fingers and eye on the Continent, yes?”

“Ryngian ambush. Musket-ball hit my barrel. Took two fingers. Stock splinter took my eye.”

“I’m here to see that doesn’t happen again. Without good information, the Ryngians will ambush us just as you were ambushed. And from what you’ve told me, a survey that’s over a century old is more to be trusted than the one sent to Horse Guards last year. We can’t have that.”

The Lieutenant nodded. “No, sir. I’ll do what you’ve told me to do, sir.”

“Good.” Owen sighed. “Her Majesty will thank you.”

“If it’s all the same, sir, I’d just as soon she didn’t even know I existed.”

A man after my own heart.
Owen threw the man a salute, then found the waiting soldier outside. They set off and entered the city center from the south, passing beneath the shadow of St. Martin’s Cathedral. Like the Frost’s house, it had been built of granite, with flying buttresses and a gray slate roof. The bell tower rose to the height of fifty feet and had a cross atop it that went another twenty. It had been modeled on St. Paul’s in Launston, but lacked the ornate statuary in niches at the front. The bronze doors were smaller and had been shipped from Norisle, as no native industry could have produced them.

To the west lay Government House. Like the Cathedral, it had been scaled down from its Norillian counterpart. Stone had not been wasted on more than the foundation—local timber had been used to finish it. Three stories tall, it had been built wide rather than deep. It occupied the whole of the western edge of the square and had three separate sets of doors: one for each wing, and the broader central doors toward which the Private led Owen.

Colonel Langford waited impatiently inside the foyer, a relatively cramped space with creaking floorboards and tall windows. He dismissed the soldier with a snarl, then pulled Owen into a shadowed corner.

“What did you say to the Prince yesterday?”

Owen stood tall.“I do not believe the Prince intended you to be privy to our conversation, sir, little of which concerned you.”

“Captain, I am ordering you.”

“We spoke of my mission.” Owen opened his hands. “The Prince then invited me to take a look at his wurm. After that, I returned to Temperance.”

“You didn’t talk about me?”

“Aside from mentioning that I had reported my arrival to you, no, sir.”

Langford pursed his lips. “Very well. Here is the thing of it. On occasion the Prince decides that his being Governor-General requires him to do more than his abominable Ryngianesque researches. He wishes to discuss your expedition.”

Owen nodded.

“You are required to be there. You will answer questions
only
if I give you leave to do so. Do you understand?”

“My duty, sir, is to Her Majesty…”

Langford’s face darkened. He thrust a finger at Owen’s nose. “Your duty, sir, depends upon my support. You will be spending the summer here, perhaps longer. You will need my help. If you know what is good for you, you will do as I tell you to do. You are a
very long way
from Norisle, Captain. Many things can happen here.”

“Am I to interpret that as a threat, Colonel?”

“I won’t insult your intelligence, Captain. Your success or failure is at my whim. You do not want to displease me.”

Owen drew himself to attention, then saluted. “As you say, sir.”

“Very well.” Langford crossed the foyer. A liveried servant in a wig bowed and then opened the door to the assembly room at the heart of Government House. That central room ran to the back of the building and was as wide as it was deep. Wooden pillars split it into thirds. Desks and chairs had been moved to the walls, but marks on the floor showed where they normally were arrayed as if for a parliament. Owen guessed that a regional legislature likely used the chamber when the Prince was not in residence.

A throne had been centered toward the back and as they approached, Owen barely recognized the man seated in it. The Prince had donned a full wig, with the curled locks falling past his shoulder both front and back. His blue jacket and gold breeches shimmered brightly—the hallmark of their having been woven from wurmsilk. The jacket facings glowed with burnished red wurmleather, and the black buckles on his matching shoes had been carved from wurmscales.

Colonel Langford stopped four paces shy of the throne and bowed. Owen, a step behind him, followed suit. He then retreated to the right, leaving Langford alone before the Prince.

The three of them were by no means the only people in the room. Not only had some people preceded them, but more entered in their wake. They lined up as if the center of the room had an invisible carpet on which they were afraid to tread. Most reminded him of Dr. Frost—well-dressed in clothes stylishly fashioned from homespun wool and linen. The colors perforce ran to blacks and browns since indigo and other brighter hues had to be imported, but here and there a kerchief or vest lent a splash of color.

Down toward the end, barely inside the doors, stood men who looked quite ill at ease. They wore buckskins, with fringes on the sleeves and down the side seams of the trousers. Beadwork decorated some of the clothes, but most showed only stains on thighs, shins, and at the sleeve-cuffs. These men had a rough, unkempt nature and their shifting postures betrayed an uneasiness with their surroundings.

Prince Vlad raised a hand and the porter closed the doors. “Colonel Langford, so good of you to respond to our request so quickly. We trust we drew you away from nothing vital?”

Langford smiled unctuously. “The Queen’s work is never done, Highness, but any service I can render you is always paramount.”

“And you, Captain Strake, you were not inconvenienced by this request?”

“No, Highness.” Owen shivered at the remote and imperious tone in the Prince’s voice—so unlike how he had sounded the day before.

“Colonel, I am given to understand that you have retained Rufus Branch to guide Captain Strake.”

“I have, sir. His knowledge of the area is unparalleled.”

“Is it?” Prince Vlad frowned. “We should have thought Nathaniel Woods had traveled more extensively, especially in the area where Captain Strake’s orders require him to explore.”

Langford bowed his head. “Of course, Highness. I should have said Mr. Branch’s knowledge is unparalleled among
available
guides.”

The Prince clapped his hands. “Well, then, Colonel, we have excellent news for you. Mr. Woods is available for this assignment. He will arrive presently, so you will tell your… why, look, he is with us. Mr. Branch, you and your men will not be required. You’re free to go.”

The ruffians at the far end of the room appeared quite surprised, but Langford’s rising voice cut off the dull roar of their conversation. “Highness, you cannot dismiss them.”

“Did we hear you correctly, Colonel? We cannot dismiss them?”

“Yes, Highness. They have a contract to provide services. It would be great hardship for them if it were to be set aside.”

Prince Vlad’s chin came up. “Would it? These men appear to be hale and hearty to me. Could they not avail themselves better by going out and trapping something? We could not be paying them more than they would make trading and trapping, could we?”

“It is a complicated matter, Highness.” Langford’s face grew hard. “An
army
matter, Highness. Quite outside the things you need worry about.”

“We believe you will find, Colonel, that all
your
funding comes through the Ministry of the Exchequer, which is a civilian organization. It is, therefore, of concern to us. The fact is that Mr. Woods—a guide you have proclaimed to be superior to your selection—is available for two gold crowns. We believe this is a considerable savings over your proposed budget.”

Langford began to sputter, but the Prince raised a hand. “We are not finished. It has come to our attention that there are rumors of your personal financial involvement with the Casks and Branches, Colonel, as well as other irregularities.”