At the Queen_s command

"I prefer the word 'reanimate.' No matter." Du Malphias walked over to a table Owen could not see and brought the tray of tools back, setting them on the stool. "I do accept your general account. You do have more information, which I shall extract. I hope you will survive."

He picked up a sharp chisel probe and a small hammer. "Now, Captain Strake, if you will indulge me. Tell me your real name."

Owen passed out twice in the eternity that constituted du Malphias' questioning. He fought to hold back screams and was not wholly successful. He did mute them, however, in hopes Makepeace would not hear.

Du Malphias mixed his questions, asking about troop strengths in the colonies at one point, then shifting rapidly to questions about levels of pain and whether something felt hot or cold or just agonizing. The confusion as much as the pain prompted Owen to admissions he might otherwise not have made. He revealed his connection to the Ventnor family and spoke of the Frosts. Du Malphias detected something in the way he mentioned Bethany and questioned him closely about her.

Owen had replied curtly. "I am a married man, sir."

"A defense offered so often by a man willing to stray." Du Malphias cracked the hammer sharply against his femur. "You cannot lie to me, Captain, but please to lie to yourself."

The Tharyngian kept at it, asking the same questions from different angles and, eventually reached a certain level of satisfaction with the answers. He set his tools down, covered the leg wound again, and started the anesthetic drip. He removed his apron and handed it to Quarante-neuf, then dispatched the servant on a whispered errand.

Du Malphias loomed at his bedside. "I accept you at your word, Captain, in all you have told me. I am not yet determined what I shall do with you. But you appear a hearty specimen. You have some use."

Owen shook his head. "You will not make me into one of your pasmortes."

"I definitely hope not." Du Malphias tapped his finger against the hanging glass. "Curious properties, this fluid. I created something akin to it a number of years ago."

From the pocket of his black frock coat he produced a crusted bottle. "Others have conducted alchemical researches looking for the fabled Philosopher's Stone. They expect to find something that will turn dross to gold. Their dreams of avarice, while admirable, are pitiful in their lack of ambition. I sought something different, and I call it vivalius. After years of experimentation in my spare time, since you Norillians have required me to serve my country with my knowledge of military science, I have discovered and refined many of its more interesting properties. Creating the pasmorte is but one thing to which it is well suited."

He set the bottle between Owen's legs and turned toward the returning Quarante-neuf. The servant bore a wide, flat, wooden box, but du Malphias eclipsed it before Owen could get a good look. The Tharyngian opened it and fiddled with something, while looking back at Owen over his shoulder.

"Vivalius quickens healing and I would have used it on your leg, save that your application of the weed ruined any chance I had of truly testing the results. This is a pity because I think you would have done well under treatment." Du Malphias turned, a small pistol in his hand. "I should say, you will do well under treatment. One leg with vivalius, the other with the native preparation."

Du Malphias sighted down the pistol's barrel. "In the name of Tharyngia, Captain Strake, I thank you for your contribution to science."

The man's cold smile evaporated in the cloud of gunsmoke.

Chapter Thirty-One

July 14, 1763

Prince Haven

Temperance Bay, Mystria

P rince Vlad sat in his laboratory. He'd cleared a place at his table and had laid out all three of Owen's letters, along with the journals and the best map of the surrounding colonies. He'd added to them several piles of books in a variety of languages, and had marked many passages with slender paper slips.

The third letter, the one brought by Jean Deleon, had arrived only that morning from Temperance. The letter covering it came from Doctor Frost, who indicated that Deleon said he had more information he would be pleased to sell in the event it would bring a good price. Deleon was certain the information would be very valuable.

The Deleon letter confirmed what had been suspected in the earlier two and expanded upon it. Du Malphias had indeed managed, somehow, to return a man to life. Ilsavont had been distant but clearly functional and the Prince was willing to assume the writer of the journal had been dead or dying or dying again as explanation for the journal's deteriorating reports.