The fire offered light and warmth. The men took the opportunity to wash their loincloths and strung them from sticks to let them dry. Owen sat and wrote in his journal. He mostly recorded landmarks and basic information. The impressions he'd had from the day mostly involved Nathaniel's attitudes toward the Ungarakii and Ryngians. Recording them seemed to be a violation of trust.
The disgust with which Nathaniel had addressed the Ryngians' selfish use of the clearing echoed his earlier comments about the squatters they'd seen on the way to the Prince's estate. The idea that people might be wasteful offended him as much as absentee landlords controlling vast tracts of land.
Owen looked up. "If I might, Mr.Woods, ask you a question: When you look out at the land, when you travel through it, what is it you see?"
"Aside from the leaves and all, you mean?"
"Yes. I'm asking philosophically."
Nathaniel groaned. "You'll be a-wanting big words, then?"
"Not required. You love the land, clearly."
"Well, mostly, I reckon, I want it to be unspoilt." He sat silent for a moment, letting the crackle of the fire and the distant, mournful call of a loon fill the night. "I know men will bugger it all up. Chop down trees, make a farm, but that's soes they'll live. The Shedashee do that some, but they do it different. If they packed up Saint Luke tomorrow, how long before the land reclaimed it?"
"A year?"
"A season more like." Nathaniel's eyes narrowed. "How long for Temperance to vanish?"
"A generation?" Owen remembered marching along a portion of a Remian road in Tharyngia. "Much longer, maybe."
"Men is arrogant. Now their Good Book tells them that God made them out of mud just like everything else, but they reckon-on account of they disobeyed Him and got theirselves kicked out of that Paradise Garden-they is somehow better than the animals, plants, and dirt." The scout shook his head. "They go to making rules and laws what is for the benefit of themselves. Lets them get more. Lets them keep more. Don't matter they lie and cheat to get things."
Owen frowned. "You're not just talking about the land, are you?"
"Well, I don't reckon I am." Nathaniel hesitated, then smiled. "And I don't reckon I want to speak more on that particular point. Fact is, however, men and their society do more harm than good often as not. That's why I prefer keeping far from most folks."
"Is this a common theme among Mystrians?"
"I don't rightly know. Could be your little book will tell you. Don't care. I ain't a Mystrian." Nathaniel held a hand up. "Yep, I was born here. Probably die here, too, iffen there's a God who has a lick of sense. But I ain't a part of their society. Don't want nothing to do with it."
Owen frowned. "Then why not just live with the Altashee?"
"There's times, Captain Strake, when a man cain't do what he'd like to do. Cain't escape your history."
Kamiskwa snorted. "Not without trying."
"I reckon, Prince Kamiskwa, you've done forgot your original counsel in this matter."
Owen hadn't a clue as to what they were talking about, and was equally certain that he'd not get an explanation out of either of them. Nathaniel had seldom spoken about himself. Owen guessed that part of the poking and testing he did was to see how much he could trust Owen. Clearly he'd not made a decision one way or the other and, until then, whatever secrets he harbored would remain hidden.
The soldier couldn't help but smile. He'd been in the man's company for over ten days and could have written down all he knew about him on a single page. Catherine would have scolded him for not having learned more. He'd have explained that men don't talk about things the way women do, and she'd have countered that he was just afraid to ask.
Fear, however, had nothing to do with it. It was respect. He respected Nathaniel's right to privacy. Who he was, what he did, had no effect on the expedition. If it did, if Nathaniel was a drunkard, then they would have had words.
More importantly, the act of not asking built trust. Owen trusted Nathaniel to tell him anything that was important. So far Nathaniel had upheld his part of that bargain. Not asking personal questions became a silent vote of confidence in Nathaniel, engendering more trust.
Owen figured part of Nathaniel's attitude came from society's reaction to something he'd done. Just having children by two women-and Shedashee women at that-to whom he was not married would be enough to raise eyebrows and bring down condemnation. He would have been a right devil to men like Bishop Bumble. Many of those who spoke out against him would be hypocrites. Owen had heard countless superior officers lecture common soldiers on the sins of drink and debauchery, all the while themselves being drunk and just having departed a bordello.
Owen went to sleep thinking on that point and managed, unexpectedly, to sleep through to the last watch. Once the sun rose to splash gold over the lake, the men ate, scattered all signs of their camp, and launched their canoe. Owen sat in the middle as the others propelled the small boat across crystal water.
"I can paddle my share."
"Don't you be worrying about that. You just keep your eyes on the shoreline."
"We're beyond range for a shot."
"I reckon, but I want to know if there's folks watching us."
Owen retrieved his telescope from his pouch. He swept the shoreline but saw nothing aside from a moose grazing in shallow water. The placid surface reflected the blue sky, save near the shore where the trees' reflection rimmed the lake darkly.
