At the Queen's Command (6 page)

“I’ve been billeted at your house?”

“Were it
my
house, you’d not be staying.” The man slowed a bit so Owen could pull even. “It’s my father’s house.”

“And your father is?”

“My father is the smartest and the most honest man in this here whole colony. You’ll not be treating him like a servant. And you’ll not be rude to my mother, you won’t beat the young ones, and if you so much as look at my sister…”

“Sir, I am a most happily married man.”

“Didn’t seem to make no nevermind to t’others.”

“So, if I look at your sister, you’ll leave me for some jeopard?”

“No, I like jeopards.” Despite the adamancy of the man’s clipped reply, the hint of a smile crossed his face.

“I shall take it, sir, that I am not the first Queen’s officer who has been a guest in your home.”

“My father is thinking it’s his duty to host officers.”

“This guest, he was a noble who was arrogant and rude?”

“The last one, the one before that, and the two before that.”

Owen chuckled.

“Being as how you think this is funny…”

“No, sir, I take your warning seriously.” Owen forced his smile to broaden. “Those noble officers purchased their commissions. I earned mine on the battlefield. And I’ve seen Mystrians fight. I was impressed.”

“Was you?” The man’s eyes tightened, but he nodded.

“My name is Owen.” He offered the man his hand.

The man hesitated, then did his best to crush it in a grip of surprising strength. “Caleb. Caleb Frost.”

“Pleased to meet you, Caleb.” Owen matched his grip firmly, pumped his arm, then freed his hand. He let Caleb see him flexing it. “If I could trouble you…”

Caleb arched an eyebrow.

“On my ride back from seeing the Prince, I encountered a beast, eight foot at the shoulder, dark brown, long legs, huge rack of antlers.”

“Bowled or more like branches?”

“Bowled, with spikes coming off them.”

“That’s a moose, most like.”

“‘Most like?’ There’s more than one creature answering that description?”

Caleb laughed. “Have to wonder at the wisdom of the Crown.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“How is it they send you out here for scouting, and you don’t know the first thing about Mystria?” Caleb slapped his thigh. “But you’ll just be sitting on your tuffet here while others do your work, I ’spect. Just like the others.”

“Did any of the other scouts ride out to see the Prince directly upon their arrival?”

Caleb’s brow furrowed. “Don’t recall them much leaving town.”

“So, perhaps, I’m not much like them.”

“Perhaps not.”

Owen scowled. “So, how is it you know
why
I’m in Mystria?”

“It ain’t as if the Ryngian war is any secret. What with them building forts to the west, we expected something would be done. But more to your point, Sergeant Major Hilliard told my father about you when he brought your things. And Cask and Branch been spreading it around that Langford has hired them to see you upriver. Easy work for them.”

“What are you saying, sir?”

“Well, Captain Strake, it works this way.” Caleb grinned broadly. “Colonel Langford pays Cask and Branch to guide some Norillian fop around. They take him out into some of the nastiest country they can find. The officer comes back, the boys go out hunting, trapping, trading. They talk to the Twilight People, get told what the Ryngians are doing, and that gets written up in the report. They include maps and the like, which is mostly worthless. And half the Twilight People trade with the Ryngians, so they’re not inclined to be telling the whole truth, if you catch my meaning.”

“But the Colonel has his duty.”

“Sure, to himself. The trading Cask and Branch do is for him. He sends skins back under military impound. A friend in Norisle brokers them for him. No duty on them, you see. I hear tell he has a thousand pounds waiting for him in the City.”

And Langford expects I will do the same as the others.

“Thank you, Caleb, for this information.”

The Mystrian nodded. “So you’ll be enriching yourself, too. Long as you treat my family right, it’ll be soft duty.”

“No, sir, I did not come here for soft duty.”

Caleb shot him a sidelong glance. “You can say that now, Captain Strake, but the road to the Prince’s estate, that is about as civilized as Mystria gets. Where you want to go, if there have been a dozen Norillians through there, I’ll be surprised.”

“But surely men have gone…”

“Mystrians, sure. Maybe a hundred.” Caleb grinned glowingly. “Something for you to sleep on, Captain Strake.
Norillians
, maybe a dozen; and considerably less than that made it back alive.”

