At the Queen_s command

Caleb headed west and Nathaniel east, toward the waterfront. He nodded greetings to people on the street. Those that knew him either smiled or refused to meet his eye. A couple of men crossed to the other side of the street. Those new to Mystria often stared at his Altashee leathers, and the longer they stared told him how recently they'd arrived.

As much as he hated being crowded and confined and could never imagine being trapped on a ship for six hours much less six weeks, ships fascinated him. As a boy, when in Temperance, he'd come watch the ships unload. The mastheads, be they maidens, dragons, or something in between, just tickled him. At his youngest he thought they might come alive. As he grew older he wished they would, to tell the tales of what they'd seen. He was willing to swap wilderness adventure for sea story, but they remained mute, just bobbing and nodding either sage or senile, he could not determine.

He told himself he would go to the waterfront just to see if the ships had gotten bigger. They had, and the largest of them, a ship in the Royal Navy, had anchored out in the harbor. He watched for a bit as sailors struggled to decorously load a young noblewoman and her courtiers onto a barge. Sea breezes caught voluminous skirts, creating all manner of problems. The sailors worked on that problem on one side, while others brought up an ornate coach in pieces. He smiled at the cursing and shouting, and wondered if the ship also contained a team of horses.

Nathaniel watched the people, reading their faces as easily as he could read tracks in mud. Many looked unhappy. Most of them appeared tired. Worst of all, though, were the ones who just didn't care. They plodded along listlessly mostly redemptioneers with long years remaining on their service reminding him of du Malphias' pasmortes. He couldn't see much difference between them, and doubted the people could either.

He glanced at the Government House tower clock. He'd never learned his letters, but his father had taught him ciphering and to read time. Marking time by the sun suited Nathaniel just fine; the day, after all, ended when the sun went down, not at some point on a clock. Still, Temperance ran to the clock and while he refused to be enslaved by it, he was willing to abide by it temporarily.

I could go past, just to see if she is well. He thought about it for a long while, but refused. If he went to see Rachel, he'd not want to be leaving. Esther would report his presence to her master upon his return and, more like, to her kin in his absence. That would stir up a tussle Nathaniel'd not mind having a piece of, but not now.

He smiled, easily imagining Owen Strake standing with him on one side and Kamiskwa on the other. The Casks and Branches and anyone else could come for them and they'd run home all bleedy and whipped. Owen had been a good man- still is-and Nathaniel's guts hollowed out when he thought of him. That surprised the Mystrian, because he didn't make friends easily and never would have thought a Norillian could be a friend. The Prince came as close as possible, and he'd been raised in Mystria most all his life.

He and Kamiskwa had been having the Norillian on at the start, but not out of being cruel the way the Branches would have. Nathaniel had been prepared to take the man as far as he wanted. Nathaniel needed to see, however, what sort of man Owen was. The wilderness wasn't a place you could drag a man who couldn't carry his own weight. It was like a deer herd keeping the strong animals together and letting the weak pass. It was the natural order.

Nathaniel shook his head. "He was about the least complaining man I ever done met." There'd been fire in him, and times he wanted to take a poke at Nathaniel, no doubting that, but he'd held himself back. And then, in the fight with the Ungarakii, he'd done just fine. Despite being wounded, he'd killed two of them, and shooting that one in the face required a steady hand and ice in the veins.

But you still left him to die.

Nathaniel bristled, playing the scene through his mind again. He would've ignored Owen, excepting when he said that the journals would save Mystria. Owen had said it to get him to leave. They both knew it. They both knew that was the only thing that would have worked. And Owen had used it.

Another glance at the clock started Nathaniel on his trek up the hill to the Frost house. He smiled out of force of habit. He'd been welcome there from time to time, up until three years ago. He still remembered Mrs. Frost's towering anger. If Guy du Malphias ever came to Temperance, he'd meet his match with her in a rage.

His long legs ate up the distance, so he found himself at the gate, waiting, as the tower clock struck three. The house door opened and Caleb bounded down to the gate. His father came out onto the porch and his mother stood in the doorway, clearly intent on barring passage.

Caleb opened the gate. "She's not having it."