Mitchell Smith - Kingdom River

Consideration to that was given in silence around the table. It seemed to Sam to have become an evening of silences.

"I agree," Jaime said, and Elvin grunted behind his bandanna.

"Yes," Ned said. "We go for the son of a bitch."

"Keeping in mind," Howell said, "that if the Boxcars aren't with us, don't fight in the north – then we are fucked, and the Kipchaks will chase us all the way to Map-Mexico City."

"Phil?"

Butler sighed, and bent to set a dog on the floor. "Seems an opportunity to me, Sam. Man spreads his legs – your pardon, Margaret – why not kick him in the nuts?"

"Still" – Charles shook his head – "still… organizing this in a matter of days. And paying for winter campaigning, Sam. The whole army, for Nailed Jesus' sake!"

"I know, Charles. I know. But we couldn't prepare properly for war without the Khan knowing it. It's important he feels free to move east to invade the Kingdom, commit most of his forces to it."

"And will our soldiers appreciate this short notice, Sam, when they're freezing, starving in winter hills?"

"What they will appreciate, Charles, will be those supplies that you and Eric see come up to them, at whatever cost."

"And if – even supplied, even aided by the Boxcars – the army loses this war?"

"… Then, Charles, I suppose some young officer will gather new cavalry – draft-horse cavalry, wind-broken cavalry – and skirmish over the foothills while new infantry gathers in the Sierra." Sam smiled. "Old-man infantry, young-boy infantry, girl infantry, thief-and-bandit infantry. And our people will raid out of those mountains, and suffer the Kipchaks' raids, while the Khan Toghrul grows old and dies. And while his son lives, and his son's son, until finally a weakling rules at Caravanserai, and the Khanate breaks apart. Then, our people will come down from the mountains, and make North Map-Mexico again."

The evening's fourth silence.

"Well…" Charles stared down at his plate, as if the future might be read in mutton bones and remnant potato. "It will mean no relief of taxes. Not for years."

"And, speaking of taxes," Sam said, "any pigeon from Sonora?"

"The tax thing?" Lauder made a note with charcoal pencil on a fold of paper.

"What tax thing?" Howell said.

"None of the army's business," Charles said.

"Well, that's rude." Howell shifted his tobacco chew, leaned to spit into his saucer.

"He's right," Sam said. "A civil matter. The governer had been encouraged, by his friends, to withhold payment of taxes to Better-Weather."

"An uncivil matter, as it happens," Charles said. "There was… some opposition."

"How bad?"

"Four of Klaus Munk's reeve men were killed at Neal's home, day before yesterday. His vaqueros fought for him."

"And?"

"Munk arrested Neal, is bringing him to court with three of his men."

"And?"

"He'll be found guilty by Magistrate Caminillo, and sentenced to death."

"The vaqueros?" Ned said.

"Will also be sentenced to death, Ned." Charles glanced at Sam. "We can't have cow-herds killing law officers."

"Just," Sam said, "as we can't have people not paying their taxes. You did well, Charles. Sorry I had to give you the job."

Eric reached over, patted Charles's arm – an unusual gesture for a man who didn't care to touch or be touched. "My sort of work."

"No, Eric," Sam said. "It had to be a civil matter, and straightforward. – Make certain the matter's finished, Charles. See that Magistrate Caminillo understands, no mercy."

"Who the hell is Caminillo?" Howell said. "I don't even know the name."

"He was a hide dealer," Charles said. "Elected judgment-man in Nogales, then Ciudad Juarez. The old governer, Cohen, suggested him for magistrate. Called him honest, and no coward."

"Duels before he robed?" Howell smiled. "Probably fewer than Cohen's."

"None, actually," Charles said. "I believe Caminillo was challenged twice for his judgments, but refused to duel. Sought those men out, and beat them with a ball-stick. He's quite highly regarded out there."

"Well and good," Sam said – a very old copybook phrase. "But see he does what has to be done."

"I said I'll do it."

Disapproval, and anger. Sam let it be. Losing an old friend to these necessities. But it's only fair – been losing myself to them for some time.

"One thing's sure, Sam," Eric said. "You've made an enemy of the governer."

"There's something surer than that. Governer Stewart has made an enemy of me." For a few moments, there was no sound but the stove's fire dying. No fear. Please don't let me find fear in my friends' faces…

"… Jaime," Elvin said, "pass me some of that custard. What in the world did Oswald-cook put in the mutton? Tasted like fucking pepper soup!"

"Sam," – Howell spit tobacco juice onto his saucer – "Map-Louisiana and Map-Arkansas are both Boxcar states."

"Howell," Margaret said, beside him, "where's your spit-cup?"

"I've put civilization behind me, Trade-honey… Sam, we'll be crossing the Kingdom's territory most of the way north."

"Yes – but with the Kipchaks already striking to their river up in Map-Missouri, I don't think the Boxcars will mind. I think they'll be pleased to see our army coming."

"And if they mind, Sam?"

Sam smiled. "Tough titty." It was one of Warm-time's oldest military sayings.

"More beer, anyone?" Margaret lifted the clay pitcher.

"There's not enough beer for this," Ned said, and the others smiled. Sam felt the tautness in the room slacken. There was a turn at the table, a turn from worry to work to be done. There was also – he'd felt it many times before – an odd feeling of relief from the others. They'd been commanded, commanded to a grave but reasonable risk, and there seemed to be subtle enjoyment in that for them… For them, not for their commander.

"So, Sam," Phil Butler said, "who does what?"

"Howell leaves day after tomorrow, picks up the cavalry as he goes. Elvin and Jaime order the army assembled – with the regular militia companies of Coahuila and Nuevo Leon. You two are in charge until the forces are brought together here at Better-Weather… Phil, once that's done, you command the army's movement north, taking Portia-doctor and the medical people. Charmian and the western militias will still be busy playing games with those Kipchak units come down west of the Bend. She and her light infantry will be the last to join you."

"Join you," Ned said, "if she isn't enjoying herself too much."

"Ned, you'll be well enough by then to scrape together what few mounts Howell hasn't taken. You'll command rear-guard cavalry scout as the army moves north."

"Alright, Sam. And once we're in Map-Arkansas?"

"Howell should already have come east from Map-Fort Stockton, brought the main body of cavalry there to join you." Sam paused a moment. "… And in the Hills-Ozark, Howell commands the army. You, Ned – and Phil and Charmian – serve under him."

"Howell, Sam?" Phil Butler said. "Not you?"

"I… will be visiting the Kingdom."

The fifth silence. Sam supposed Charles would be first to break it.

"No! Absolutely not!" Charles hit the table with his fist. "Sam… they'll cut your throat for you, no matter the Queen knew dear Catania, no matter she knew you when you were a baby. I'm the one who should go."

"Queen Joan won't cut my throat."

"If she doesn't," Ned said, "the generals and river lords will."

"And cook and eat you, besides." Jaime shook his head.

"It's the Queen," Eric said, "who wants this meeting. Asked for it."

"Don't do it, Sam." Ned cradled the stump of his wrist. "You're not fucking immortal, no matter what you think. They'll kill you – or keep you under stone until you rot."