Michael Stackpole: Of Limited Loyalty

Owen snuck a look at Rathfield’s face and suppressed a smile. In Norisle, even a man with Rathfield’s money could barely have afforded a house such as that. Because Mystria had so much land and so many resources abundantly available, the construction had cost a fraction of what it might have in Norisle. Owen could afford to build a house that was much larger than the equivalent in Norisle, and in Norisle would have had to be a minor noble to afford an estate that size.

As they rode toward the stables, James the stable boy emerged to take their horses. The two men dusted themselves off. Before they could reach the front door, however, it opened a crack, then a little, black-haired girl with bright hazel eyes slipped through. Giggling gaily, she ran toward her father, hands extended, then stopped and looked up at Rathfield.

Her smile died and her hands disappeared behind her back.

Owen scooped her up and kissed her cheek. “Colonel Rathfield, this is my daughter, Miranda.”

Rathfield drew off his hat with a flourish and bowed solemnly-a bit of playful whimsy that Owen would never have credited as possible. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miranda.”

The beautiful little girl stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, then buried her face against her father’s neck. Owen shook his head. “She tends to be shy around strangers. Normally she is quite happy and talks all the time.”

The main house door opened and a woman appeared, though she still faced back into the house. “Let that happen again, Agnes, and I shall get the strop!” She turned, looking over the yard for her daughter-there was no mistaking the resemblance in the nose and the chin-then she stopped. “Owen, I hadn’t…”

“We have a visitor. Colonel Ian Rathfield, may I present my wife, Catherine.”

Catherine stiffened, then pressed her brown hair into place and straightened her dress. “Please forgive me, Colonel.”

Rathfield took her hand and raised it to his lips. “My pleasure, Madame.”

Catherine covered that hand with her other, then her brown eyes narrowed. “Are you? Yes, your uniform, the Fifth Northland Cavalry. You’re Ian Rathfield, the hero of Rondeville.”

“You are very kind, Madame.”

“Catherine, you must call me Catherine, Colonel.”

Owen watched his wife transform herself into the woman of the manner, with a small hint of the flirtatiousness he’d enjoyed when they first met. He’d not seen it in so long, it surprised him that it still existed. He found her a bit silly, but dared not laugh, and welcomed the change.

Catherine raised a hand to tuck a stray lock of brown hair away.” It will be an honor to have you here. How long will you be staying?”

“I shall do my best not to inconvenience you for long, Catherine. I hope to take rooms in Temperance soon enough.” Rathfield smiled. “I’ve been sent by the Crown for a specific mission. I am afraid, however, I shall have to take your husband with me. I hope you won’t mind.”

Her eyes flashed. “Not at all. I live to serve the Crown.”

“It’s good to hear that in the Colonies, Catherine.”

Owen looked at his wife. “The Prince has invited us to dine with him this evening. Hodge will be up with the Colonel’s things. I imagine we will head out inside the fortnight.”

Miranda clutched his neck. “No, Daddy, don’t go!”

Owen rubbed her back and kissed her head. “It will be okay, Miranda. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I get scared.”

“I know, honey. More nightmares?”

Catherine folded her arms across her chest. “Yes, during her nap. The shadows in the woods are back.”

Rathfield smiled. “I’m certain there is nothing to fear out there, Miranda.”

The little girl hid her face against her father’s neck again and shivered.

Oh, Colonel, you have no idea what lurks out there in the woods. Owen nodded. “You’re probably right, Colonel. But, for now, no shadows, Miranda. Just friends-friends from far away.”

27 March 1767 Prince Haven, Temperance Bay, Mystria

Prince Vlad retreated to his laboratory to open the packet from his father. When he’d built the new laboratory, he’d started with a barn so he had a massive open room that featured two lofts. The main floor contained his desk and drafting tables, dissection tables, closets for maps, charts, and equipment, and the largest or most recent of his specimens from around Mystria. The first loft had been ringed with bookshelves, which he had filled almost halfway with volumes from all over the world. A smaller bookshelf near his desk contained books he needed for current study, and piles of books supplemented its capacity. The highest loft, which he referred to as the attic, had a pulley and winch system on the main roof beam to help haul heavier items into the darkness. He’d thought he might store seasonal things there, like canoes, but he couldn’t fit them through the lower door and hadn’t yet opened a wall that high.

He sat at his desk, and turned up the wick on a lamp. He pinched the wick much as he might do to snuff a flame, then invoked a spell, and pulled his hand back. The wick caught quickly and burned yellow-gold. The spell-a variation of that used to ignite brimstone in the breech of a gun-was common enough, but those who could not use magick were often wary of those who did, so the Prince did not indulge himself over much.

Vlad turned the packet over and took a good look at the red wax seal. It bore the mark of his father’s ring, but he’d long suspected that the Queen had had the ring duplicated so she could read their correspondence. The outer packet showed no sign of tampering. Had agents softened the wax and scraped beneath the seal, the paper would be discolored around the seal itself. This did not surprise Vlad, since he doubted his father had packed the letters up anyway.

The packet contained four letters, each folded, sealed, addressed, and dated. Vlad laid them out in order, then looked again at each seal. These did show signs of tampering. A heated knife blade had been slid under the flap and used to lift the seal, then a drop of wax had been applied to reseal the letter later. Those doing the reading, however, had no way of knowing how much information the seal itself provided.

Around the edge of the seal ten symbols had been inscribed, appearing there similarly to the way numbers would have been displayed on the face of a clock. The symbols were astrological in origin, but only represented numbers. The number that stood on a line drawn vertically from the top of the letter to the bottom gave Vlad the cipher offset. A line drawn at right angles to that line at the level of the flap’s point would intersect two symbols. Their values would provide the word offset.

In the case of the first letter he examined, the cipher offset was a four. He took a clean piece of paper and drew a five-by-five grid. He put the numbers zero through four across the top and five through nine down the left side. Then beginning with the fourth letter, D, he filled in the grid. He finished with the letter C, which also substituted freely for the letter K. This provided him the first key for the cipher.

The word offset value came to eight. This meant every eighth word would contain the hidden message from his father-if there was one. If the date on the letter’s interior matched that of the outside, there was no message. The first two messages and the last had dates which matched, and Vlad chose to read them first.

They were as many of his father’s messages: encouraging and positive, but not in the manner of a man advising his son. They came more in the style of a priest advising a parishioner in a difficult time. Vlad, who had not seen his father in over a quarter century, had come to expect such missives. Still, it bothered him that his father remained distant even when Vlad shared details about the man’s grandchildren.