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

to Caleb Frost. The other you will prepare for me.”
    Palmerston’s eyes grew wide. “The Colonel, he’d kill me, sir.”
    “The only way you can prevent him from killing you, Lieutenant, is to prepare those reports. I will release them if any harm comes to you.” Owen tapped a finger on his own requisition. “You will prepare my supplies immediately and you will cut the other order down to fifty firestones, do you understand? I will come back and count them.”
    “Yes, sir.” The man sighed. “I wasn’t meaning no harm, what I did.”
    “I understand that, Lieutenant.” When the Tharyngian war ended, the army would shrink. Men like Palmerston would be retired on a fraction of their pay. The man likely had no other trade, no prospects, save for what he could put by. Avoiding poverty only made sense.
    “You lost your fingers and eye on the Continent, yes?”
    “Ryngian ambush. Musket-ball hit my barrel. Took two fingers. Stock splinter took my eye.”
    “I’m here to see that doesn’t happen again. Without good information, the Ryngians will ambush us just as you were ambushed. And from what you’ve told me, a survey that’s over a century old is more to be trusted than the one sent to Horse Guards last year. We can’t have that.”
    The Lieutenant nodded. “No, sir. I’ll do what you’ve told me to do, sir.”
    “Good.” Owen sighed. “Her Majesty will thank you.”
    “If it’s all the same, sir, I’d just as soon she didn’t even know I existed.”
    A man after my own heart. Owen threw the man a salute, then found the waiting soldier outside. They set off and entered the city center from the south, passing beneath the shadow of St. Martin’s Cathedral. Like the Frost’s house, it had been built of granite, with flying buttresses and a gray slate roof. The bell tower rose to the height of fifty feet and had a cross atop it that went another twenty. It had been modeled on St. Paul’s in Launston, but lacked the ornate statuary in niches at the front. The bronze doors were smaller and had been shipped from Norisle, as no native industry could have produced them.
    To the west lay Government House. Like the Cathedral, it had been scaled down from its Norillian counterpart. Stone had not been wasted on more than the foundation—local timber had been used to finish it. Three stories tall, it had been built wide rather than deep. It occupied the whole of the western edge of the square and had three separate sets of doors: one for each wing, and the broader central doors toward which the Private led Owen.
    Colonel Langford waited impatiently inside the foyer, a relatively cramped space with creaking floorboards and tall windows. He dismissed the soldier with a snarl, then pulled Owen into a shadowed corner.
    “What did you say to the Prince yesterday?”
    Owen stood tall.“I do not believe the Prince intended you to be privy to our conversation, sir, little of which concerned you.”
    “Captain, I am ordering you.”
    “We spoke of my mission.” Owen opened his hands. “The Prince then invited me to take a look at his wurm. After that, I returned to Temperance.”
    “You didn’t talk about me?”
    “Aside from mentioning that I had reported my arrival to you, no, sir.”
    Langford pursed his lips. “Very well. Here is the thing of it. On occasion the Prince decides that his being Governor-General requires him to do more than his abominable Ryngianesque researches. He wishes to discuss your expedition.”
    Owen nodded.
    “You are required to be there. You will answer questions only if I give you leave to do so. Do you understand?”
    “My duty, sir, is to Her Majesty…”
    Langford’s face darkened. He thrust a finger at Owen’s nose. “Your duty, sir, depends upon my support. You will be spending the summer here, perhaps longer. You will need my help. If you know what is good for you, you will do as I tell you to do. You are a very long way from Norisle, Captain. Many things can