Nathaniel put them on course so the breeze would guide them straight to the Prince's landing.
Up on the grounds, two figures stood wrapped in cloaks, with Mugwump nosing the snow out of his way. Nathaniel raised a paddle and one of them pointed. Smaller, with golden hair-it had to be the Princess.
Beside her the Prince raised hands to his mouth. He shouted something, but the breeze carried his words off. The Prince started toward the dock.
The wurm raised his head. Nostrils dilated, then his tail flicked. The beast whipped around and in two quick bounds, plunged past the Prince and through the shore ice. His tail lashed, spraying the Prince, then vanished without a trace. Nathaniel looked into the water but saw nothing until the wurm surfaced again.
Mugwump came up fast, right beneath Makepeace's canoe. The beast's nose flipped the fragile craft into the air, snapping it in two. Makepeace tumbled backward. The pasmorte spun upward, lazily, struggling ineffectively against the ropes binding him.
And Mugwump, hanging in the air for an impossibly long time, opened his jaws and devoured Etienne Ilsavont in one big gulp.
Chapter Forty-Three
November 23, 1763
Prince Haven
Temperance Bay, Mystria
V lad stared disbelieving, a hand outstretched, as Mugwump snatched the man out of the air. The wurm's body slowly twisted, his tail all the way clear of the water. Mugwump splashed down on his back, sending spray and a wave that almost swamped the other canoe. And yet, despite the splash, there was no mistaking a second opening and closing of jaws, and a large lump moving down the wurm's throat.
Wurms had eaten riders before, or so the stories said. The riders had always been evil, unsavory men-again, according to the stories. It always seemed they had provoked the wurms into it and deserved their fates.
Then Mugwump surfaced again, a sputtering man draped across his muzzle. The Prince waited for the head flip that would propel the man into the air, then a quick snatch for another bite. The tail flicked and Mugwump sped toward the shore, a wave breaking high as he came up out of the water and straight onto the snowy lawn.
Vlad instinctively ran over, gathering Gisella behind him, shielding her with his body. 'Don't run. He might see you as prey.'
She held onto his shoulders, shivering. 'Yes, my lord.'
Mugwump lowered his head, letting the man roll to the ground. The wurm stared at the Prince, the golden eyes full of curiosity. The wurm nosed the man again, flipping him over onto his stomach, where he vomited and started muttering a psalm.
Vlad raised a hand, uncertain of what do to, but perceiving no threat. 'What is it? What am I missing?'
The wurm's eyes half closed, then he turned and trundled off to the wurmrest, head held proudly high.
Is that it, or is that what I want to see?
Nathaniel and Kamiskwa, came running over, guns in hand. The Altashee knelt by the man Mugwump had rescued. The man vomited again, then gathered himself on all fours. 'Ain't supposed to breathe drink. I will be fine.'
Vlad looked at Nathaniel. 'Who did Mugwump kill?'
'Ain't like he killed him. I done that. Twice.' Nathaniel shook his head. 'Etienne Ilsavont. He was a pasmorte like his father. Your bullet worked like a charm.'
'You shall have to tell me everything. First, however, we should get inside and fetch your companion some dry clothes.'
The large man's wet beard and clothes made him look like a half-drowned cat, though his smile attested to his good spirits. 'I don't reckon you'll have much more than a sheet will fit me, but I would be obliged for a lend of one while these things dry.'
'Nonsense. My father was a large man. There is a trunk in the attic. I am Prince Vladimir, by way of introduction, and this is Princess Gisella of Kesse-Saxeburg.'
The large man's eyes widened, then he came up on one knee and bowed his head. 'Pleased and honored, Your Highnesses.'
Nathaniel slapped the man on a soggy shoulder. 'This is Makepeace Bone.'
'Ah, the man wounded at Anvil Lake.'
Makepeace got up again. 'T'weren't nothing, Highness. Just got all meat, no bone.'
Nathaniel's smile slowly evaporated. 'Anvil Lake's where we got the pasmorte.'
'Any word of Captain Strake? I sent Jean off to trade for him.'
'He'll be a bit late for that, Highness.' The woodsman swallowed hard. 'Captain Strake ain't coming back.'
The Prince took them up to the main house and left Kamiskwa, Makepeace, and Nathaniel to build a roaring fire in the dining room's fireplace. Gisella set herself the task of arranging food and drink. Vlad dispatched Baker to close Mugwump in the wurmrest and watch him, firing up the boiler as the day drew to an end.
He took it upon himself to go to the attic and retrieve clothes. Without too much difficulty he located the wooden chest and opened it. He unfolded a shirt and held it up. It might barely fit. He also found trousers and doubted they could be buttoned closed, but they would have to do. Below them he found a folded blanket, which he also pulled out.
A small packet of letters fell to the floor. They had been tied with a ribbon, which had been sealed with wax. The seal bore the imprint of his mother's signet, and the letter on top had been addressed to his father in her hand. By riffling the corners, however, he saw other letters in his father's hand. The paper looked old and the date on the first letter marked it as being older than he was.
Blushing for reasons he could not fathom, he hid the letters back in the chest and returned to his guests. Makepeace's wet clothes got hauled into the kitchen to dry while the large man sat wrapped in a blanket, his feet perilously close to the fire.
Gisella and a serving girl arrived with mulled cider and stew, bread, and cheese. Vlad offered whiskey, which Nathaniel accepted, but Kamiskwa and Makepeace refused. They chatted pleasantly while the men ate, with Gisella effortlessly playing hostess. Once they had finished their stew, she cleared the bowls, then returned to sit quietly at Vlad's side.
Nathaniel reported on the expedition and confined himself to important facts-or the facts he thought the Prince wanted to hear. He described the battle with the pasmortes in a bit more sanitized detail than he might have in the past, occasionally glancing at the Princess as he did so, but Vlad understood what he was doing and found the information fascinating.
'You say Ilsavont acted as if palsied? Limbs would shake, overall weakness?'
''Cepting his mouth, which ran just fine.'
Vlad stroked his chin. 'I had hoped the iron would kill them outright, but debilitating them also works. I wish I'd had a chance to examine him or even this Hisser.'
Makepeace shook his head. 'Poor little feller. He was scared most all the time. Didn't mind lugging the travois for a piece, though.'
'That's interesting. You're saying the pasmorte followed your orders?'
'Just hitched him up, told him to follow.'
'Told, or commanded?'
Makepeace tugged on his beard. 'Come to think on it, my voice did rise a mite.'
'Very good.'
Nathaniel frowned. 'But now Ilsavont, he didn't take no orders at all.'
'No, I gathered that, and this is what I find interesting. We know the pasmortes, some of them at least, can work magick. Ilsavont and his father both maintained some of their personality and could shoot. I would hazard a guess that your Hisser could not have. Logic and reason are critical for doing complex tasks. Following orders, however, only requires obedience. Tell me truthfully, gentlemen, did Hisser exhibit any behavior that would mark him as being more intelligent than, say, a dog?'
