At the Queen_s command

Chapter Thirty-Nine

September 11, 1763

Benjamin River

Temperance Bay, Mystria

N athaniel waved good-bye to Prince Vlad and Princess Gisella, tossing free the tow-rope attached to Mugwump's saddle. Both royals wore goggles and laughed as the wurm turned back downstream. Nathaniel still felt uneasy around Mugwump, even after spending time around the creature. The wurm appeared a bit bigger and quicker than before, and the colors on its scales really stood out. But he could understand the Prince and Princess' attachment to the wurm.

Mugwump gave Nathaniel a sidelong glance, as if having read his thoughts, then ducked under the water as he passed back by the canoe.

Nathaniel dipped a paddle quickly, fighting the wake of the beast's passage. Now, you'd not have been attempting to swamp us, would you? He dug deep into the water to maintain the canoe's upstream momentum.

"I don't know about you, Kamiskwa, but I'm right happy 'bout getting shed of that place. I'm thinking I couldn'ta stood another week."

"You wanted to stay while Rachel was a guest."

"Well, now, that's true, though weren't as much smooth sailing as I'da preferred." His presence while Rachel was at the estate created some friction with the Frost family and the Bumbles. Doctor Frost had been cordial, but his wife and daughter had been as cold to him as they had been warm to Rachel. The Bumbles had been sour about everything, but Nathaniel was practiced in ignoring folks like them.

Nathaniel didn't get private time to speak with Doctor Frost. Overall Nathaniel's behavior had been courteous and circumspect, which led to a slight thawing on the part of the Frost women-and much of their continued reserve he put down to his being blamed, in part, for Captain Strake's disappearance.

"People is curious." Nathaniel glanced back over his shoulder. "What did you make of that Lilith Bumble?"

"Pretty, like a jeopard."

"Yep. Seemed like she had her sights set on the Count."

"I do not fear for him."

"No, I reckon he seen what we seen." Nathaniel paddled harder, pulling them up a small set of rapids. "He did manage to keep the Bumbles entertained."

Out of respect for the Prince, Nathaniel had been on his best behavior. He and Rachel had managed to slip away for walks in the fields and to go fishing. She'd always loved fishing, and that particular afternoon glowed warmly in his memory. Just the two of them by the river, letting lines tied to corks bob in the water, watching clouds roll by. For the first time in the longest while he'd felt completely relaxed.

The Prince had said nothing to him before or after those excursions, but he hadn't needed to. Since they had done nothing untoward, no dishonor could fall to the Prince. Moreover, if anyone did make false claims, they would be insulting the Prince. He used his prestige to provide Nathaniel and Rachel a chance to be alone, and Nathaniel owed him a debt of gratitude for that.

"Magehawk, I must ask."

"Yes?"

Kamiskwa pointed his paddle at a bundle in the middle of the canoe. "Why did you bring the fancy clothes?"

Nathaniel smiled. "Well, I was amembering how much of a shine your father took to Owen's coat."

The Altashee snorted. "You know that was so Captain Strake would have appropriate clothes for our journey."

"Well, I done noticed your father ain't taken that coat off since."

"Nor will he. Captain Strake killed Ungarakii."

"I need to ask you a question, brother mine."

"Yes, Magehawk?"

Nathaniel glanced back just for a heartbeat. "Did you be thinking I'd not notice that my bundle was a mite heavier than when I packed it? Heavier by the suit of clothes you was made to wear at that dinner."

"If you were to attire yourself in the proper Norillian style in Saint Luke, I would not want you to feel alone."

That brought Nathaniel full around, his paddle resting against his thighs. "You liked being all gussied up, didn't you?"

" Natahe."

"Oh, now don't you go and be telling me you don't understand. You know right well what I was asking." Nathaniel turned back an applied himself to his paddle. " Natahe, my left foot."

He added outrage to his words, but was happy his friend couldn't see his smile. The simple fact was that Kamiskwa wore Mystrian clothes very well. He'd been given breeches and a long coat in black, with white hose and shirt. Black shoes with silver buckles and a dark green neck-cloth had been added to finish his outfit. He'd found a string of malachite beads in his bag and used it to tie his hair back. The whole thing gave him a slightly diabolical cast, but one that looked good.

