Kingdom River

Sam considered Patricio Stewart. Big, bulky man with direct blue eyes and a bad temper. Broken nose, possibly because of his bad temper. For some reason, wore his long black hair in pigtails, held with silver clips.

'Alright.' The stool had been doing Sam's back no good. He stood up, leaned on his scabbarded sword. An aching back at twenty-seven; he'd be a bent old man, no doubt about it. 'Alright. We'll issue that order of a single term only, for governer of any province.'

'Still five years?'

'Yes. Still a five-year term, once elected against all comers. But one term only.'

'And if the other governers object? Follow Stewart?'

'Charles, I won't kill them; they were elected by their people. And I won't kill Stewart, for the same reason.' The rain swept like a slow broom down the windows, dimming the daylight so Ketch, behind his desk, seemed to fade with it. 'Instead, when this happens, I'll kill the person most important in supporting their independence.'

'… I see.'

'Might be Eric talking?'

Charles shrugged. 'Eric has his uses.'

'Who is Stewart's most important friend in this tax thing? Who stands behind him in Sonora?'

'… His wife's father, I believe. A formidable man, Johnson Neal. I know him, raises spotted cattle.'

'Have Neal arrested, Charles. See that he's tried for treason in the tax matter. For plotting to destroy our unity… possibly in the Khan's pay, or the Emperor's. Then hang him.'

In deepening shadows, Charles had become a ghost. 'And if the magistrate makes some difficulty, Sam?'

'Choose a magistrate who won't. This is to be done at once. And the same magistrate is to issue a judgment referring to payment of provincial taxes as duty inescapable.'

'That's… that should be effective.'

'Also, find a discontented priest of Mountain Jesus, a man who may have had problems with Stewart's people over shares of altar gifts, distributions… whatever. Bound to be one. Advise the man to preach, publicly and often, proper obedience to Better-Weather. Three gold spikes will be sent, later, to be driven into any temple tree he wishes.'

The ghost sat silent.

'- And all a legal and administrative matter, Charles, and your responsibility. Neither Eric nor the army are to have anything to do with it… Understood?'

'Meaning, I suppose, that I tend to avoid unpleasant necessities?'

'Meaning that, Charles – and that it should be seen as a matter of law, not of my will and my soldiers.'

'I'll see to it.'

'Quickly, in the next few days, so send fast pigeons. We're going to need that money… Oh, and once the taxes are received – and all in coin, not kind – spare what we can for road-work in Sonora. Build a bridge, and name it after Stewart. A modest bridge.'

'Yes…' The spectral Charles Ketch seemed to smile. 'Really very sensible, I suppose.'

'But sad for Johnson Neal's daughter?'

'Yes.'

'Only if she's stupid, Charles.' Sam slung his sword on his back. 'If she's clever, she'll know her father hanged in her husband's place.'

'Then, let's hope she's clever… And the matter of remounts for this… excursion up into Texas?'

Sam paused at the office door. 'Every damn horse in Nuevo Leon, if necessary. Have your people pay their price and bring them in. If it has four legs and can carry a man, Howell is to have it.'

'May have to pay with script.'

'Get them in, Charles.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I want the first draft corralled in Ocampo in four days. The second, three days later in La Babia.'

'Sam – I'll need more time, just a few days more.'

'Charles, I don't have the time to give you. First and Second Regiments of Heavies and Second Regiment of Lights, reinforced, will be there; Howell is picking them up as he goes.'

'The reserves?'

'Every trooper.'

'Nailed Jesus. How are we going to pay them? We have no plans for calling up the reserves, Sam, except for war. For war, they'd wait for their money. This will be thousands of gold pesos every day!'

'This, Charles, is war's beginning.'

'Dear Weather…'

'And what money we don't have later, I'll borrow from the Emperor.'

'Oh, of course! Would you tell me why Rosario e Vega would agree to pay our army?'

'Oh, I think he'd prefer to, Charles, rather than see it coining down through Zacatecas to pay him a visit.'

Ketch laughed, laughter from darkness, over the sound of rain. 'Might work, at that… Alright. The remounts will be there, Sam. At Ocampo and La Babia. But it will cost us a fortune, and make enemies in Nuevo Leon.'

'Any rancher who objects to parting with his horses, Charles, is welcome to go with them up to Map-Fort Stockton.'

'Understood.'

***

…In the corridor, two big soldiers with curved body-shields at rest, short-swords drawn, stood spaced down the passage a few yards apart. In greased boots and horse-hide trousers, with straps of oiled steel body-armor from shoulder to hip, they stood still as if frozen, their faces obscure behind helmet nasals.

A watch-mastiff's rising – and Sam's shadow, thrown by sconced lamplight along the walls – alerted both deaf-mutes as he came, and their helmets turned toward him smoothly as Warm-time machinery must have done.

The first guard was a woman – taller than Sam was, and wider. She made a comic face, wiggled her eyebrows at him as he passed her great grumbling dog, so he went smiling past the second soldier to the stairs.

CHAPTER 10

Martha was lost. Almost two weeks in the Queen's chambers had taught her nothing of Island's directions, passages, and endless ups and downs.

The Queen's chambers were the whole top of North Tower, three great whitewashed drum-round rooms, one above the other. The lowest was guarded on narrow left-winding stone steps by six soldiers, three in green- enameled steel, and three in blue. Very polite soldiers, who'd nodded and smiled at Martha every time she went up or down.

They'd smiled and nodded, but never spoke to her, and all six unsheathed their swords each time the iron doors opened at the top or bottom of the stairs. They drew their swords… watched her coming to them, up or down, then sheathed their swords, smiled and nodded.

In. those few days, Martha'd learned that tower. Queen's chambers above, guardroom below, kitchen and pantry below that… then down more winding steps to the scrub-laundry, with its water barrels, kettles, stone tubs, and ever-hot iron stove. The laundress was Mary Po, a big silent scrubber with hands ruined by lye and hot water; there were no nails on her fingers. The girl Walda helped her, and ironed the Queen's robes and woven linen with flat polished stones hot from the Franklin, so the room smelled of cloth heated to nearly scorching.

There were all those levels of the Queen's tower, and places deeper still, down steeper steps through little iron