follow, and just after dark reached Plentiful.
Under Makepeace’s direction, and with the help of Hodge Dunsby and the men he brought with him, Plentiful had been rebuilt. They’d leveled off a hilltop and constructed a palisaded fort which commanded the entire valley. They’d also expanded the settlement’s graveyard and placed it toward the northeast end, well above the floodline. New homes sprang up between the two points, and had been built as small blockhouses that allowed for overlapping fire and mutual support.
What had once been a peaceful, religiously based town, had become a military encampment. Nathaniel wasn’t too certain how Arise Faith would have taken to that idea. Out of respect for him and Plentiful’s origins, the fort did include a chapel and services were held twice weekly. Yet the chapel’s steeple was manned around the clock, and watchmen kept their eyes peeled southwest for anything coming from the Westridge Mountains.
The three of them dragged the travois into the fort and to the structure where Makepeace made his home. They left the troll under the roofed-over sideyard, warmed and fed themselves, then returned to taking stock of the monster. Nathaniel and Makepeace put the bits back together as best they could. Kamiskwa came in behind them, measuring things and jotting them down in a notebook, just as Owen would usually do.
Once he’d collected some basic information, Kamiskwa retreated to the cabin and prepared to send a sundown message to the Prince. He drew the thaumagraph from a locked cabinet and set it up on Makepeace’s table. To Nathaniel’s eye, the device looked to be a boxy guitar, complete with hole, and fitted with ten strings, but absent a neck.
From a small drawer built into the side opposite the tuning pegs Kamiskwa pulled a flat, wooden tile. On it had been burned the image of a crown and below it a clock face. Kamiskwa slid that into a slot on the base where it became part of the device’s sounding board. That particular tile linked the device to the thaumagraph in Temperance, whereas others would link it to the one at Prince Haven, or at Count von Metternin’s home.
Nathaniel understood, in theory, how things worked. Each string represented a number from zero to nine; and all the messages were coded as numbers by matching words to a book or by using a grid to spell letters out. Only just beginning to be comfortable with writing, he left all the coding to Kamiskwa or Makepeace, both of whom had learned to read early on.
Kamiskwa began sending the message by plucking strings. It wasn’t much of a pretty song and wasn’t one that was going to get itself stuck in Nathaniel’s head. Once he’d finished sending part of the message, he’d repeat it. When he’d completed the entire message, he sat back. “Now we wait two days for a reply.”
Nathaniel frowned. “Ain’t no question what the Prince is going to say.”
Musical notes issued hauntingly from the thaumagraph. Kamiskwa turned a page in the thaumagraph journal and got ready to write. “Caleb, from the sound of it.”
“He saying anything useful?” Nathaniel thought it kind of queer that one could tell from the way the notes sounded who was plucking the strings. Kamiskwa sent messages with an easy rhythm, whereas Nathaniel’s messages came in fits and starts as he worked out what he should be sending. Bethany had a lighter hand. Caleb’s messages came fast, but sometimes haste introduced errors.
Kamiskwa shook his head. “Just a message to let us know they got our last.” He closed the journal. “You think the Prince will want us to bring this troll to him.”
“I reckon he’d rank this up there with that jeopard.” Nathaniel looked over as Makepeace opened the door. “Think we can get that thing back to the Prince?”
Makepeace stamped snow from his feet and closed the door behind him. “I kin rustle you up snowshoes and a sledge, that ain’t nothing. Most all the lakes is iced over, half the rivers, too. Storms coming in from the northwest. You ain’t moving for three days or more. Fighting that storm will kill you sure as anything.”
The watchman in the chapel belfry shouted, and something bellowed in the darkness. The three of them ran out and mounted the wall. They looked toward the mountains, hoping they didn’t see anything arcane from the site of the ruins. What attracted their attention, however, was a lot closer.
Nathaniel looked at Kamiskwa. “I reckon you got yourself a pet.”
