Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

Nathaniel slapped Owen on the shoulder. “I don’t reckon I’m much suited to thinking the way Prince Vlad thinks, but I am considerable good at collecting them things he likes to think about. I reckon we need to go over this here settlement and look for the things ain’t right. Since it seems magick was used to erase tracks, but didn’t blow so hard as to make too much of a mess, we might just find us some things could be useful. Let’s take it house by house and see what we can find.”

What they found didn’t amount to much. As expected, a variety of things had been taken from the homes, including candle molds, a fiddle, the Weaver family’s copy of the Good Book, and a few other odds and ends. Nothing made of iron or steel had been taken, as nearly as could be discerned, since every home had an ax, cast iron pots and pans, and not a single musket or pistol was missing to the best of the Steward’s knowledge. Owen assumed that the Prince would conclude that the creatures who had taken things were highly involved in magick, so iron and steel would be almost poisonous to them.

Kamiskwa, Nathaniel, and Makepeace found the most interesting artifacts out to the southwest. A bent barn nail had trapped a few long hairs, which, as nearly as any of them could discern, belonged to a wooly rhinoceros. They didn’t discover any tracks to indicate how the hair had gotten there, but Fire had never heard of any wooly rhinos being in the area.

As odd as that was, the two artifacts Nathaniel displayed in his open palm were far stranger. A claw, hooked, hollow, and black, had caught in the jamb on a hayloft door. Because it was thinner at the base than it was toward the top, Owen imagined that this claw had sheathed another claw below, and when stressed, had broken free. Beside it lay a triangular tooth with a serrated edge. It had a mother-of-pearl pattern to it, akin to the sheen of oil on water. Though it was no bigger than his thumbnail, Owen had no doubt that it would do a fair amount of cutting-and though it would have helped confirm his conclusion, he didn’t suggest returning to the meeting house to match wounds to either tooth or claw.

Nathaniel slipped the tooth and claw into his bag. “I ain’t sure what to make of these, and like as not I don’t want to hear what Prince Vlad will say.”

“I agree.” Owen closed his journal and replaced it in his satchel. “But the sooner we get back, the sooner he can figure out what we should do next.”

“I don’t see no reason to delay our departure.”

“Me neither, brother.”

The five of them waited at the edge of the green as Ezekiel Fire faced the meeting house and offered a prayer. Owen couldn’t hear it, so just offered his own. After he finished, Fire crossed himself, then tossed a burning brand into the blockhouse. They waited until the building caught fire solidly, then headed west, letting the blaze light their way.

16 May 1767 Prince Haven Temperance Bay, Mystria

Prince Vlad looked up from his notebook as his wife entered his laboratory. “What is it, my dear?”

She hugged her arms around herself. “Baker just came back from town. He brought a note from Catherine Strake. She begged our pardon, but she will be one more day in Temperance. She is attending a sick friend. Miranda is ours alone for one more day.”

Vlad closed the notebook on his pencil, then leaned back. “She expects to be back tomorrow night, then?”

Gisella nodded. “I would not worry, but this is the sailing season…”

“Yes, a legion of ships loading up and heading back to Norisle.” Vlad’s natural inclination was to think that the woman would not abandon her husband and child, but when Catherine Strake had nothing to occupy her time, she filled it with dreams of returning to Norisle. “Do you really think she would go?”

“It would be easier now that Owen is away. I just cannot imagine her leaving Miranda behind. She’s so possessive. If she wanted to hurt Owen, she’d take the child. It would tear his heart out.”

“True, so why would she abandon the child? Does she think that returning to Norisle without Miranda would improve her prospects? I gather that being a poor refugee from the Colonies is not something looked upon with great favor in Launston.”

“I believe she has an elderly relative-a grandmother, perhaps-who is wealthy. I don’t know if the woman approved of the match with Owen. Catherine’s leaving him might improve her lot.” Gisella shrugged. “And she could be charming, and is smart enough, to play well the person horrified by how primitive the colonies are. Her comments would be most welcome in certain highly placed circles.”

Vlad pushed his chair back and stood. “I could stop her. I could have a warrant issued for her detention for abandoning her child.”

“You hesitate because you don’t know if that would be a blessing or curse for Owen.”

He pressed his hands together, then nodded. “I asked him if he was taking the mission west to do his duty, or to escape his wife. His answer was quite frank. I think he did love her once, and part of him may yet. She is, after all, the mother of his child and he loves Miranda fiercely. Catherine is profoundly unhappy here. She wants to leave, and he can’t imagine leaving. To have to share your life with someone so opposed to what makes you happy…”

Gisella threaded her way between heavily book-laden tables and hugged him. “It is a fate we avoided, beloved, when your aunt and my father thought to foist us off on each other.”

Vlad kissed her forehead. “I wish my friends were as lucky as we.”

“Perhaps someday they will be.” She smiled. “If you issue a warrant and Catherine is not thinking of leaving…”

“She will have one more thing to hate here. If I accept her at her word and she does not return tomorrow night, it will be too late.” He shook his head. “If I had worked on the thaumagraph, tested it, and had a copy in Summerland, she could be detained there.”

“Many ifs, darling. Besides, your new project is more important.” She pulled back from him. “Your son, you may have noticed, has taken to wearing gloves as you do.”

“It will be a while before he has a pair of these.” Vlad turned toward his desk and the pair of leather gloves arranged so he could sketch them into his notes. The only truly unusual thing about them was the wooden disk assembly that had been riveted to the back of each index finger. The disk, which was no larger than a crown coin, had been positioned to allow easy access with the thumb. The thumb, as with many gloves used by soldiers and huntsmen, had a sheath over the thumb which could be pulled back to expose it.

Building upon the vibrating teacup experiment results, Vlad had fashioned a means to communicate with Mugwump in flight. He placed other disk assemblies into a harness which fitted over the dragon’s head. The assemblies settled right over the scales that covered Mugwump’s aural canals. Invoking the spell he’d created, Vlad could spin the wheels on his gloves, making the right or left disk click against the dragon’s head. While Mugwump had not reacted well to the noise at first, when Vlad was able to moderate the noise and remove the bridle and reins, the dragon became far more tolerant of the tapping.

“Are you going to try flying him with them?”

“I will be very careful, my love.” Vlad sighed. “I’ve trained him on the ground, and yesterday we flew and I had the reins. Off the ground the noise needs to be a bit louder because of the air rushing past, but he did respond.”

“Yes, you’d been afraid that his magick might interfere with yours.” Gisella took his hands in hers and examined his thumbnails. Blood had gathered beneath them. “You should have drained them.”