by N. C. Reed
“We should be there day after tomorrow if nothing happens,” Whipple nodded his agreement. “And well ahead of Callens, too,” he added with a smirk.
“We'll see this put right soon enough,” Beaumont agreed with a grim look on his face. “I 'll be glad to see it behind us. It's a long ride back to where we belong. Sooner we can start, the better.”
~*~
“I always forget how nice this place is,” Chastain said as he and Johnson made their way onto the veranda of the main building.
“It is that,” Johnson agreed. “Care for a taste?” he asked with a grin.
“I would indeed,” Chastain grinned. He followed the man inside and then into a small office off the main hall. Johnson pulled a bottle and two small glasses from the shelf behind the desk and poured the two of them a drink.
“The Crown,” Johnson held his glass up.
“Long may she stand,” Chastain nodded, clinking his own glass against Johnson's before upending his glass. The fiery liquid burned as it traveled down his throat.
“Oh, that's good,” he murmured. “I thank you kind sir,” he smiled at Johnson as he set the glass on the desk. “Almost made the trip in from the ship worthwhile,” he joked.
“Glad I could help,” Johnson smiled.
“So what are you really doing here?” Chastain asked. “I've never known anyone in the Royal Family to travel with less than regimental escort.”
“I'm afraid I've revealed all I'm allowed to about that, Captain,” Johnson told him.
~*~
Therron had been able to see the men disembark from the boats and recognized them as Soulan Navy. His mind immediately began fomenting a plan. This was an ideal opportunity for him to make is escape. If he could convince that Captain to assist him then he could travel up the coast, land in Norfok, the capitol of the Coastal Province Government, and head overland back into the Kingdom. He might even be able to get assistance from the CPC government. He'd always had a good relationship with them, or thought he had. The Coastal Province Coalition depended on Soulan for protection from Imperial aggression. He knew many of the higher-ranking men in the CPC military. It was small, but very good. A few of them to back his play would put him in a position to take power from Memmnon and his father.
But first he had to get a message to that Captain and make his escape. He could ensure his assistance once he was free.
“Now how to get attention from him,” Therron mused as he glanced around the room. Movement drew his attention back to the window and he almost smiled as he saw the ship captain and half of his men coming toward the house.
Excellent. Now he had to think of a way to get the man's help. Moving to the desk, Therron used a pen and paper to write a short note. He dried the ink and then rolled the message tight, secreting it in his sleeve.
He could hear when Johnson had brought the Captain inside. Realizing that his chance was here, Therron hurried to complete his preparation. He would only have one chance at this. There was some risk involved, but the greater risk was in doing nothing.
~*~
“I understand,” Chastain nodded. “Well, whatever you're doing here I wish you well. If it weren't so isolated it would be a great place. Well, it is a great place but would be better if it were less isolated,” he amended.
“It is isolated,” Johnson agreed. “Having to send wagons on a four or five day trip for supplies, men wanting to have furlough to try and find something to do, there's always som-” he was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass and then something heavy hitting the floor. They looked at each other and then Johnson started for the door. He had scarcely made his way into the hallway when he heard Bruckner shout from the study. Forgetting the naval man behind him, Johnson broke into a run.
He found Bruckner kneeling over a prone Therron McLeod who was turning blue. The shards of a lamp were scattered across the floor, as were books and papers than had probably been on the desk.
“Report!” Johnson shouted.
“Found him like this sir!” Bruckner was struggling to get the limp Therron onto his feet. As he did so he took the edge of his hand and hit the Prince's abdomen just below the ribs.
“What are you doing?” Johnson demanded.
“He's choking, sir!” Bruckner replied, hitting Therron again. With a loud plop a piece of jerked meat popped from Therron's mouth and shot onto the floor. This was followed by Therron gasping for air. As Bruckner managed to get the prince to his feet Therron looked around him in confusion.
“Wha-”
“Easy sir,” Bruckner told him. “You were choking sir. I think you 'll be okay now, sir. Just take it easy for a minute and get your bearings.”
