At the Queen_s command

Quince blinked, then let a serpentine smile slither onto his features. "Am I, sir? And you dispute the word of Samuel Haste?"

"I dispute your reading of it." Owen held up his copy of the book. "I have this book from Doctor Archibald Frost of Temperance. You added the sentence about the eagles needing to destroy their mother. It isn't in there."

"Ah, so you have a text published in Temperance." The man's voice layered disgust into the word. "We're to believe that your Doctor Frost didn't edit the text to make it protect his interests? He is of the coast. He doesn't care about us."

Over in the corner opposite, a huge man unfolded himself. Tall and broad, with a thick bushy beard and dark hair cut short, he dwarfed every man present. A most remarkable trio of scars started at his crown and extended down far enough that one bisected his left eyebrow. He loomed up out of his seat and took one lumbering step toward Quince.

"Now see here, Mister. You talk fancy good, but I don't know you. But my brothers and me, and my father and uncles before us, and my grandfather and his kin afore them, they's all traded with the Frosts. Ain't a manjack here will say he's been cheated by them Frosts. Might not paid what we wanted, but they paid fair."

Quince, who had paled, raised a finger. "You make a very good point. I may have misspoken. There are patriots everywhere, men who believe in Mystria and all it can become."

Owen cocked his head. "Why are you lying about the whiskey tax?"

"Again, sir, you accuse me of lying." Quince's chin came up. "How do you know they did not?"

Owen was about to answer, but Nathaniel stood. "On account of we was in Temperance. They got them this new printer who put out a broadsheet. Had all the news from Norisle. The man just got off the boat, sailed end-of-February. His paper didn't have no mention of no tax."

Another man snorted. "How would you know, Woods? You can't read."

"I read what I need to read, Hiram Marsh, so I don't get lost out in the woods. Unlike some other folks." Nathaniel slapped Owen on the shoulder, albeit a bit harder than necessary. "But I decided to get me some education, so I gots Owen here to be a-reading for me. And he'da read me of taxes since I asked special."

Quince opened his arms. "Perhaps my source on this was misinformed. Mark me, however, the day will come when the Queen turns to us to sustain her, when she has done nothing for us. We are the sons and daughters, grandsons and granddaughters of those Norisle cast aside. We owe the Queen nothing, yet we are fettered by her laws, enslaved by her nobles, impoverished by her merchants. And though there may be traitors among us, you all know in your heart of hearts, that someday, and someday soon, we too will need to fly the nest and extricate ourselves from her deadly talons."

Many of the men grumbled and banged tankards on the tabletops. A few whistled and two invited Quince to join them at a table on the far side of the fireplace. The giant walked over to Nathaniel's table and swung onto the wall bench, jamming Nathaniel into a corner.

"Good to see you again, Magehawk."

Nathaniel squirmed a bit. "Be buying you an ale, will we, Makepeace?"

"Your friend the reader will." The giant smiled and extended a hand. "Makepeace Bone."

"Owen Strake." His hand and half his forearm disappeared in Makepeace's grip. "Thank you for your intervention."

"Well, I was tired of his palaver. Easier to wrestle a wooly rhinocerbus to the ground than make sense of his talking." Makepeace gratefully accepted a tankard from Meg, drank, then licked foam from his lip. "Foul stuff this. His whiskey ain't much better."

Nathaniel leaned left and Makepeace slid over a bit to give him room. "Where are you and your brothers trapping these days?"

"Little north, little west."

"Seen Pierre Ilsavont?"

"He died two years ago. Planted yonder."

"True."

The giant leaned back, his voice a bass growl. "Did see some sign reminded me of him. He never did walk straight after that hip got busted up. It was just tracks though. Late spring, a piece west of here. What's your business with him?"

"He owed me money."

"That's a long line ain't moving fast."

"Heard he might not be dead." Nathaniel drank from his tankard. "We figured we'd see if we could scare him up."

Makepeace shook his head. "I hain't seen him. Trib said he seen Maurice a year back. Maurice weren't inclined to honor a debt."

Owen glanced at Nathaniel. "Trib?"

"His brother, Tribulation."

Makepeace smiled. "My family is Virtuan stock."

"I see."

"Let me ask you something, Mister Strake. You read that book you're carrying?"

"Parts of it."

"Are you believing any?"

"To be truthful, Mr. Bone, I've not read enough."

The big man pursed his lips, then nodded. "Ain't many men admit to ignorance. Weren't how Quince was inclined."

Nathaniel rolled his tankard between his hands. "Makes a man wonder why a man would be saying them sorts of things."