is the work of years, maybe a decade. Which path to choose? Black Lake seems the easiest route, but the Green River out of Lac Verleau and into the Upper Tillie and tributaries also works. Where to begin?'
Nathaniel pulled his knees up to his chest. 'Begging your pardon, but ain't the two of you looking at this ass-end around?'
Owen frowned. 'Meaning?'
'You're guessing and call it figuring. Shouldn't look for where he'll end. Look for where he's starting.' Nathaniel pointed at the map. 'He sailed up the Argent two weeks ago. He'll be stopping in Kebeton to round up men and supplies iffen he's going to be building his forts. Take least a week. The Ryngians, they'll be a-wanting to hear him palaver about something. They'll feast him a bunch. He'll need scouts. He'll hire trappers and traders. We find out who is missing from his normal haunts, we find du Malphias.'
Owen smiled at the Prince. 'I suddenly understand your liking this man.'
'Yes, don't let his rustic nature fool you, Captain. He's smarter than he wants to let anyone know.'
Nathaniel laughed, his long hair dangling as he threw his head back. 'It ain't no strategizing, it's trapping. Find the beaver lodge, set the trap nearby.'
'This beaver will have very sharp fangs.' Owen drank to wash the sour taste from his mouth. 'This is important enough that you will want reports, yes, Highness?'
'Yes. Encrypted, I should think.' The Prince's brows furrowed. 'You don't have a crypto-lens, do you?'
'No, Highness.'
'Do you know how to work a book cipher, Captain?'
'I fear not, Highness.'
'It is fairly simple and unbreakable save the enemy is able to find the book that is the key.' Vlad pointed toward his house. 'I will find a book, one for which I have the matching volume. To send a message, you write it out and then, leafing through the book, you find a page on which a particular word is printed. You substitute the page number, paragraph number, and word number for the word in your message. If the word 'amber,' for example, was found on page forty, third paragraph, fourth word, it would be written 40-3-4. Furthermore, you will date your notes, and subtract the date from thirty-six, adding the difference to every value. If you are writing on the 30th, the word would be represented as 46-9-10. Is that clear?'
'Yes, Highness.'
'Eliminate articles like 'a' and 'the'-they just waste time-and underestimate any numbers by twenty percent. If someone does intercept a message and translates it, they will believe we are fooled. Send things to me by way of the Frosts, please.'
'Yes, Highness.' Owen smiled and dug into his jacket pocket, producing the Haste book. 'Doctor Frost gave me this to read. Could we use it?'
The Prince laughed. 'A delicious idea. No one would ever think a Norillian agent was using a seditious text for covert purposes. Splendid.'
Nathaniel grinned. 'And what would a Prince of the realm be doing with such a book?'
'Memorizing it, actually, and with more haste now, no pun intended. The book is fascinating.' The Prince returned the smile. 'You should learn to read. You would enjoy it.'
'I read honest sign. Man-scratches ain't never honest.'
'But they can be illuminating. Perhaps Captain Strake will be good enough to read you selections on your journey.'
Owen and Nathaniel exchanged glances. That isn't going to happen.
'Captain, I've prepared a short list of things I'd like you to keep your eye out for. Samples, if you can, a description if you cannot. I understand the focus of your mission, but if you would indulge me…'
'As you wish, Highness.'
'Thank you.' He stood. 'How will you travel?'
Nathaniel chewed a big bite of chicken breast and swallowed fast. 'We'll go due west up Old Ben as far as we can, then head north. The Altashee will be at Saint Luke, so we'll see what they have heard, then to Hattersburg. From there we go north or west. Probably north. Two-three weeks out from there, weather holds.'
'Very good.' The Prince opened his arms. 'Please, my friends, eat while I get that list. I wish you could stay but your mission, I fear, has an urgency none can deny.'
Kamiskwa and Nathaniel fell to devouring the chicken and cheese. Owen forced himself to eat, knowing he'd need it. Both of his companions lived well off the bounty of the land, but either could have hidden behind a scarecrow without fear of detection. Hunting didn't always mean killing, and fishing didn't always mean catching, so they might be days between meals.
He was glad for the relative silence with which they ate. He'd accepted his mission on the mistaken belief that it would be a simple surveying job. It wouldn't be an easy one, but neither would it be terribly complex. He had expected to have the time to complete it and do it thoroughly so his work would not invite criticism.
News of du Malphias changed all that. Though Nathaniel was right that they had to find du Malphias before they could concentrate on what routes he might use to attack the colonies, this perforce meant Owen could not accomplish his original mission. He'd been with the army long enough to know what that meant. Even if his work was critical in defeating du Malphias and driving the Ryngians from Mystria, the results of his mission would be compared against his orders. He would be judged a failure.
That inevitability saddened Owen. The Crown had always rewarded bold explorers who returned with information that would increase the Crown's holdings and wealth. Owen had believed, deep down, that he might discover a pass that could be named after him, or a bountiful lake or river which led even further into the continent's interior. The Queen might see fit to grant him a peerage. If he was lucky, he could use his knowledge of Mystria to make money and gain status that would equal or surpass the Ventnor family. It would be his ultimate victory over his family.
And Catherine would be even more proud of him.
But now that avenue to glory had been walled off, and a malignant Tharyngian Laureate manned the barricade with his Platine Guards in tow. The only glory Owen was likely to win was posthumous, and he didn't find that idea appealing in the least.
And yet, never did it occur to him to abandon his mission. His duty to the Crown superseded his own wishes. Moreover, the information he'd gather would save soldiers' lives. It would even create another opportunity for his uncle to swath himself in glory.
Kamiskwa made a comment in Altashee and Nathaniel laughed.
Owen arched an eyebrow. 'What?'
'Kamiskwa called you Aodaga. Means 'thunderface.' You're brooding and he reckons you're dangerous when you do.'
'I suppose he could be right.' Owen popped a last bite of cheese into his mouth and finished his wine. 'Du Malphias is someone I'd just as soon have back in Tharyngia.'
'I get a clean shot, I'll be happy to send him to Hell. That's fair close to Tharyngia, ain't it?'
Owen laughed. 'I expect it is.'
The Prince returned and handed Owen the list and a small jar of the unguent for his heels. He gave Kamiskwa a small, leather-bound box. 'Your father had commented on my spectacles and I secured him a pair. I thought he might enjoy them.'
'You are very generous, Prince Vlad.' The Altashee tucked the package into his bag. 'He will visit you again when the leaves turn. And now he will find his way easily.'
'I look forward to his visit.' The Prince started off down toward the wurmrest. 'We had a bit of a wind two nights ago. A branch fell and, I'm afraid, damaged your large canoe.'
Kamiskwa set off with the Prince. Nathaniel grabbed Owen by the shoulder. 'One thing you'll want to be learning about the Shedashee-the Twilight People.'
'Yes?'
'Generous people to a fault. Among them, if you say you like something, admiring it like, they'll give it to you. If you refuse it, it's a great insult.' Nathaniel nodded toward the Prince. 'When Kamiskwa's father was here last, he took a serious liking to the Prince's glasses.'
'You're not having me on in saying this?'
Nathaniel shook his head. 'I'll still be joking with you about some things, but nothing there's likely to be blood