“Choking?” Therron asked, still looking a bit dazed. “What could I have. . .” he trailed off at that, noting the hunk of jerky on the floor and then an overturned chair next to the desk.
“I tripped,” he said suddenly, as if he was trying to tell himself what had happened. “I can't even walk across the floor it seems. I tripped. I already had the jerky in my mouth, working it around. I do like a good piece of spiced jerky you know,” he added. Johnson and Bruckner both knew this to be true and nodded. “Who are you?” he narrowed his eyes a bit, focusing on the man who was out of place in the room.
“Captain Anthony Chastain, sir,” Chastain snapped to attention. “Pleasure to meet you, Marshal,” he added, having recognized Therron.
“Wish it had been under better circumstances but it's a pleasure to meet you too, Captain,” Therron extended his hand to the naval officer, much to the surprise of Johnson and Bruckner, and Chastain took it before either could object.
~*~
It was a simple slight of hand to slide the note from his sleeve into his hand, and then into Chastain's hand. Gripping the other man's hand tightly, Therron looked into his eyes, trying to establish a silent rapport that would lend the note some validity.
He felt Chastain stiffen as the note was passed and used that eye contact to try and encourage him to wait and read it later.
Not realizing what was going on but knowing that Therron was not only the Crown Prince but also the Lord Marshal of Soulan, Chastain nodded slightly, smiling.
And slid the note into his pants pocket as he stepped back.
~*~
Johnson saw the contact but didn't know how he could have prevented it. He cursed himself mentally for not having told Chastain to stay put, and then again for inviting him into the house to start with. It was too late now at any rate.
“Remain here and see that the Prince is truly alright,” he ordered Bruckner, who nodded. “I'll send for the surgeon to have a look at him, just to be sure. Captain, if you will,” he indicated the door, showing Chastain out.
“Of course,” the naval officer smiled and made his way out. Johnson followed and closed the door behind him.
“I'm afraid the Prince is not well,” Johnson said gently, using the story that had been concocted when all this had began. “He was ordered here by the King to rest, but. . .” he allowed his tale to trail away, shaking his head sadly.
“A poor time for the Marshal to be down,” Chastain mused, thinking of that note. “Perhaps he will recover soon. This is a good place for someone ill to recoup.” He straightened a bit and smiled.
“I appreciate your courtesy good sir,” he said more formally, though still smiling. “I need to get back and let my young lieutenant make his way up for water as well. Perhaps we shall see one another again.”
“Look forward to it, though less all the drama would be good,” Johnson snorted. “Safe travels Captain.”
“Good fortune, Captain.”
~*~
Chastain returned to the beach and sent Reed up the small beach to the compound. Leaning against one of the boats he opened the small note ensuring that no one was close enough to see it. It was odd enough as it was, getting a note slipped to him by the Lord Marshal.
The contents of the note were even more so.
Captain,
I observed you making your way up the beach. I must hope you are a loyal son of the Kingdom and place my hope and trust in you. I am a prisoner here, kept by these people against my will. The story they have spread is that I am 'unwell'. They do not specify what is wrong, but insinuate that I am addled in my mind. I assure you this is not the case.
I am convinced there is a coup attempt underway and this was a part of it. I must get back to Nasil as soon as possible. I have no idea who has taken command of the military in my absence, or what may have befallen my father.
I realize that I am asking a great deal of you Captain, but I have no choice. I need your assistance.
Free me and carry me up the coast to Norfok, where I can secure assistance to return and thwart this plot against the Crown.
Therron McLeod.
“Holy shit,” Chastain breathed as he finished reading the note a second time. He glanced around him once more to ensure that no one had heard him, then turned his gaze up the hill toward the house.
He was tempted to cast the note into the ocean on his way back to the ship, and yet the message it contained had a ring of truth to it. He remembered Johnson's sad head shake and the insinuation that Therron McLeod would likely not recover. The way the two Inspectorate officers were treating him. And there was another thing; what was the IG doing providing protection to a man who had an entire regiment assigned for his personal protection? None of this made the least bit of sense.
