At the Queen_s command

"Completely. I've issued the necessary orders." Deathridge smiled. "Provided these Colonials can do anything at all correctly, you will have what you need to complete your mission."

"Oh, I shall, and return showered in glory." Rivendell raised his face to the sky, stretching his throat, and Deathridge imagined the satisfaction of drawing a razor across it. "New Tharyngia shall be a thing of the past."

"Very good. I have instructed my nephew to do nothing helpful on this expedition. I expect you will give him the most onerous duty, find fault with him whenever possible, and produce scurrilous reports about him."

Rivendell clapped his hands. "He'll be digging every slit trench between here and La Fortresse du Morte."

"No, you fool, you can't do that. He is an officer. He is a skirmisher. Use him as a messenger to the Colonials. Have him scouting ahead. Use him as he is meant to be used. Give him the impossible to accomplish and he will fail."

"Of course, Dick, absolutely." Rivendell's eyes narrowed. "I'll work him to death, then get him killed, as you desire."

"Make sure he dies bravely. We don't want his wife disgraced."

"No, no, of course not."

"Good." Deathridge offered the man his hand. "I would wish you luck, but I know you need none of it."

"No, sir, Dick. It's all about brains and courage, ain't it? Ain't it? No need for luck when you have both of those."

Deathridge shook Rivendell's hand, then retreated down the alley and back between buildings. Whistles blew and drums rattled. Shouted orders faded into the distance, then the thunder of marching feet rumbled through Temperance.

For Deathridge, it had been almost too easy. The Mystrians were simple to beguile. Approach them with confidence, speak openly and honestly and they believed everything you told them. Validate ideas they had suggested, like the building of Fort Hope, and they took it as a sacred duty that such a thing should be done. They treated with him with the avidity of a younger brother trying to appease an older brother. And with more facility than Francis ever showed.

Rivendell, on the other hand, had been easier. The product of an inferior family, sent to inferior schools, his vanity was the key. His father's publication of self-congratulatory books, the son's desire for ostentatious clothing, his overweening pride: these were traits Deathridge had seen in countless of his peers. Play to their fears that conspiracies exist and invite them to participate, and you had them. To doubt what you told them was to be excluded, and since they sought inclusion above anything else, they would comply no matter how outrageous the task given to them.

Rivendell's entire expedition had been Deathridge's doing. All he needed to do was to let slip to friends that he could destroy du Malphias' fortress with two regiments of foot and one of horse, and Rivendell was forced to suggest he could do the same thing with even less. Influencing which units would go had been even easier. Before Rivendell had even felt the first sea breeze, his fate had been sealed.

Deathridge returned to his apartments and smiled as Catherine opened the door. "And how did it go, dearest Niece?"

"Exactly as you predicted, dearest Uncle."

"You are a wonder." He kissed her fully on the lips. "You make it so I almost wish that Owen would live to see you once more."

"So do I." She draped her arms around his neck. "After all, the fool still loves me, and would easily believe our child is his."

Chapter Fifty-Six

June 26, 1764

Hattersburg

Lindenvale, Mystria

"S ee, Nathaniel, see? What did I tell you?"

"I see, Seth." Nathaniel wasn't quite certain what he was seeing, but it wasn't right. It wasn't the Hattersburg he'd last seen. "Been here two weeks, have they?"

"Two and a half, more like." Seth looked at him with pleading eyes. "I love my wife, but iffen her kin gots to stay with me another day longer, I'll kill them all."

"You run on home. Tell Gates come back to his tavern." Nathaniel, standing at the center point of the bridge spanning the Tillie, waved Caleb forward. "Lieutenant, I reckon second, fifth, and sixth squads need to come up and hold this bridge."

Caleb, dark circles under his eyes, nodded. "Three ranks, lying, kneeling, and standing?"

"Aim low. Don't let Rufus give you no trouble."

"No, sir."

"Makepeace, Justice, bring the first and fourth up, on me." Nathaniel waited for the two squads to assemble. "Casual like, but have your guns clear."

The Bone brothers arrayed the squads into three smaller groups, with Tribulation guiding the third. They wandered into Hattersburg, walking along the muddy North road. Two hundred yards further on sat Gates' Tavern.