Michael Stackpole - At the Queen_s command

She stiffened slightly within his embrace. "I understand, husband. I much prefer you coming here to visit than your going off to war." She pulled back and smiled. "I shall remain in our home, caring for our children, while you adventure and bring back more glory and wealth."

Owen kissed her forehead. "Nothing could induce you live here?"

"Remain here. Are you joking?" She looked up at him, her brown eyes intently studying him. "No power under Heaven could convince me to stay a moment longer than absolutely necessary."

"I hope, Mrs. Strake, this is not completely true." Prince Vlad, his complexion ashen, gave them a wan smile. "I would ask of your husband a personal service which would delay your departure."

Catherine, surprised, turned and curtsied. "Highness, please, I did not mean…"

Owen's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"

The Prince sighed heavily, shrinking, shoulder sagging. "Baker sent word from my estate. It's Mugwump." The man looked up, stricken. "He's dying.

September 17, 1764

Prince Haven, Temperance Bay, Mystria

"O wen, you can't abandon me."

He looked at his wife. "I'm not."

"You just returned from war." Catherine's eyes began to brim with tears. "I need you."

Prince Vlad held his hands up. "Forgive me making so unseemly a request."

Owen shook his head. "No, Highness, your request is anything but. I have my duty to you and my desire to help Mugwump." He turned to his wife. "And I am not abandoning you. With the Prince's permission, I will have Mr. Dunsby get a coach and convey you to the Prince's estate. There you can get some peace and we will have time together."

Vlad smiled. "Yes, of course. Mrs. Strake, I would have you renew your acquaintance with Princess Gisella, and I would love for you to be my guest. I would be honored."

Catherine sniffed. "Really?"

"Sincerely."

Owen kissed her. "I want you with me, Catherine. We have been too long apart and now that we are a family, I do not want you away from my side. Were this not an emergency…"

She wiped away tears. "Go. I am so silly. Do not think of me thus. I shall be with you as fast as possible, beloved husband."

Owen signaled Dunsby and explained what he needed. The Private accepted the orders with a smile and led Catherine off to gather her things. Owen then followed the Prince to the garrison stable where Nathaniel Woods had already gotten three horses saddled. The three of them mounted up and made haste for the estate.

The lack of conversation gave Owen time to think. On the road he had been ready to return to Norisle, but his blurted admission to Catherine had relieved pressure that had been building in his chest. He really didn't want to leave Mystria. He really had nothing back in Norisle, but here, in the land of his father, he had a future.

He recalled Mr. Wattling accusing him of being a Mystrian. At that time he'd taken it as a grand affront, but now, he would find it high praise. While no Mystrians would see him as one, they would come to accept him as one. The reverse, no matter how great the service one performed for the Crown, would never be true in Norisle.

The words I spoke to Catherine came from my heart. Owen smiled as they sped over the unspoiled landscape. Can a man live with his heart an ocean away?

Their horses lathered thickly and flagging, they rode straight through the yard to the wurmrest. Owen leaped from the saddle and glanced at Baker, who sat listlessly near the wurmrest's door. He looked up as Owen approached, his eyes red, dark circles beneath them and his complexion sallow.

Owen dropped to a knee. "What's happened, Mr. Baker?"

The wurmwright shrugged. "I don't really know. He was fine, just fine, last evening. He ate. He swam, he came back in. Nothing unusual and then…" Baker opened the wurmrest. "He's dying."

Owen preceded the Prince and his wurmwright into the stable. The stench staggered him. Not only did it wreak of wurm-a cloying, musky scent that lodged deep in the sinuses and started them weeping-but heat blasted him. The heat radiated from the wurm, rising so sharply that every step closer felt as if he were walking into an inferno.

The wurm, or what Owen had to presume was the wurm, lay nestled inside a fat, twenty-foot-long cocoon spun of black and red silk, with hints of gold, reflecting the colors of the creature beneath it. The silk alone would be worth a fortune, but it came with a high price. The cocoon would kill the wurm, though slight movement suggested Mugwump hadn't died yet. Owen took this as a good sign.

Owen leaned on the railing. "I've never seen a molt like this. The scales are outside, as if the cocoon grew beneath the wurm's flesh and exfoliated them."

The Prince nodded. "Normally a cocoon's fibers grow over the scales?"

"Yes. You cut the wurm out of the cocoon, then help him shed." Owen pointed at the far side of the wurmrest. "Baker, what's that?"

"His tail, sir. He chewed it off." As long as the cocoon itself, the tail had already begun to putrefy, contributing to the fierce odor. "I wanted to drag it out, but it's too hot for me to get it."

Vlad grabbed Owen's upper arm. "I have pruning hooks. We might be able to cut him free. Do you think we should do that? Can we save him?"

A lump rose in Owen's throat. He clasped the man by both shoulders and swallowed past it. "I don't know, Highness. I've never seen colored silk. I've never seen shed scales nor a chewed-off tail. I've never heard of a wurm having a fever. Fact is, he's breathing. If we interfere…"

Vlad glanced down at the wurm, then nodded. "Right, right, of course. Fever means metabolism. Same with breathing. Part of a natural process. It must be something natural. I need to make some notes."

"Good idea." Owen pointed to the tail. "I'll see if we can drag it out."

"Rope and tackle might help."

"I think I can find it, Highness."

Vlad gave him a wan smile. "I am sorry for intruding on your reunion with your wife, Captain. I'm very glad you're here."

"As am I."

"And congratulations on your child."

Owen beamed. "Thank you. Of recent times I've seen a lot of death. Having life brought into the world will be good. And since I want my child to be able to swim with a wurm, we'll make sure Mugwump lives, too."

The Prince's smile broadened. "Your children shall ride, Captain. This I promise you."

Between the three of them, Owen, Nathaniel, and Baker were able to get some rope around the severed tail and drag it out of the wurmrest. Owen's guess that it was the source of the stink had been right. Nathaniel wanted to burn it. Baker suggested burying it. The Prince insisted on dissecting it, which he did using the aforementioned pruning hook and a highway-man's mask heavily laden with oil of eucalyptus.

Though the dissection did not thrill Owen, it kept Vlad busy. He would cut open a portion of the tail, make sketches of what he saw, then weigh flesh and bone before separating them. He noted that fish did not take the wurmflesh for bait and that birds seem reluctant to pick at it. Based on tracks they found the next morning, neither wolverine nor bear had difficulty eating the meat, and by the second day a family of raccoons waited in the woods for that day's dissection to end.

Vlad did make some interesting discoveries. In one of the tail bones he found an old arrowhead entirely encrusted with bone. "I checked Mugwump's history and in 1162, at the battle of Verindan, an arrow penetrated his tail. They could not dig it out, so they snapped it off."

Nathaniel and Baker took the wurmskin and set about cleaning and tanning it. The fact that Vlad was able to discover a variety of new things appeared to keep his anxiety at bay, and this made the waiting more endurable.