Free At the Queen's Command by Michael A. Stackpole

clear?”
    The Lieutenant nodded. “Yes, sir.”
    Owen shoved him back into his chair. “Langford is profiteering. I know that. He sends trade goods back to Norisle as military cargo, avoiding tariffs. I shall assume, based on the orders concerning the beef, that the ‘service charge’ is paid back to him by the Cask family? And that you never quite get as many barrels of preserved beef as ought to come out of the number of cattle sent off to slaughter?”
    “Yes, sir. And one of the Casks is a tanner, too, sir, so he gets the hides. The bones are ground for meal, used in the fields.”
    The Captain nodded. “And one of the reasons that our butchers are not available to slaughter our beef is that Langford has them off working as laborers?”
    Palmerston’s face closed. “They work for Cask in the slaughter house.”
    Getting away with hiring troops out as day labor would be simple to hide. Even if the troops reported this activity—and most wouldn’t since they were just following orders and didn’t know any better—where would the reports go? If the officers weren’t part of the deal, rank and file soldiers likely wouldn’t be believed. Many of the officers were convinced that the extra work would be good for the scum in the ranks. Even more would consider the whole thing beneath the honor of a gentleman , so if there were to be a court-martial, Langford would get off with a mild reprimand.
    “How can you hide the loss of brimstone and firestones?” Mystria, for very sound reasons, was prohibited from manufacturing its own brimstone or firestones—both of which Her Majesty’s government sought to strictly control. For hundreds to be stolen each year and distributed on the black market could not escape notice.
    Palmerston fidgeted. “Well, sir, I am not the one who writes reports that go back to Horse Guards. But if I understand it, the Colonel makes up little operations against raiding Twilight People. He reports successfully repelling attacks, sir, with appropriate expenditures of brimstone and firestone. It seems, sir, that as long as he’s winning, no one in Launston has any complaints. He even praises men like you, sir, in his reports; so there are those who say these things happen. If the Colonel likes you, sir, you might even get a medal.”
    Owen’s stomach began to fold in on itself. “Tell me this, if you know it. The other expeditions, the ones the Casks and Branches did. How far did they go?”
    The Lieutenant sighed. “I don’t know for certain, sir, but I can tell you this. Come spring every year after these expeditions, Rufus Branch’s wife has had her a baby. She ain’t much to look at, and fear of Rufus would keep most men away if she was. But he hain’t beat her for taking another man to her bed, and the children are all ruddy and red like their father. I’d say, sir, most all what’s in those reports was dreamed up, and most like while he was sleeping in his own bed here in the South End.”
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Chapter Eight

    April 28, 1763
    The Frost Residence, Temperance
    Temperance Bay, Mystria
     
    T he arrival of a breathless messenger saved Palmerston from any further interrogation. The Private, straightening his hat as he snapped to attention, saluted abruptly. “Begging your pardon, Captain Strake. The Colonel’s compliments, sir.”
    Owen straightened and returned the salute. “Yes, Private?”
    “The Colonel requests you come to Government House straight away, sir.” The soldier swallowed hard. “The Prince, sir, is in court and has requested the two of you attend him.”
    “Very well, Private. Please convey to the Colonel my intention to join him forthwith.”
    “If it pleases the Captain, the Colonel ordered me to conduct you there without delay.”
    “Yes, Private. Wait outside for me to join you.”
    The soldier departed and Owen turned to Palmerston. “You will write up a report concerning Langford’s illegal activities. You will make two copies. One you will entrust