Michael Stackpole - At the Queen_s command

Caleb's smile evaporated. "What's wrong?"

"I need to speak to your family." He produced the Prince's note.

Caleb took it, recognized the wax seal, and stood. "I'll fetch my father. You can talk with him."

"Has to be all of them. The adults, I'm thinking. Your sister included."

"But my mother won't…" Caleb stood. "You wait here. I will fetch my father home, then come get you."

Nathaniel rose to his feet. "You get your father. I shall be at your house by mid-afternoon. Be away before your mother feels obliged to offer me tea."

Caleb hesitated, then nodded. "Nathaniel, one thing you should know. Zachariah's gone down to Ashland. He hired in Esther Cask to be helping in the house. The girl may be a touch slow, but she's got keen eyes for her mistress' comings and going."

"Obliged. Ain't the time to be seeing Rachel." Nathaniel slapped the other man on the shoulder. "Go. I'll be finding you."

Nathaniel followed Caleb out of the tavern and felt a cold trickle twist down his spine. He'd spent a fair amount of time in taverns, and liked the Tanner and Hound as much as any, but being packed in close with bodies never suited him overmuch. He'd rather have a blizzard smothering him than a crush of men.

Caleb headed west and Nathaniel east, toward the waterfront. He nodded greetings to people on the street. Those that knew him either smiled or refused to meet his eye. A couple of men crossed to the other side of the street. Those new to Mystria often stared at his Altashee leathers, and the longer they stared told him how recently they'd arrived.

As much as he hated being crowded and confined and could never imagine being trapped on a ship for six hours much less six weeks, ships fascinated him. As a boy, when in Temperance, he'd come watch the ships unload. The mastheads, be they maidens, dragons, or something in between, just tickled him. At his youngest he thought they might come alive. As he grew older he wished they would, to tell the tales of what they'd seen. He was willing to swap wilderness adventure for sea story, but they remained mute, just bobbing and nodding either sage or senile, he could not determine.

He told himself he would go to the waterfront just to see if the ships had gotten bigger. They had, and the largest of them, a ship in the Royal Navy, had anchored out in the harbor. He watched for a bit as sailors struggled to decorously load a young noblewoman and her courtiers onto a barge. Sea breezes caught voluminous skirts, creating all manner of problems. The sailors worked on that problem on one side, while others brought up an ornate coach in pieces. He smiled at the cursing and shouting, and wondered if the ship also contained a team of horses.

Nathaniel watched the people, reading their faces as easily as he could read tracks in mud. Many looked unhappy. Most of them appeared tired. Worst of all, though, were the ones who just didn't care. They plodded along listlessly mostly redemptioneers with long years remaining on their service reminding him of du Malphias' pasmortes. He couldn't see much difference between them, and doubted the people could either.

He glanced at the Government House tower clock. He'd never learned his letters, but his father had taught him ciphering and to read time. Marking time by the sun suited Nathaniel just fine; the day, after all, ended when the sun went down, not at some point on a clock. Still, Temperance ran to the clock and while he refused to be enslaved by it, he was willing to abide by it temporarily.

I could go past, just to see if she is well. He thought about it for a long while, but refused. If he went to see Rachel, he'd not want to be leaving. Esther would report his presence to her master upon his return and, more like, to her kin in his absence. That would stir up a tussle Nathaniel'd not mind having a piece of, but not now.

He smiled, easily imagining Owen Strake standing with him on one side and Kamiskwa on the other. The Casks and Branches and anyone else could come for them and they'd run home all bleedy and whipped. Owen had been a good man- still is-and Nathaniel's guts hollowed out when he thought of him. That surprised the Mystrian, because he didn't make friends easily and never would have thought a Norillian could be a friend. The Prince came as close as possible, and he'd been raised in Mystria most all his life.

He and Kamiskwa had been having the Norillian on at the start, but not out of being cruel the way the Branches would have. Nathaniel had been prepared to take the man as far as he wanted. Nathaniel needed to see, however, what sort of man Owen was. The wilderness wasn't a place you could drag a man who couldn't carry his own weight. It was like a deer herd keeping the strong animals together and letting the weak pass. It was the natural order.

Nathaniel shook his head. "He was about the least complaining man I ever done met." There'd been fire in him, and times he wanted to take a poke at Nathaniel, no doubting that, but he'd held himself back. And then, in the fight with the Ungarakii, he'd done just fine. Despite being wounded, he'd killed two of them, and shooting that one in the face required a steady hand and ice in the veins.

But you still left him to die.

Nathaniel bristled, playing the scene through his mind again. He would've ignored Owen, excepting when he said that the journals would save Mystria. Owen had said it to get him to leave. They both knew it. They both knew that was the only thing that would have worked. And Owen had used it.

Another glance at the clock started Nathaniel on his trek up the hill to the Frost house. He smiled out of force of habit. He'd been welcome there from time to time, up until three years ago. He still remembered Mrs. Frost's towering anger. If Guy du Malphias ever came to Temperance, he'd meet his match with her in a rage.

His long legs ate up the distance, so he found himself at the gate, waiting, as the tower clock struck three. The house door opened and Caleb bounded down to the gate. His father came out onto the porch and his mother stood in the doorway, clearly intent on barring passage.

Caleb opened the gate. "She's not having it."

"I imagine." Nathaniel walked behind him, but remained at the bottom of the steps. "Doctor, ma'am, I do recall your telling me n'er to darken your doorstep again. I apologize for violating your wishes. Wouldn't do it if it weren't powerful important."

Doctor Frost turned to his wife. "It is about Captain Strake, Hettie."

Resolution made her face into a marble mask. "He is not coming through my house. If you must speak to him, it shall be in the kitchen yard." She stepped back and closed the door, trapping father and son outside.

Doctor Frost pointed to the path around the house. "After you, Mr. Woods."

Caleb led the way and Nathaniel imagined he was feeling what a man on the way to the gallows might. He didn't look toward the windows, not wanting to see any faces there. He recalled the Frosts had a whole passel of children and imagined Mrs. Frost would be shooing them somewhere safe while he was on the property.

Two chairs had been put into the yard. Caleb offered him one, but Nathaniel refused. "Go on, sit. Been thinking about this on my feet. Ain't sitting going to make it no easier for me." Nathaniel added a bit of volume to his voice so it would play on through the almost-closed kitchen door.

"The long and the short of it is this: Captain Strake ain't coming back for a spell. Not sure how long. Might be he's dead, but I'm fair sure he ain't."

The door opened and Bethany Frost slipped through it. "If he's not here, why are you?"

Her accusation sank straight into his heart. "Well, Miss, I reckon that's on account of he's a brave man. Braver than me. He charged me with a duty, and made sure I did it. I give him my word to obey his orders. And I give him my word I'd be returning for him."