By contrast, Nathaniel had just looked awkward. His shoes had felt too short, or so he thought, until the Count took him aside and pointed out that he had them on the wrong feet. There didn't seem a way to know that, and Nathaniel had never heard of shoes meant for each specific foot-clear foolishness, that was. But when he switched them they did feel better. Still, the hose scratched. He managed to misbutton the coat, and the shirt sleeves ended in lace that only had one purpose-to soak up gravy faster than a biscuit.

He did count his blessings, however. Neither he nor Kamiskwa had been provided wigs, which had to have itched something awful. Nathaniel really couldn't see any purpose to the things since all the men but the Bishop had hair.

"I am thinking it is a good thing your father weren't there for that dinner else we'd be having nine-course meals in Saint Luke and then dancing after."

"No dancing."

Nathaniel's grin broadened. "You just ain't got no appreciation for culture."

"No. You dance for recreation. We dance for magick."

"Oh, there was some magick there." Nathaniel had enjoyed the dancing, despite not being good at it. The Princess had brought along a string quartet and a dance caller. The caller explained all the dances, which were danced by couples and groups of four. Mrs. Frost or Lilith Bumble ended up being partnered with him all of the time, but when the dance's progression would put him in league with Rachel and her partner, breaths were being held. Everyone watched them to see how they reacted, and those reactions and their impression had been a source of much mirth when Nathaniel and Rachel were out fishing.

"I do not think you appreciate how much magick there was, my friend."

"Prolly not." Nathaniel chuckled. "But I sure did enjoy it."

The fortnight following the dinner had been one with a bit of entertainment, but the guests left after four days, allowing the Prince, the Count, Nathaniel, and Kamiskwa to get down to work. The Prince and the Count drew up a list of facts they needed to know about the fortress. The Prince added to it a list of things he wanted to know about du Malphias' pasmortes. He even hoped they could capture one for him and bring it back.

Nathaniel had not liked that prospect. "Begging your pardon, Highness, but what if it gets all bitey or stabbity or otherwise unpeaceable? It's going to be a long trip back here."

The prince had allowed that might be a problem, and the next day borrowed Nathaniel's bullet mold and produced some special ammunition. They fired the bullets a few times, both being satisfied with the performance, and Nathaniel promised to report on their effect against pasmortes.

Nathaniel and Kamiskwa pushed their walks fast and reached the winter Saint Luke in a week and a half. They stopped long enough to get a good night's sleep, then picked up Makepeace Bone and made for to Hattersburg. Instead of heading into the town itself, they stopped at Seth's farm.

He didn't seem to bear them any grudge, but his new wife-Meg Gates-did. She would have made them sleep in the cow shed, but Seth explained how if it weren't for them making him go to Temperance, she'd never have taken care of his cow, they wouldn't have fallen in love, and wouldn't have gotten married. This mollified her a little, though Nathaniel figured she loved the cow more than Seth.

From there they made directly for Pine Lake, cutting the trip to three days. They reached the small island by mid-afternoon. The wind had shifted from east to north, so Makepeace suggested they stop for the day.

Kamiskwa disagreed. "Snow tomorrow. We should best get across now."

By the time they reached the far shore, the sun had set and the first few snowflakes began to drift down. They burned when they hit his flesh. He pulled his sleeves down to cover his hands. First snow of the year always made him happy. It was at first snow that he'd first kissed Rachel-albeit a bit later in that year and a long time before she ever became another man's wife.

The three men set up camp then pulled on heavy winter Altashee robes. They'd traded cloth scraps for them-as a formality since Msitazi wanted to help them succeed. Makepeace's robe and hood had been pieced together from two bearskins. Nathaniel's had only taken one, his hat a beaver, and his mittens an otter. Kamiskwa wore a robe of jeopard that his sister Ishikis made from animals he'd killed. All three of them had boots made from wolverine since the ice didn't stick to it, lined with rabbit to keep their feet warm. The winter clothes' bulk kept them warm, but could be shucked quickly enough if they had to start fighting.