Chapter Six

April 27, 1763
 

The Frost Residence, Temperance
 

Temperance Bay, Mystria

C
learly Caleb meant to terrify Owen, but the words hadn’t had quite that effect. Owen did not fear for himself. If what Caleb said was true, the wilderness remained truly uncharted. Specifically, the maps back at Horse Guards were worthless. If a strategy was being planned based on them, none of the details would be relevant. Any military expedition would be doomed.

Which makes my mission even more important.

Owen looked up, thinking to ask Caleb a question, but was struck by two things. The first was that a remarkable change had overcome his guide. Caleb had straightened up and moved more tightly—not nearly as loose-limbed and gangly as he had first appeared. He’d also tucked his shirt in, buttoned his coat, and had combed fingers through his hair. The transformation effectively disguised him as a gentleman.

Second, they had come to a house at the top of the hill at the corner of Diligence and Virtue streets. The square house rose to three stories with a captain’s-walk atop the roof, and a balcony above the door. The house faced the bay and had been constructed of granite blocks, and trimmed with another, lighter stone at the corners. It had a slate roof and two chimneys, one at either end. A granite wall surrounded the house. Well-tended bushes and a couple trees shaded the front.

Caleb pushed open the dual iron gates and beckoned Owen in. A servant came running up the drive from the side of the house and took charge of the horse. He led it off toward the back of the property where, Owen presumed, a stable and carriage house lay.

Owen hesitated. “This is a grand house.”

“My grandfather built it.” Caleb mounted the steps and opened the door. “Come on.”

Only when he reached the top of the steps, and saw the people gathered in the foyer before the broad stairway leading to the second floor, did Owen realize his coat had ridden with his horse into the stable. He paused on the doorstep, then Caleb grabbed him and pulled him into the house.

“Mother, Father, may I present Captain Owen Strake, of the Queen’s Own Wurm Guards. Captain Strake, this is my father, Doctor Archibald Frost.”

Owen offered Dr. Frost his hand. “You are most kind, sir, for taking me in. I apologize for my uniform…”

Archibald, a small man with a pear-shaped physique and apple-red cheeks, clasped Owen’s hand in both of his. The man’s cheeks fought a losing action against a broad smile as he pumped Owen’s hand warmly. “No apologies, sir. It is an honor. May I present my wife, Hettie.”

Mrs. Frost proved the opposite of her spouse, being tall and slender, even regal. She smiled warmly, though nowhere near as effulgently as her husband. “It is our pleasure to welcome you, Captain Strake.”

“You are most kind, ma’am.”

Doctor Frost turned and introduced a half-dozen children ranging in age from thirteen to three. Their names immediately fled Owen’s memory. He’d take abuse from Caleb when he had to ask about them again. He put it down to still wondering about Caleb, because the man who introduced him to the family was not the same man who had led him to the house.

But, then again, he’d have forgotten the names anyway, because the end of the introductions was when
she
descended the stairs.

Doctor Frost waved a hand impatiently. “There you are, Bethany.”

Bethany Frost combined the best of her parents. Slender and tall, with long, golden-brown hair gathered into a braid, she glided fluidly down the stairs. She had her father’s smile and bright blue eyes the same shade as his wife’s, but decidedly warmer. Her smile broadened as she first saw him, then she missed a step and almost tumbled down the stairs. She caught herself on the railing, then laughed delightedly, her cheeks flushed.

Owen couldn’t believe it. Had any Norillian woman come to the stairs late, it would have been with the intent of making an entrance. The stumble would have been taken as evidence of poor breeding and grounds for suicide. For Bethany, however, it appeared to have no more significance than a simple accident would merit.

She reached the bottom of the stairs. “A pleasure, Captain Strake. Forgive my being late, but I was making sure your room had been made up.”

“I thought he was sleeping in the stable.”

Doctor Frost chuckled. “Yes, Caleb, I’m sure you did.”

“Father.”

“Caleb, you see, Captain Strake, has some very definite feelings concerning Her Majesty’s government and how we are treated. He’s at Temperance College, studying for the Clergy. Alas, I fear he is becoming something of a free-thinker.”

“He was quite friendly, sir. A gentleman.”

Owen allowed himself to be steered down the central corridor and to the right.

A long trestle table had been set for one, with the seat near the fire. Dr. Frost sat at the table’s head, with Owen at his left hand. Caleb sat opposite. Owen’s host unstoppered a crystal decanter and poured red wine for the three of them.

