Michael Stackpole - At the Queen_s command

The woodsman frowned. "'Pears the Count got some notions in his head about Rachel and me. More than gossip notions."

"That would be because I told him about you after he asked."

Nathaniel's rifle rested easily in folded arms. "I'll grant you got spine to just up and say it that way. Said anything else, I'd a-thumped you."

The Prince opened his hands. "Nathaniel, you told me of your situation in confidence, and I do respect that."

"But you thought sharing it with the Count was just fine and dandy?" Anger gathered on Nathaniel's face.

Vlad did not back down. "I employ you as my agent. I am responsible for you. I am responsible for your actions. What you told me was told in confidence, because you trusted me. You trusted me not to hurt you, and I have not. The Count has his duties, and they require him to trust you, too. He could only do that if I disclosed things that would counteract any gossip he heard about you."

Nathaniel shook his head. "How do you know you can trust him?"

"Does he seem like the sort of man to gossip about another man's affairs?"

"Hain't seen nothing to suggest he is, but he could be fooling you and me."

"He could, but he knows the worth of a man. And he knows two things about you. One, I value you as the best woodsman in Mystria. Second, he knows that if social opprobrium was something you cared about, you would never go near Temperance again."

"You still oughtened to have said nothing."

Vlad blinked. "Do you think he could not have learned everything?"

"Not the truth of it."

"But close enough that he, being clever, could have figured it out." Vlad started ticking points off on his fingers. "Rachel Warren has two children. Ason, six, Humble Warren, who looks nothing like his father and a daughter, three, Charity, who, poor thing, looks too much like her father. Her husband has hired people to watch you and watch his wife. He cannot prove anything, but there's scant few people in Temperance who aren't certain what is happening."

Nathaniel ran a hand over his mouth. "I reckon what you say is true and all, but you oughtened not to have said nothing."

"I am sorry I broke your confidence, Nathaniel. I would not have done so if matters of very great import did not hinge on it." The Prince squeezed the other man's shoulder. "One thing you may not understand is that most people who hear the stories don't think badly of you. They know what happened. If Zachariah Warren was shot dead in the middle of Sunday services, half the congregation would claim not to have seen anything, and the rest wouldn't agree on what had happened."

Nathaniel shook his head. "I wouldn't never murder him."

"I know." The Prince nodded solemnly. He believed Nathaniel, and even believed that Nathaniel believed his words, but then Nathaniel didn't know of the Prince's other violation of trust. Four years earlier, when Nathaniel and Kamiskwa had been out on a hunting expedition, word had come that Zachariah Warren, in a drunken rage, had beaten his wife and exerted his marital rights. Vlad had bought the silence of the two female servants in the Warren house and had sent them to his mother's plantation in Fairlee.

He also summoned Zachariah Warren to Government House and explained very carefully how, if he ever hit his wife again, his business would burn to the ground. The Prince informed him that no bank in Norisle would ever again grant him any sort of credit, and the Prince would see to it that he was driven into utter ruin. Vlad had assured him that the only way he would be able to care for his family was to kill himself so they could be awarded a private pension for widows and orphans.

Warren had blustered, claiming he had every right to use his wife as he desired. The Prince had countered that he would use his office to do to Warren whatever the merchant did to his wife. "Which do you wish to be happier, Mr. Warren-yourself or the Crown?"

After some deliberation, Warren saw the wisdom of Vlad's counsel.

Had Nathaniel ever learned what Warren had done, there would have been no stopping him from murder. The Prince valued the man too much to allow that to happen. If he ever learns I knew… It was a calculated risk keeping that secret from Nathaniel; but one the Prince had no choice but to make.

The Prince smiled. "I sometimes place too much importance on these affairs of state. Were I in Launston, I would be more used to them. And, truth be told, learning I am to wed is a bit confusing."

Nathaniel nodded, his anger apparently abated. "Packet boat got in with the tide. Had a letter from your father. The Princess asked to be allowed to bring it to you. Didn't figure it would hurt none."

"That's fine." Vlad smiled. It would doubtless be a letter of wise advice, urging calm, deliberation, and prayer. Always prayer. "Any other news?"

"None of importance soes I know." Nathaniel frowned. "Oh, one thing, if I could ask a favor, Highness."

"Yes?"

"You should be a-telling me and Kamiskwa to go off to hunt something."

"Because?"

Nathaniel's face soured. "On account of your Princess has got herself an idea about picnics. The Count, he has a good eye, so he's gone and got me and Kamiskwa measured for some fanciful clothes. You, too, mind, but you look a mite better in them than we do."

The Prince laughed. "Are you afraid of dressing for a dinner?"

"Not me, Highness. It's Kamiskwa." Nathaniel looked around, then lowered his voice. "He ain't never took to civilized clothes."

"I shall see if Her Highness will excuse your presence." The Prince brandished the note. "Let me go see to this, and then we can deal with your problem."

"Thank you, Highness."

Vlad retreated to his laboratory and cracked the letter's seal. Couched in very precise and flowery language, the Count had outlined the reason for the Princess' tardiness and the source of Nathaniel's anxiety. The Princess had determined to host a picnic and was supplying everything from furnishings to guests. In addition to herself and the Count, Mrs. Warren, Doctor Frost, his wife and daughter, would come Bishop Bumble, his wife and niece. She was supplying the food, wine, furnishings, and all other necessities to fulfill all social obligations.

He set the note down. The Frosts were most welcome. Likewise Rachel Warren, whom he had never met. Bishop Bumble, on the other hand, was someone the Prince tolerated in very small doses. To be specific, only on Easter and the Feast of the Nativity, when, as the Queen's representative in Mystria, he was required to attend Church services.

Bumble had gained some renown for his sermons. He'd even had them collected in a volume and had sent Vlad a copy. The man urged morality, fidelity, and adherence to the laws of God and the Crown. All good material, especially from the standpoint of someone desirous of maintaining societal stability.

And yet, whenever the Prince attended his services, the sermon became one directed at the ungodliness of Tharyngia. Bumble pointed out how that nation had once been great, but when it abandoned God and overthrew its rightful ruler, that all ended. In his thinking, science and its methods required the rejection of God. After all, anything God wished man to know could be found in the pages of the Good Book. If it was not there, it was unnecessary.

Bumble's one previous visit to the estate had left an indelible impression. Every other visitor stepped into the laboratory with a slack-jawed expression of wonder and amazement. That always delighted the Prince. Bumble proved the exception. His face closed, his words became clipped, and he sought to leave as quickly as possible.

If I abandoned this place while he was here, the laboratory would burn, I am certain of it. Men like Bumble could not separate ideology from methodology. Vlad walked over to the model of du Malphias' fortress. Careful measurements and other things demanded by science had created an invaluable tool for fighting the Ryngians; but to Bumble it would be fruit of a poisonous tree.