Snowfall picked up and the wind howled through the night. They cut branches for snowshoes, stripped them of leaves and bent them into ovals. Using well-oiled leather thongs they wove a web in the center and created harnesses for their feet. The snowshoes would allow them to move across the snow pack.

Nathaniel tossed another log onto their fire. "Ain't going to be easy being that close to Owen and not going in to get him."

Kamiskwa shook his head. "We do not even know if he is alive."

"If he ain't, I'm going to dig him up and give him a right good talking to."

Makepeace grunted. "In du Malphias' hands, you ain't neither gonna need to dig him up. He'll be coming after you."

A low growl rolled from Nathaniel's throat. "Iffen he does, I don't know what I'll do."

Makepeace sat up. "You will do God's work. Ain't rightly nor natural the dead running around."

"But maybe this du Malphias can change things. Make him, you know…"

"Dead again?" Kamiskwa stirred the fire with a stick. "Bone is right. If he attacks, you have to kill him."

"And what if he don't? What if he is one of them pasmortes but ain't mean? If you cain't tell he ever died, how would you know he was dead?"

Makepeace held his hands out toward the fire. "I would reckon it's all in the bringing back. Now when the saints did it, they were godly men, so God would let them bring the original spirit back in. Man like du Malphias, that would be Satan putting a demon in."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "But Pierre came back."

"And when he died, Satan got control of his soul, I am certain." Makepeace rubbed his hands together. "If the dead are walking, evil spirits is in 'em."

" Wendigo."

" Well now, the two of you agreeing, that's a powerful argument. And it ain't that I don't believe there's a God in His Heaven, but I ain't had much church learning. Fair recent, though, Bishop Bumble up and lectured me on what the Good Lord says we ain't to be doing. Resurrecting folks weren't among the things mentioned. If God ain't commanding agin it, his prophets, saints, and Son is doing it, could be there's more to the issue than we know to be exploring."

Kamiskwa and Makepeace thought on that for a bit. Makepeace, his hands warmed enough, went back to making his snowshoes. "Could be you're right, Nathaniel. Could be. So what are you going to do when Captain Strake's looking at you from the other side of death?"

Nathaniel sighed and tapped his cartridge pouch. "Load up one of the Prince's special bullets. And if God has mercy, let Him visit it on Owen quick-before my bullet finds its mark."

The next day they set out by mid-morning heading due west, but the unseasonable cold slowed them down. After the better part of a week they worked their way upslope toward the southern bank of Anvil Lake. They kept back on the mountainside, well away from the open water. The north wind, blowing across it, kicked up a lot more snow. They were glad for the trees' shelter.

A new storm kicked up by the time they'd gotten close to the Roaring River. Given that the storm was intensifying and threatening to dump two feet of snow by midnight, pushing further would have been foolish. By early afternoon they built a lean-to in a sheltered hollow and lit a fire. They couldn't see the fort from the nearest ridge, so they figured du Malphias couldn't see their fire.

Despite the cold and the snow making every task laborious, each man cleaned, oiled, and charged his gun anew. They didn't change their firestones, but they rotated them so clean color rested beneath their thumbs. This close to the fort there was no sense in not being prepared to fight.

They debated taking watches. For a man to have an effective post, he'd have to be up on a ridge. He'd constantly have snow in the face and get cold fast. Since they couldn't see anything in the pitch dark, they opted to remain in their camp and trusted that any Ryngian scouts this far out would be hunkered down against the storm themselves.

As a precaution, however, no one talked much. They all kept an ear out for anything aside from howls of the north wind. By mutual agreement, two tried to sleep while the other stayed awake to feed the fire, but Nathaniel reckoned there was more trying going on than actual sleeping.

A couple hours past midnight, based on the stars that came out when the north wind died and the snow stopped, Nathaniel woke Kamiskwa. "Sleep any?"

"Very little. Did I hear thunder?"

"Might coulda been, not long ago. Wind snatched it away right quick." Nathaniel stretched. "I reckon I will lay me down, but I ain't 'specting sleep."

And before he even lay a blanket down, two gunshots rang out.