Johnson's reluctance to inform Chastain what was going on, at least at first, also added to the weight of the small note. Under other circumstances he could understand. Knowing that the Marshal had fallen victim of some kind of breakdown during a war for survival would not be good for the troops, that was certain.
Taken with the note and Johnson's somewhat mysterious behavior, however, all things pointed to the Marshal being held prisoner as he had said. And that meant that Chastain had to do something about it.
He hadn't observed too many troops at the compound, perhaps half as many as his own. Not even half when taken with his boat crews, really. And the IG troops were jailers, not soldiers. Guilford's marines would be more than a match for them he was sure. He wondered if the men holding the Prince even knew what they were doing, or if they were following orders and believed what they had been told.
“Something wrong sir?” Guilford's voice startled Chastain from his thoughts and he looked sharply at the officer in question.
“We have an issue,” he said softly. “Marshal Therron McLeod is up there,” he nodded toward the compound. “Being guarded by troops who appear to be from the IG's office. He slipped me this when I met him earlier. Read,” he ordered as he passed the message to his chief infantry officer.
Guilford gave him a puzzled look but took the paper and read. His eyes grew wider with each line until he appeared as shocked as Chastain felt.
“Good Lord!” the stunned marine looked up at him. “How can this be?”
“I don't know,” Chastain said truthfully. “I do know that the behavior of that bunch up there is funny. Strange funny, not humorous. They evaded my questions about why they were here, and then implied that the Marshal was mentally ill. We're at war with the North and our Marshal is apparently a victim of a coup attempt.”
“Beg pardon sir,” Guilford said, “but did you talk to Johnson about this? Get his side?”
“No I did not,” Chastain shook his head. “I didn't read the note until I got back here. And Johnson was extremely reluctant to answer any of my questions anyway,” he said again.
“Sir this makes no sense,” Guilford returned the note. “There has to be another explanation!”
“Are you willing to leave the Marshal a prisoner during war time so that we can find out if he's really sick or not?” Chastain challenged. “What if we find out later that he's being truthful and we did nothing?”
“We can return for him once we've reported this to the Commodore, sir,” Guilford pointed out. “It's the safer plan, with all due respect.”
It was the safe plan Chastain agreed. But safer in war time wasn't always the best plan. And without the Marshal, who was leading the defense of the Kingdom?
“Who is leading us while the Marshal is being held here?” he asked. “Who are we getting our orders from? And, assuming this is a coup attempt, who's in on it, and how high does it go?”
“Sir, Marshal McLeod is second in line behind only the Crown Prince,” Guilford stated. “Who would dare oppose him as leader of the entire Army?”
“There are only two people below him, and one is his twin,” Chastain replied.
“You're seriously suggesting that Parno McLeod is somehow responsible for this?” Guilford didn't bother to hide his incredulity. “Sir, I'm sorry, but I can't see it,” the marine shook his head. “That man doesn't have the sense to pour piss out of boot with the instructions written on the heel from what I've heard. No way he can pull something like that off. There has to be more to this than what we can see. Or read,” he motioned to the note that Chastain still held in his hands.
“Doesn't mean he isn't a figurehead for someone else,” Chastain rebutted. “Look, I don't like any of this Major, but like it or not its been dumped into my lap. This whole thing reeks of something being out of sorts and considering how reluctant Johnson is to provide details I have to take the Prince at his word.”
“Sir, what if Johnson is under orders not to provide those details?” Guilford asked. “You said yourself, during wartime is a hell of a time to find out the Marshal has lost it. He may well had reluctantly told you the truth because you happened to walk in on it and nothing more. I know if I was faced with something like this I'd damn sure try to come up with something else, hell anything else other than telling the rank and file that their leader has lost his gourd!”
“That could be,” Chastain nodded. “The bottom line for me though is that I can't trust what Johnson is saying.”