He raised the glass. “To the Queen’s health.”

“Her health.” Owen drank. “Very nice. Better than I had in Tharyngia.”

“I should hope so. My father bought it thirty years ago and it has been maturing in the cellar.” Frost set his glass down. “And you have not fooled me by covering for my son. I know him well. He seems to forget that animosity does not excuse one from behaving as a gentleman.”

Caleb glanced into his wine. “I apologize if I offended you, Captain.”

“No apology required. I found our conversation very informative.” Owen turned to Dr. Frost. “And I, sir, would like to apologize for the behavior of the other officers you have hosted. I should like the names of the offenders. I shall take great delight in thrashing them at the first opportunity.”

“You’re most kind, Captain, but I doubt that will be necessary.”

Hettie entered bearing a bowl of stew. Bethany followed, bearing a small basket with sliced bread. Caleb reached for a piece of it, but she slapped his hand. His mother gave him a reproving stare, so he sat back and grumbled.

“You’ll forgive the meager fare, Captain. My husband and I were hoping to have a more formal dinner on the Lord’s Day, after services.”

“Nothing to forgive, ma’am. I’ve been on a ship for seven weeks. It’s been weak broth and hardtack for far too long.” Owen smiled, breathing in the aroma from the thick brown stew. “It smells wonderful.”

Hettie and Bethany joined them at the table, book-ending Caleb, with Bethany closest to her father. “Please, Captain, eat.”

Owen spooned up a carrot, a pea, and a small piece of beef and ate. He closed his eyes, letting the scent fill his head. Things were tender enough he didn’t need to chew, but chew he did so he could savor the mouthful. He washed it down with more of the wine, then smiled.

“This is the best I’ve eaten for over a year.”

Caleb arched an eyebrow. “I’d have thought the Wurm Guards would have the finest of everything.”

“They do, if they have a wurm.” Owen broke a slice of bread in half and dipped it into the stew. “The Regiment has five battalions; one of wurms, one of heavy cavalry, two light cavalry, and one of light infantry. We’re the skirmishers. First to battle, last to leave; last to mess, first to leave. Story is they keep us around in case the wurms get hungry—and wurms prefer their food lean.”

Mrs. Frost took a salt cellar and pepper mill from the side table and placed them near Owen. “Captain, may I ask if you were at Artennes Forest?”

“Yes, ma’am, I was. I have a lot of respect for the Mystrian Rangers.”

Mrs. Frost’s smile broadened, but Bethany’s slowly evaporated. “Do you remember Major Robert Forest?”

Owen sat back. “Very well, ma’am.”

“He is my brother.”

“Is he well?”

Caleb snarled. “Isn’t much of a one for a handshake, being as how he left half an arm in the forest.”

Owen rested the bread on the edge of the bowl. “I ask after him, Master Frost, because I dragged him out of the woods, him still shouting orders to his men. I tied off the arm so he’d not bleed to death, and I fetched him brandy for when the butchers decided the forearm had to go.”

Bethany leaned forward. “Did you know Ira Hill? He was in the Rangers.”

“I do not recall the name, Miss.”

“He was tall, black hair, green eyes, darker than yours.”

Owen searched his memory. “I can’t promise, Miss, but I recall a man fitting that description. Always had a joke?”

Her face brightened. “Yes, yes, that was him.”

“I remember digging beside him as we tried to clear a road. It was raining. He said he’d trade his shovel for a bucket and bail more than he could dig. I didn’t know his name, though. Is he a friend?”

“Was.” Her face closed again.

Caleb glowered. “He died in those same woods, Captain.”

“I’m very sorry.”

Bethany nodded. “It’s hard not knowing, and people, they say…”

Dr. Frost took one of Bethany’s hands in his own. “The Rivendell book, you understand, Captain. Ira had asked for Bethany’s hand before he went off and, well, most people are believing the Rangers were cowards.”

Owen turned to Bethany. “Look at me, Miss. The Rangers did more than most on that campaign. I got assigned to liaise with them, some folks thinking I was as expendable as they were. The Rangers fought well and hard. Don’t believe anything different. What Lord Rivendell wrote is fable beginning to end. He wrote it to make himself and his son look good. You just remember that the Tharyngians feared the Rangers enough that they sent their best against them. They won, but it was a close thing. If there had been
two
Ranger battalions, the war would be over.”