At the Queen_s command

"Out there ain't no Fire Wardens for to sell us a spare firestone or three. The rule is 'a pinch more powder and keep your stone bright.' That'll put your shot where you want it."

"Since you have rejected the foodstuffs, shall I assume we will be living off the land?"

"You can't imagine the bounty out there, Captain." Woods smiled and his gaze became distant. "You'll be glad you don't have weevil biscuits and sour beef. What we can't kill or pick, we'll trade for. We'll even get you some better clothes."

"I think not, sir." Owen held his head up. "I am an officer of Her Majesty's Army. I shall wear my uniform proudly."

"Your clothes ain't going to last."

"It really doesn't matter, Mr. Woods." Owen kept his voice firm. "This mission will take us into enemy territory. If I travel out of uniform and were captured, I would be hung as a spy. I am not a spy. I shall not comport myself as one."

Woods had been grinning as if he was going to laugh, but his expression sobered quickly enough. "You're set on that?"

"I am, sir."

"The matter is closed. I respect your conviction, sir." Woods shook his head. "Not sure I understand it, but I 'spect that's a piece of civilization I'm not meant to be comprehending. Will you be adding anything else to your kit?"

"I have a few personal effects. Journals. Pens." Owen thought, then shook his head. "Unless you think there is something else. I am sure there will be room in my pack."

Woods nodded. "I reckon we're covered."

"And Mr. Woods…"

"Yes, Captain Strake?"

"This is my expedition, isn't it?"

"It's all yours, sir." Woods gave him a tiny salute. "I'm just along so's you can find your way to the end of it."

Chapter Twelve

May 1, 1763

St. Martin's Cathedral, Temperance

Temperance Bay, Mystria

O wen found himself with the luxury of a couple of hours before the grand Sunday dinner Mrs. Frost had promised earlier in the week. Owen had joined the family at services. Bishop Othniel Bumble had held forth in a fiery sermon about duty to the Crown. After the service, the Frosts invited the Bishop, his family, and his aid, Reverend Benjamin Beecher to join them for dinner.

Owen occupied himself by organizing his journals. He decided one would be a workbook for notes and sketches while traveling. The second would be the mission journal. He would copy and organize things from the workbook to guarantee the information's accuracy.

While this was his intent, in sitting down to practice with his metal nibs, he realized his plan would not work. The workbook observations about Mystria expanded beyond their original scope. He found himself evaluating the people and their customs. Commentary required context, so his writing became voluminous.

He found himself motivated, in part, by Lord Rivendell's book. That Rivendell's tome could be taken as the definitive account of Villerupt revolted him. He wanted his impressions of Mystria to educate readers about the people and their true courage.

This created problems. The assault, for example, did not paint a pretty picture of Mystrian behavior. Owen chose to write things down as plainly as he could. He hoped that his portraits of the Frosts and even Nathaniel Woods would balance any negative impressions gleaned from the actions of people like the Branches.

Owen had filled several pages with an even hand when one of the younger Frosts tapped on his door. Owen pulled on the plain coat he'd worn to church and descended. The dining table had been set up in the kitchen yard, on a green lawn.

The rotund Bishop Bumble regarded him with a flash of displeasure before a smile lit his ruddy face to the point of buffoonery. He threw his arms wide and waddled forward. "So good to see you again, Captain Strake. May I present to you my wife, Livinia, and my niece, Lilith."

Livinia Bumble suffered in comparison to her husband and Mrs. Frost, being slight of frame and colorless to the point of appearing gray. She did make an effort at smiling, but it exhausted her. Owen would have taken her to be entirely timid, but her blue eyes remained sharp and seemed to miss nothing.

Owen bowed and kissed her proffered hand, then smiled at the other member of the Bumble party. Lilith was everything her aunt was not. Tall and flame-haired, the young woman smiled dazzlingly, fully aware of the effect. Though she wore a gown styled as simply as her aunt's, and cut from the same cloth, her bright blue eyes and the spray of freckles across her cheeks rescued her from being drab.

Lilith curtsied as Owen took her hand. "You honor me, Captain Strake."

Owen kissed it, then straightened. "My pleasure, Miss Bumble."

He then offered his hand to the fourth member of the Bumble party. "Good to see you again, Reverend Beecher."

Beecher, who looked a match for Livinia save for being taller, nodded curtly. "I see you fare better on land than on the sea."