Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

“Calculated risk, really. Thank goodness they were not like that other place several days back-Restraint, was it? — which had its list of proscribed foods. I determined it was a good way to gain entry and a certain amount of trust.”

Owen, who crouched over a pack, glanced back at them. “But offering it in the Queen’s name could have caused a problem.”

“You think so, Strake, really?” Rathfield snorted. “Thing of it is this: either they are loyal subjects or they are subjects who have to be reminded that they are subjects. Let us face facts. While many of these settlements are based in religion, and the Virtuans came to Mystria to escape the wrath of the Church, these settlements are not fleeing the Queen’s power, but the perfidy of the settlements from which they have split. The Shepherd of Wisdom suggested the people of Plentiful were cannibalistic slave-drivers who believed in plural marriage and baptism in blood. I’d be concerned, but that’s what the people of Contentment said of the people of Wisdom, and everyone has said of the people of Restraint.”

Owen straightened up, his journal in hand. “I think you’re missing my point, Colonel. We’re a long way away from any Norillian troops. If we faced opposition…”

Rathfield laughed. “Surely you jest. Why Dunsby and I could pacify this settlement without blackening a firestone.”

“I ain’t so sure you’re right, Colonel.” Nathaniel pointed at the nearest window, which stood four times as tall as it was wide, and it was fairly narrow to begin with. “These windows ain’t just for letting light in. Get all your people in here with muskets and short of bringing up some cannon, you ain’t dislodging them.”

“And if they chose to defy the Crown, I would just order the building fired.” Rathfield raised his chin. “It would be a prelude to the hellfire reserved for those who defy God and oppose his anointed one.”

“I reckon that might be one way of handling it.” Nathaniel shucked his tunic and left the loft, making his way to the woodshed out back of the blockhouse. Logs had been dragged from wood yards and piled up. Residents had sawed many of them down into foot and a half lengths. Nathaniel hauled one of them onto a chopping block, split it with a hammer and wedge, then used an ax to cut it down further.

It wasn’t easy work, but wasn’t terribly complicated, either. He worked up a sweat quickly enough, and attracted the attention of a few young boys whom Shepherd Faith scattered to chores quickly enough. That behavior didn’t surprise him. Nathaniel likely had more scars on him than could be found in the whole of Plentiful. His long hair and the beadwork on his clothes marked him as an intimate of the Shedashee. Woods wasn’t a recognizable Virtuan name and though Nathaniel could be found in the Good Book, it wasn’t common among Virtuans either. Shepherd Faith likely didn’t see Nathaniel as being as bad as a horde of demons, but he reckoned the older man didn’t see him as being far off from that, either.

Shadows crept through the valley as the sun began to set. Nathaniel buried the ax in the chopping block and started to stack wood. Shepherd Faith summoned the boys back to help in that task, then tried to pull the ax from the block. Nathaniel helped him before the boys could begin to laugh at his struggles.

The red-faced man smiled. “It might seem a little thing, but we let our tools rest on the Sabbath, too. There it was working, but here, hung on the wall, it enjoys rest.”

“Pardon my ignorance.”

“No pardon needed.” Shepherd Faith smiled. “I know that you travel with Friend Makepeace, but clearly you are not of the faith.”

Nathaniel ran a long-fingered hand over unshaven jaw. “Well, my pa lived far from a church, and the missionaries what visited the Altashee didn’t take much notice of me. But Makepeace, he’s a fine example of a man. Saved my life a time or three.”

“I hope, Friend Nathaniel, he will save your soul as well.”

“Truth be told, Shepherd, my ears is pricked and my eyes is open.”

“Then I shall hope and pray the Lord’s Word lodges in your heart tonight.”

Nathaniel joined the others in the loft as Plentiful’s residents filed in. Everyone brought a pot, a crock, a jar, basket, or a cauldron and set them on the few tables that had been dragged to the walls. The scent of venison stew, baked beans, and oven-hot bread filled the hall. Nathaniel rubbed his belly to keep it quiet. While they’d not had trouble finding food on the journey, it was mostly fish here, berries there, being gathered as they went. This would be the most complete meal they’d enjoyed since leaving Temperance Bay.

Owen sat toward the back of the loft, making notes in his journal. The fact that he had a smaller book beside him and referenced it meant he was composing a message for the Prince. None of them could be certain how long it would take letters to make it back to Temperance, but every village sent someone down-river to trade skins and locally produced goods for sugar, salt, and anything which Mystria didn’t provide. That included firestones and brimstone for muskets, both of which could only be purchased through a government-licensed dealer.

In studying Rathfield, Nathaniel was able to pinpoint that which he found most unsettling about the man. When Owen had first come out to do the survey during which they’d discovered du Malphias’ fortress at Anvil Lake, he’d taken all sorts of notes and sent all manner of messages back to Prince Vlad. Rathfield, who said he was on a mission of similar import, seldom wrote anything down. Since Nathaniel had only begun to learn to read and write, he wasn’t about to fault a man for being illiterate. But he supposed an officer and a hero in the Queen’s Army would be able to read, and would have better sense than to believe his notes might not be valuable in the event he didn’t make it back from the journey.

He just ain’t taking this serious. Nathaniel frowned. If the man wasn’t devoted to his mission, either he was a fool, or the mission they’d been told he was on was just a story to cover what he was really doing.

Nathaniel had half a mind to ask Rathfield about that, but the hundred or so people that called Plentiful home had filed into the blockhouse and taken their places. They wore standard Virtuan garb, darkly colored, which covered the women from floor to wrists and throat, with a bonnet tossed on to hide their hair. Nothing decorative or unique about their clothes helped tell them apart. The men all wore hats and dark trousers, white shirts and long-tailed black coats pulled on over them. The hats remained on, with the brim lowered to modestly shade the eyes.

Arise Faith came to the front of the congregation and murmured a greeting, which the people returned. “We have among us some visitors who have chosen to share the bounty of their journey with us.” He looked up toward the loft, but no one turned around to look.

The Shepherd smiled. “I had intended on delivering a message on the virtues of chastity as all nature blossoms with fecundity around us, but after conversing with one of the visitors, I have decided to ask him to speak to you.”

Nathaniel’s stomach knotted for a moment. Ain’t no way…

Rathfield stood. “It would be my pleasure, Shepherd.” He pulled on a hat that clearly had been borrowed for the occasion, and stalked down the stairs to address the people of Plentiful.

19 April 1767 Plentiful, Richlan Mystria

What on earth is he doing? Owen slid forward to the loft railing, standing beside Nathaniel, as Rathfield strode up the center aisle. The others joined them at the railing, equally curious. Given Rathfield’s arrogance, Owen did not anticipate a happy ending to this bit of theatre.