Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

“How dare you speak to me in that tone!”

Vlad covered his face with his hands for a moment, then opened his arms wide. “Do you not know what you’ve done? Let me explain. You laid Fox’s death upon me. You made it a matter for the Crown. Now he’s escaped. The message is an anti-Crown message. Because it is anti-government, now I must act. I must call out troops and have them search. How do you think people will like that? The foment stirred up by this search will increase resentment. It is a spiral that will rage out of control. It cannot be stopped. It cannot.”

Bumble’s heart began to pound. He understood the Prince’s scenario. The idea that things could rage out of control-out of his control-sent a cold trickle through the Bishop’s guts. This was not the way things were supposed to go. “There must be something we can do.”

Vlad shook his head adamantly, but slowed the expression and looked up. “Did anyone witness the escape?”

“No.”

“And those who discovered it, what have they seen?”

Bumble shook his head. “Just that the guards were tied up and that the cell is empty.”

“Then it would be possible…” Vlad frowned. “No, you would never do it.”

“Do what?”

The Prince headed back toward the cell and waved the Bishop in his wake. “In the morning half-light, your men likely did not notice the magick circle and forbidden sigils painted there in the corner where Fox sat.”

“What sigils?”

The Prince lowered his voice, but stressed his words. “The ones Fox drew with his own blood. One of your men removed the muzzle so Fox could eat. Fox bit his own tongue, then used the blood to lick a circle and sigils. Then he spoke words and his Satanic master stole him away. The devil used imps to capture the guards to humiliate them and you.”

Bumble slowly nodded. “And we…”

“Not we, Bishop, but you discovered the method of escape. I was walking into the cell when you thrust me back and scattered the demons left herein. You cast them out, a legion of them, in a titanic struggle. Were I to tell that tale to Caleb Frost, and were you to deny it, in all modesty, of course, it would be believed.”

“Yes, yes it would.” Bumble looked back toward the front room. “And of the words on the wall? More deception?”

“Nothing a coat of paint won’t conceal.”

“But Fox is still out there.”

“I know, and a danger to us both, now.” Vlad’s expression sharpened. “I’ll send my best men after him. If Nathaniel and Owen can’t find him, he can’t be found. And if they do, gunfire will do for him what a bonfire would have. Like as not he’s headed west, toward what was once his empire.”

“Your plan has merit. I believe we can make this work.”

“It better.” Vlad nodded solemnly. “If it doesn’t, we both will be destroyed.”

Bumble hid a smile. In that, Prince Vlad, you are half right.

8 July 1767 Temperance Temperance Bay, Mystria

Clad only with his lover’s fading warmth, Ian Rathfield sat at his desk and slowly paged through the report he’d prepared for his superiors in Launston. He had, primarily, stuck to facts that were mission critical. Occasionally he offered insights into the nature of Mystria and Mystrians. Never did he allow himself to speculate about things he could not confirm.

“Could you not sleep?” Catherine Strake, wrapped in a bed sheet, entered the parlor. “You should come back to bed.”

Ian shook his head. “I wished to review this one more time. I guess I am trying to anticipate the changes Prince Vlad will suggest.”

“Whatever they are, you should make none of them.”

“Why not?”

“You know he will be sending his own report to supplement yours.” She rested a hand on his forearm. “You know he will do you no favors. His report will stress all the things that you did not see. He will diminish your accomplishments.”

Ian smiled. “You need not begin that again, Catherine. I have decided to acquiesce and append a copy of the Gazette story about the expedition to my report.”

“Good.” She drew over a chair and sat, leaning forward to again hold his forearm. “You must learn to avoid the mistakes Owen made, lest you be trapped here as he is.”

How could I see Mystria as a prison with you here? “I have agreed with you, darling, but I cannot avoid the fact that I have little or no recollection of parts of the expedition.”

“But you have done yourself injury, Ian, by understating what you have seen, and your part in the expedition. You were sent west to find Postsylvania and bring the people back. You did this, at great risk to yourself. And in the process you discovered the Antediluvian ruins. Were you to have centered your report on them alone, you would have done well.”

“I know. I recall you telling me to write a book about it, and that my fortune would be assured.” Ian flipped pages back atop his copy of the report and squared the edges. “I know that this report is accurate, but it seems lacking, terribly lacking.”

“It is modestly presented, as befits the hero you are.”

He shook his head. “You say that because you believe it, Catherine, but I know the real reasons for the modesty. The primary one is that the men with whom I traveled impressed me. Awed me, even.”

She drew back, her eyes narrowing. “You do yourself a grave injustice with the implied comparison.”

“But it is accurate, because I know who I am.” Ian’s heart began to speed up as memories he’d wished to remain at rest began to rattle around in his mind. “These men, your husband included, took to incredible hardships with good nature that I could barely understand. I could not let them believe they were better suited to things than I, but were it not for Count von Metternin and their respect for him, I doubt we should have called a halt to marching save for nightfall. And the Gazette, it does not do the battle against the wolves justice. We survived not only by dint of courage, but because they had the foresight to choose our campsite carefully and to build a small breastwork to offer defense.”

“Beasts fighting beasts.”

“I disagree, my dear.” He rested a hand on hers. “I know you have no love for Woods or Kamiskwa, and Bone is of a class with them and Dunsby, but crude use of language cannot be mistaken for a dull mind. Though I found his words bordering on blasphemy, Nathaniel Woods proved very capable in addressing a logical argument. Back in Norisle, there’s more than one Oxford Don who would meet his better in Woods.”

“Still, Ian, you are a more courageous man. Benefiting from breeding and education, you understand more fully the risks you take. This makes your actions far more brave than theirs.”

Ian swallowed hard. “I trust you will continue to think that, Catherine, for there is something that I must reveal to you. Something of which I am not proud, for it reveals me to be a coward.”

She squeezed his forearm. “I shall never think poorly of you, dear Ian.”

He glanced down, unable to meet her gaze. I must tell her, I will tell her, but just not all of it yet. “Catherine, you know I was married. My wife killed herself. Many people put it down to her having been quite fragile of spirit, and reports of my death wounded her. My injuries, though I recovered from them, further frightened her. She feared losing me, and that fear consumed her life.”

Catherine nodded. “The gist of that story has been communicated to me, yes.”

“It’s not the truth.” Ian’s head came up. “You see, I had been cuckolded. Just as I now put the horns on Owen’s head, so another man had replaced me in my wife’s bed. Replaced me in her affections.”