The wooly rhino trotted toward the palisade and grunted. “If we could hitch him to the sledge, he could haul the troll, but if the wind shifted so he caught its scent, he would go mad.”
“That he would, I reckon.” Nathaniel thought for a second, and smiled. “Then again, I reckon I know a way we can fix that and have the Prince his specimen faster than anyone would think possible.”
Chapter Forty-five
20 March 1768 St. Martin’s Cathedral, Temperance Temperance Bay, Mystria
Brigadier General Ian Rathfield did not let the fact that his cavalry had not yet received their horses dampen his mood. He held his head high, standing there atop the Cathedral steps, with the Bishop and his family on one side and Prince Vlad and his family on the other. Ian drew his sword and snapped it straight up, letting the sun glint from the silvery steel. A heartbeat later his men did the same, the whisper of metal becoming a unified thunder which drew grasps from the crowd.
There on the government square three battalions of the Fifth Northland paraded. Their captains took them through a complicated series of marching maneuvers, each wordlessly signaled by the twist of an upraised sword. Cavalry normally hated parading without their mounts, but Ian had instilled in the Fifth a love of foot drill.
Many of the men attributed their survival in the Tharyngian war to such training. Muddy ground had made charging impractical, whereas riding hard to a flank and firing with their carbines at close range had made them very effective. They’d been transformed into mounted skirmishers and often had been tasked with harassing enemy columns. It struck Ian fortuitously that they had learned to fight in that manner, since Mystria and its undeveloped terrain largely negated traditional cavalry tactics.
His troops did look wonderful. Their red jackets had black facings which featured two red stripes running from breastbone back and up toward their shoulders. They wore white knickers and tall boots, with silver spurs that shone brightly as they turned sharply back and forth. Their carbines were shorter than the standard issue musket, making them suitable for carrying on horseback. The first battalion had been issued muzzle-loading rifles which took longer to load, but were more accurate and could hit targets at a longer range. Bayonets had not been fixed for drill, but hung on white sashes and slapped against the men’s left hips.
He only had three battalions to parade. The Fourth had headed south with the Prince’s Life Guards, hoping to round up horses. The Fifth had shipped back north. Squads would be dropped along the coast to likewise gather horses. He would have preferred that either their horses had been shipped, or that bullion had come to finance the purchases. As it was, his officers were authorized to provide scrip which could be redeemed at headquarters. This meant he’d get some horses, but not the best.
It really didn’t matter. He could not help but smile as the men, stern-faced beneath their tall hats topped with red fringe, wove their battalions together in a dazzling display of precision drilling. Had all the clouds burned off, and had bayonets been mounted, sunlight would have reflected brilliantly from them as it did an ocean swell. As it was, no one could have looked upon the Fifth and not known fear.
As the men returned to their starting places and stamped to a stop, Ian lowered his sword. His heart pounded against his rib cage. He could not suppress his smile, nor did he make an attempt to. Instead he looked all the men over, meeting their gazes, then raised his voice. “Regiment, dismissed!”
The men broke apart by squads and filed in an orderly manner through the crowds and into the city via all four corners of Government Square. People cheered and a few hats flew-none of those worn by the Regiments, but those of civilians-and children ran and skipped in the soldiers’ wake. Each soldier was being temporarily billeted with local families, at least until the Life Guards’ old barracks could be refurbished. The citizens had taken to housing troops surprisingly well, despite having just learned of the Shipping and Commerce Act at services.
Bishop Bumble stepped to Ian’s side and offered his hands. “I just wish to say, General, that I am very impressed. Not only at the drill, but in the Regiment’s choir. Their voices truly made heavenly music today.”
“And that, Bishop, is with a number of the best singers gone hunting horses.” Ian shook his hand heartily. “I have found that by encouraging the men to attend services, and to join together in things like the choir, they become a tight-knit group.”
“And it would keep them out of trouble in the field, I should imagine.”