"It looks clear."
Kamiskwa, from the front of the canoe, grunted a single word. " Tekskog."
"Do you think, Kamiskwa? Hain't never been one in this lake afore." Nathaniel laughed. "Wouldn't do much good if he saw one."
Owen sighed. "Should I be looking for something specific?"
"Well, he's a-wanting you to be looking for a lake monster. Like a big snake, horse's head, lots of coils. The Prince probably put it on your list. He thinks it's a big otter. Very big. Get enough coats out of it for your army, I'm thinking."
"You're serious?"
"Can't honestly say I've seen one, but I've heard tell of plenty who have."
Owen would have dismissed the idea save for two things. First, he had seen creatures in Mystria he'd never seen before. Second, what they de-scribed-granted without the fur-was a wurm in its early life stage. If there are wurms here and we can find them, we could raise and train them. The balance of Auropean power would forever be shifted.
Over the next three and a half weeks they paddled over countless lakes and ponds, occasionally camping on islands, but only once making their way by canoe from one large body of water to the other. Mostly they stashed their canoe then trekked overland to the next lake to find another canoe and take a lend of it.
The journey thoroughly amazed Owen. Every day led him into territory completely devoid of any sign of man's passage. He knew it wasn't true, since they found canoes and campsites, but he saw no fences, no houses, and no roads. He had to look hard for places where trees had been cleared. More than once the forest had reclaimed a lot his guides said had been carved out twenty or thirty years before.
Owen studied the Prince's list as they went, but the animals proved elusive. He didn't regret not seeing a jeopard. At night wolves called to each other, competing with loons to be the loudest creatures around a lake. The noises had made him uncomfortable at first, but he learned to like them. Still, he never actually saw a wolf.
They took special notice when the forest went quiet. Kamiskwa and Nathaniel would immediately find cover, check their weapons, and wait to see what was in the vicinity. More than once they heard Ryngian trappers crashing through the brush, all the while remaining undetected themselves. At night, Owen made note of the interlopers' presence in his journal.
Finally they crossed over a low ridge that separated the Bounty and Lindenvale watersheds. They followed a chain of lakes and streams north and by noon, they stood on a hilltop looking down into the Hattersburg Valley. The town sat at the convergence of three
rivers, the largest being the Tillie. The town began with a palisaded fort on the high ground nearest the confluence, and had grown out from there. Trees had been felled and all around the town small homesteads had been cleared.
Nathaniel slapped Owen on the back. "Hattersburg. Civilization as far west as allowed by law." Then he pointed off toward the east. "Of course, law done stopped back there to catch its breath, so watch your step. This ain't a place you want to be caught dead."
Chapter Twenty-Four
June 7, 1763
Hattersburg
Lindenvale, Mystria
T hey raced the sun to Hattersburg and barely beat it. On the way in they went past several small farms all connected by a sorry excuse for a road. Cabins had been made from logs and outbuildings from roughly sawn boards. Grass and mud stuffed cracks, and shutters closed over empty openings that passed for windows.
"Glass is expensive out here?"
"A mite delicate to be transported." Nathaniel spit off to the side. "Folks born out here have a notion it don't truly exist. Lenses on that telescope of yours is the closest they've ever seen. A window pane is pure fancy."
"Is there an inn where we can purchase a room? I do have money."
"Well, I was being honest with you back there, Captain Strake. You'd best be keeping your mouth closed tight. Listen and learn." Nathaniel smiled and Owen didn't feel all that reassured. "Got to trod a slender board in Hattersburg to stay out of trouble."
Hattersburg looked unlike any town Owen had ever seen, and it was not simply the rustic nature of the buildings. Few had proper foundations, so more than one of them sagged. Several had log buttresses shoring them up. A couple had fallen to ruin and then been pilfered for building material and firewood.
The town itself started with the fort and had an irregular greensward to the side and around the front in an oddly angular crescent. Two roads paralleled it from one river and the other crossing it. They extended until they hit the Cool River coming down from the north. More roads ran at angles both irregular and convenient, dividing lots into unconventional shapes. The church stood inland from the fortress, as if balancing it, with houses, shops, and other buildings clustered haphazardly between. Some people had built on the eastern and southern sides of the river and had to rely on ferries and a single ford to get across.
The roads weren't much to speak of. They had sunken from much use and some half-hearted attempts to remove mud and pile it on the sides. The lack of recent rains made them dusty, yet any precipitation would reduce them to soup. Boards crossed the roads at various points, but lay mostly hidden in the dust while dry.
Nathaniel led them to one of the larger buildings. It had started small, but other construction had been grafted on to it. The roof appeared sound, especially above the main parts of the second floor, but some of the walls had gaping holes between boards.