“Sir you have no proof he has lied to you in any way,” Guilford shook his head. “Nothing but a strong suspicion and that built on a note slipped to you by a man who may well be nuts.”
“Again, that could be,” Chastain straightened, his face flat. Clearly, he'd come to some kind of decision. “But I can't risk it. If the Marshal really is off his rocker then we'll bring him back. He's asked to go to Norfok for some reason, so we'll take him there. I want your men down here ready to move in five minutes, Major. I'd like to take Johnson and his troops by surprise. I want to avoid unnecessary blood shed. These men are likely just following orders and that may well include Johnson.”
“Sir, this is a mistake,” Guilford tried one last time.
“Are you refusing your orders Major?”
“That's a low blow Captain, and not one I deserve,” Guilford drew himself to attention. He was a man of almost painful integrity and Chastain knew that.
“Then assemble your men, Major,” Chastain ordered, aware that he'd probably just lost the loyalty of a good subordinate with that remark but unable to take it back. If he was wrong then Guilford was following orders and he and his men would be protected. If he was right. . .
“Five minutes.”
~*~
“Something's wrong, sir,” Smith said softly.
“You'll have to be more specific, Lieutenant,” Johnson snorted. “There are in fact a great many things wrong.”
“Five of our men have abandoned their post in the last fifteen minutes, sir,” Smith ignored the jab. “I've not been able to find them, either. I've set new guards, but. . .something is wrong.”
“Sound the alarm, Lieutenant,” Johnson resisted the urge to swear.
“I'd rather you not do that, Captain,” Chastain's voice came from the doorway. Johnson looked to see the naval officer standing there as marines entered the building, flanking him.
“Captain, what do you think you're doing?” Johnson kept his voice calm. “You have no authority here. None. Take your men and go
while you still have a career to go to.”
“Funny, I was thinking that you were the one who was protecting his 'career',” Chastain replied just as calmly. “All sounding any alarm will do is get your men killed, Johnson. I'm taking the Marshal out of here and if you try to stop me-”
“I'll have to try,” Johnson sighed. “I'm here on orders of the King himself. And you're about to 'free' a traitor, Chastain. I can't imagine how he managed to get you to aid him, but-”
“Save it, Johnson,” Chastain replied flatly. “You've lied to me from the start and there's no reason to think you're being truthful now. The Marshal is being held against his will at a time when we're at war for our very survival. Whatever game whoever you're working for is up to, I'm putting an end to it.”
“You idiot,” Johnson sighed, drawing his sword and Smith following suit. “Therron McLeod is a traitor to the Crown. His own father sent him here into exile rather than execute him, fearful of what the news would do to the army. You've played right into his hand. Typical sailor,” he snorted.
“If you resist I'll kill your men,” Chastain told him flatly. “I'd prefer not to since I assume they are merely following orders, but I will do it in order to free the Marshal. Your choice, Johnson.”
“Sir?” Smith's voice was calm at his side. He was clearly going to follow Johnson's lead no matter what.
“You'd risk the Kingdom to do this?” Johnson asked, incredulous. “Risk your men in going against the Crown like this?”
“Sir,” Guilford said at Chastain's side, and his tone was questioning rather than supporting. Clearly, he wasn't on Chastain's side fully.
“Quiet,” Chastain hissed to the marine. “Johnson you've proven to be a liar already so anything you say is suspect. You've no one to blame for that but yourself. I'm not risking anything. I'll carry the Marshal with me, and if he's really in exile as you say then he 'll be returned. If not, well then we 'll see to it he gets back where he belongs.”
“Go ahead then, Captain,” Johnson said suddenly, aware that all his resistance would do was get his men killed for no gain. “Go ahead. And when word of this reaches the Crown, you and all your men will be hunted down like dogs and hung as traitors. Remember that I warned you just as the noose tightens. You remember it too, Major,” he looked at the marine. “Remember that I tried to help you.”
