Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

Caleb dutifully scribbled notes during the recitation. Others in the tavern took in the story while pretending they weren’t listening. By mid-afternoon it would be circulating through Temperance and after the Gazette ’s next issue came out, the story would explain away everything. The heroism of the exploit would smother any questions about how the Colonel got home so quickly.

That was one thing Nathaniel didn’t like about cityfolk-their willingness to dismiss important questions when something else more romantic and less confusing presented itself. The Anvil Lake campaign had pitted Mystrian and Norillian forces against a Ryngian contingent made up of pasmortes. The fact that they had fought against the living dead had been discounted and forgotten because the greater story was that the Mystrians had won the battle, redeeming a reputation sullied by their previous performance in a campaign in Auropa. And here, the romance of men fighting against beasts that everyone feared and emerging victorious would stop people from questioning how Rathfield traveled over two hundred miles in a night.

Just because the pound sack the miller uses to sell them flour has bright colors, they ignore the fact that he’s only giving them fifteen ounces to their pound. Of course, here he was helping Caleb manufacture a story that would pull the wool over their eyes. Granted, it would also cover the fact that Mugwump could fly. Nathaniel had never really been too keen on the dragon, but Mugwump had saved his life every bit as much as Rathfield had, so he felt an obligation to protect him.

Nathaniel leaned forward again. “I will tell you something you can say about Ezekiel Fire iffen you want to.”

Caleb turned a page in his notebook. “Go ahead.”

“He is pert near the sincerest man I done met, just this side of the Prince and a few others I won’t name because they’d be embarrassed by the fuss. Now, funny thing is that for most folks, sincere seems crazy on account of they ain’t sincere. Since they got things to hide, they believe everyone else does. And someone who don’t is either lying or insane. Ezekiel Fire ain’t neither, and that might be rare, but it ain’t no reason to burn.”

Caleb looked up. “You really want me to print that? With your name attached?”

“Cain’t do no harm.”

“Bishop Bumble will make you pay for that.”

“Well, now, the day I set a lot of store by what he thinks of me is the day I will just walk east and won’t look back ’til I’m drying myself off on the Ryngian shore. And if he’s thinking about what he can do to me, he’s an even bigger fool than I’d have imagined.”

“I agree, it’s just…” Caleb frowned. “You’ve always spoken your mind, Nathaniel, but just not so openly. Three-four years ago you’d have spit in disgust and walked west to get shy of this sort of politics.”

Nathaniel scratched at his throat. “Tain’t I like politics any more than I did. I reckon that if everyone is so a-feared of Bishop Bumble that a man will burn without comment being passed, someone needs to point out it ain’t right. Mayhap be that there ain’t no winning here, but that don’t mean Bumble shouldn’t be made to earn his victory.”

The younger man nodded. “That’s a very good point, and one that extends beyond just Bishop Bumble. Have you heard about the Control Acts?”

Nathaniel shook his head and slid his chair back. “Can’t say as I have, cain’t say as I want to.”

“But they’re coming, Nathaniel, and there will be a fight.”

“I don’t doubt it, but I have learned one thing in my years.” Nathaniel stood. “If the enemy is outside rifle shot range, ain’t a lot of winning going to be going on. Until then, it’s a lot of palaver and I do have better ways to spend my days. Thank you again for the ale. My best to your family.”

Nathaniel left the tavern as dusk began to fall. He headed west along Justice, approaching Friendship. The stone silhouette of St. Martin’s Cathedral loomed at the corner. Another man might have found it ironic that Fire’s trial would be held at that intersection. For Nathaniel it was just another reason living outside the city made sense.

He continued north on Friendship, following it as it curved toward the bay. Just before Faith, he entered a row of houses. A small, apple-cheeked woman who he’d known since before his mother had died, smiled. “I showed your visitor to your parlor, Nathaniel.”

“Kind of you, Mrs. Lighter.” Nathaniel mounted the stairs and entered the two-room apartment at the top right. The foyer opened into the parlor, and the doorway beyond it into the bedroom, which fronted on Friendship. Since Catherine Strake had decorated the place, it had frilly and lacy things here and there, and colorful jugs and paintings from Norisle on shelves or hung on the walls. Nathaniel couldn’t recognize much of Owen in the place, but because he had company, he didn’t look that hard.

The woman who turned, smiling, to face him, had brown hair that descended just past her shoulders. Her smile carried up to her hazel eyes. Slender and a head shorter than he, she wore a gray dress, with the white collar of her blouse covering the neckline. She reached out for him with her left hand, the gold band glinting. “I am sorry I could not get away last night, Nathaniel.”

He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing it. Then he pulled her into an embrace and lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her, feeling her press herself hungrily against him. Her hair smelled faintly of rosemary and her kiss tasted so sweet that it banished memories of the ale. He held her tightly, drinking in her warmth and smiled at the little moan she uttered.

He pulled back. “I have been away too long, Rachel, but ain’t never you been far from my thoughts.”

She smiled and laid her head against his chest. “Nor you, mine. I so wanted to be here yesterday, but Charity had fever and I could not abandon her. Bethany agreed to watch them tonight.”

Nathaniel kissed the top of her head. “Please be thanking her for me.”

Rachel slipped from his arms, but caught his right hand in her left. “She still does not approve, but she is more… understanding these days. And though she would not say it, I’ve heard that one of her uncle’s Captains saw my husband in the arms of another woman down in Fairlee. He spends more time down there now, and Bethany does not like his leaving me with children and the business to run.”

“I don’t reckon I’m in no position to pass judgment on your husband.” Nathaniel fell silent. He’d have been happy to kill Zachariah Ward, and most folks would not be sad to see the man die. But he was a merchant, and a highly successful one, who would never challenge Nathaniel to any sort of a duel. For Nathaniel to challenge him would just be inviting the man to his own murder. Even though Ward had once hired Rufus Branch to kill him, Nathaniel wasn’t going to be the instigator in the man’s death.

“I don’t wish to talk about him.” Rachel smiled and tugged on his hand. “I wish to just be with you.”

The scout stood his ground. “You said Charity had a fever?”

“Yes, she was the last to get it. Humble had it, but was over it quickly.” She stepped back to him and took his other hand in hers. “He is every bit as healthy as his father, and very much as handsome.”

Nathaniel nodded, then let her pull him toward the bedroom. She laughed, bumping against a chair in the parlor, then paused in the doorway and kissed him again. “I have been waiting for your return, dreaming of it.”

“Me as well, but…”

“Yes?”

Nathaniel looked down. “Bit of wear and tear this time out. Tain’t all healed.”

“Then I shall have to be very careful.” Rachel led him to the bed and made him sit. She went down to a knee to remove his moccasins, then straightened and worked his leather tunic off. She’d gotten the lower hem to the level of his nipples, then slowed down and moved more carefully. She raised his arms and drew the tunic up by the sleeves, casting it aside on a chair.