He threw aside the leather curtain acting as the door and marched across the common room to the bar-two boards balanced on two kegs. Patrons sat at tables and benches of crude manufacture. A stone fireplace dominated the left wall, but no fire had been laid in it. Instead a man stood before it, a lamp on the mantle behind him, reading from a book.
Nathaniel slammed a fist onto the board, bringing the tavern keeper's head around. "You done gawking?"
The owner, a rotund man with twice as many chins and half the hair normally allotted, raised his arms in alarm. "Nathaniel Woods! I heard you was dead."
"I know. Heard your daughters a-weeping all down Temperance way."
The barkeeper scratched at his left eye. "Should have known better. Heard it before and it ain't never been true."
"You'll hear it again." Nathaniel jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. "This here is Owen. He don't talk much. You remember Kamiskwa."
"What I remember is the last time you was here. You can stay in the stable."
"You really want to be more friendly to me, Samson Gates." He extended a hand back past Owen, and Kamiskwa put two of the Ungarakii bracelets in it. Nathaniel slapped them down on the bar. "Your finest room, a round of your horsepiss ale, and meat that died some time after the last thaw."
Gates leaned over, inspecting the bracelets closely. "Eight shillings for the both of them."
"Either your inn has got a might pricier or you're of a mind to be cheating me."
"I ain't a cheat." Gates folded his arms over his chest. "Parliament don't like we don't drink rum out here. They're putting a tax on whiskey. My still's going to cost me two hundred pounds in taxes."
"Now where did you hear a fool thing like that?"
Gates nodded toward the man before the fireplace. "Mr. Cotton Quince, up from Margaretstown. Said Parliament passed that law back middle of February. Here it is the start of June and the Queen's Agents are out and about." His eyes narrowed. "How do you know this Owen fellow?"
"I know him good enough. He ain't no agent of the Queen! He killed hisself two Ungarakii and Chief Msitazi done welcomed him as a guest. Ain't no redcoat could do all that."
"True words." Gates held his hands up. "Just have to be careful hereabouts. I'll get you your rooms. Kamiskwa still has to sleep in the stable. Food and drink, too. Just find yourself a seat."
Though most of the audience had given their rapt attention to the speaker, a few warily moved away from a corner table as Nathaniel approached. He sat with his back to the wall, and Kamiskwa kept his eye on the door. That left Owen with his back to the bar.
He leaned in, keeping his voice low. "Parliament never passed a tax on whiskey. They passed a tax on rum to cover the cost of a new season of fighting in Tharyngia."
"There's a lots of things get mixed up coming out here. Law stopped, common sense paused with him." Nathaniel sat back and smiled up at the comely lass who brought him a foaming tankard. "Thank you, Meg. I have a powerful thirst needs slaking."
The dark-haired woman giggled. "Like as much you have an itch needs scratching, too. You ever give up them city women, you'll know true pleasure."
"Take you for my wife and break the hearts of all these fine fellows? Won't do it." Nathaniel smiled. "Who is it overworking his jaw?"
"Not sure. Father says he comes from Margaretstown. He can read. Father likes him cause he brings people in to listen. He's reading from A Continent's Calling. "
Owen slowly turned on his stool. Cotton Quince leaned casually against the fireplace, an elbow hooked on the mantle. He held the book in one hand down and out in front of him. His posture reminded Owen of upperclassmen lecturing the younger students at school. Quince's voice carried just a hint of the same superiority. Slender, with a long nose, blue eyes, and blond hair to his collar, Quince remained clean-shaven and, despite wearing homespun clothes, appeared dandified. His clothes showed little wear and no patches, and his frock coat had been recently brushed.
"And it says right here," he began, raising a finger to point at the ceiling, "'An eagle, no matter how grand and powerful, cannot dominate her offspring once they have departed her nest. No matter how powerful, no matter how lovely that nest, when her eaglets leave, they are free. They find their own nesting places. They find their own hunting grounds. They find their own destiny. And if she seeks to bring them under her domination again, they should, they must, they are ordained to destroy her.'"
"I'm not liking that look on your face, Owen."
He glanced at Nathaniel. "He's not reading it right. That last sentence, he added that." Owen dug for the book and thumbed through. "I read that passage when I prepared my message to the Prince. He's added a call for rebellion."
Quince snapped the book shut and held it up. "This book tells the truth, my friends. The Queen thinks we are her servants, her chattel. We're slaves to her. She doesn't send us troops to keep us safe, but she wants our gold to pay for her soldiers to play on the Continent. And those on the seaboard, they'll not protest. They don't drink our whiskey. They drink rum, just like the soldiers the Queen isn't sending us. This is a dire circumstance, gentlemen, a
nd we need to act."
Owen shot to his feet. "You're lying."
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."
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