Caleb snarled. 'Isn't much of a one for a handshake, being as how he left half an arm in the forest.'
Owen rested the bread on the edge of the bowl. 'I ask after him, Master Frost, because I dragged him out of the woods, him still shouting orders to his men. I tied off the arm so he'd not bleed to death, and I fetched him brandy for when the butchers decided the forearm had to go.'
Bethany leaned forward. 'Did you know Ira Hill? He was in the Rangers.'
'I do not recall the name, Miss.'
'He was tall, black hair, green eyes, darker than yours.'
Owen searched his memory. 'I can't promise, Miss, but I recall a man fitting that description. Always had a joke?'
Her face brightened. 'Yes, yes, that was him.'
'I remember digging beside him as we tried to clear a road. It was raining. He said he'd trade his shovel for a bucket and bail more than he could dig. I didn't know his name, though. Is he a friend?'
'Was.' Her face closed again.
Caleb glowered. 'He died in those same woods, Captain.'
'I'm very sorry.'
Bethany nodded. 'It's hard not knowing, and people, they say…'
Dr. Frost took one of Bethany's hands in his own. 'The Rivendell book, you understand, Captain. Ira had asked for Bethany's hand before he went off and, well, most people are believing the Rangers were cowards.'
Owen turned to Bethany. 'Look at me, Miss. The Rangers did more than most on that campaign. I got assigned to liaise with them, some folks thinking I was as expendable as they were. The Rangers fought well and hard. Don't believe anything different. What Lord Rivendell wrote is fable beginning to end. He wrote it to make himself and his son look good. You just remember that the Tharyngians feared the Rangers enough that they sent their best against them. They won, but it was a close thing. If there had been two Ranger battalions, the war would be over.'
Bethany's lips pressed together and tears glistened. She nodded, then kissed her father's cheek. Wordlessly she left the room. Her mother followed her.
Dr. Frost patted Owen's arm. 'Eat, sir, don't let it get cold. I appreciate your saying what you did. You have to understand something about us Mystrians-things that not even my son understands. Norisle cast the first of us out because we were undesirable. Some of us were criminals. Some of us thought the Church was too strict. The Virtuans thought it too lax. And some of us were simply thought lazy or stupid and shipped away to die in the colonies.
'Many did, but this land vitalized those who survived. It gave us strength. It gave us opportunity. So now we're like some big puppy, full of energy, and we want to please our master. We do what we can, but getting swatted, it sits poorly.'
Owen nodded. 'I understand, sir, far better than you can imagine.'
Caleb refilled his wine glass. 'But it is more than that, Father. The very philosophers and great thinkers you teach about at college, they are saying that the rights of Men are not bestowed upon us by kings and queens. They are our birthright as Men. They say we cede power to the nobility in return for guidance and assistance. When we get neither, they have broken the contract through which they get power.'
Dr. Frost slowly rotated his wine glass. 'You make it sound so simple, Caleb.'
'It is simple, Father.' He tapped a finger against the table. 'It is a simple matter of theft. Power is being stolen from us.'
'No, Caleb, it is not that simple. We are born of Norillian traditions. Our laws, the customs by which these colonies are governed, are based in Norillian Common Law. The colonies themselves function with Royal Charters. Our Governors are appointed by the Queen. Her nephew is our Governor-General. Norisle has given us a very great deal. We cannot unilaterally declare any previous debts null and void because we are displeased with the current situation. We would cut ourselves off from our beginnings. If we do that, we forget who we are.'
'Perhaps it is time, Father, for us to cease trying to remember, and for us to just decide who we are.'
Dr. Frost laughed. 'Bravo, Caleb. To parrot so effectively the pamphlets that circulate in camera is an art. Captain, what do you think of the rights of Men and nobility?'
Owen looked up from swiping a piece of bread through the empty bowl. 'To be honest, sir, the army does not encourage philosophical discussions, nor does it leave much time for them. In the army we revere tradition, so I agree with you there. But, I suppose, were I the puppy, there would come a point where taking a bite out of my master's hand might seem appealing.'
'Ha!' Caleb smiled and refilled Owen's glass. 'You see, Father!'
'Well now, Master Frost, I'm not saying I agree with you. Men aren't puppies. A puppy isn't aware that a beating will follow that biting. A man should know better, and know if he wants to invite that beating.'
Caleb's eyes sharpened. 'But, Captain, is a man a man when he accepts that someone else says he's inferior and never tests that assumption? As my father said, Mystrians were cast upon this shore because we were expendable. Everyone in Norisle would have been happy if we had died. Fact is, we didn't. My grandfather came over as an indentured servant to a miller. Worked his way out of his obligation, then turned to trading. In thirty years he made enough to build this house, endow part of the College, and send ships to every corner of the globe. Yet there's not fishmonger in Highgate or a lowly clerk in the City that doesn't believe himself better than the best of us.'
Owen ran a hand over his jaw. He'd seen the same treatment at school and within the army, but there, to react was to be punished quickly and severely. Did curbing his desire to defend himself make him less of a man? Did it stop his shots from hitting targets?
Dr. Frost raised his wine glass. 'I submit, gentlemen, that this discussion, which is really the eternal struggle of children to gain the recognition of parents, will not be resolved this evening. Let us, therefore, table it and discuss more pleasant things.
'After all,' Dr. Frost's smile wavered for the first time, 'if your reason for coming here, Captain Strake, is true, the least pleasant of man's inventions will be coming to our shores. And, I suspect, it is an immigrant which will be most reluctant to leave.'
Chapter Seven
April 28, 1763
The Frost Residence, Temperance
Temperance Bay, Mystria
O wen awoke with a start, reaching out for his wife. His dream had been vivid enough that he sought warmth in the emptiness where she should have lain. Her absence disoriented him. It was several hours past dawn, marking this as the latest he'd slept in months, and it likewise confused him.
He tried to sit upright, but the soft mattress resisted his effort. He surrendered, the feather pillow molding itself to mute bird-calls from outside. He smiled and tried to capture the dream's fleeting images.
Catherine had joined him in Mystria. They attended a ball at the Prince's home. The center of his laboratory had been cleared and the bear and the jeopard took part in the dance. The moose appeared also. Well-mannered, all the animals, enjoying themselves while a regimental band played. The Prince danced with Catherine and she smiled as broadly as ever he had seen. And then she came to him and clung to him and they found themselves in his bed, making love.
Owen might have been tempted to put the dream down to nothing at all, save that Catherine believed fervently in dreams. He had no idea what the presence of the animals meant. He forced himself to remember what he could, so he could write it all down for his next letter home. She could make of it what she wanted.
He closed his eyes again just for another moment, and then remembered nothing until the light tapping on the door presaged its opening.
An elderly valet entered bearing his coat, vest, and breeches freshly washed. Owen pulled himself up against the headboard as the man hung his clothes in the wardrobe. Wordlessly the servant stepped into the hallway again, then returned with freshly polished boots.
