Of Limited Loyalty

Chapter Fifty-seven

26 May 1768 Bishop House, Temperance Temperance Bay, Mystria

Bishop Othniel Bumble turned the note over and over in his hands. The cream-colored stationery had been folded crisply and sealed in red wax which bore no crest or sign of the person who sealed it. It had been addressed to him in a delightfully delicate hand, written in sepia ink. The letters had been written boldly, with no hesitation.

Livinia, hovering in the doorway to his office, wrung her hands. “All is well, yes, Othniel?”

“Yes, I do believe so.” He slid a thumb beneath the flap, but hesitated. He didn’t want to tear the paper. He snapped the seal instead, then scraped away what little wax remained with his nail. He unfolded the note, turning it so he could read the three words written there.

“It is true.”

“Yes! Yes!” Bishop Bumble pounded a fist against his desk. His inkwell jumped, spilling a black teardrop onto his blotter. He rose from his chair, lifting the letter as he would the Eucharist during services. “This is everything, absolutely everything. I have them and they cannot escape.”

His wife had cringed at his outburst. “You have whom?”

“The Prince, his wife, Owen Strake, pretty much anyone I want from that clique.” Bumble laughed aloud. “Thank you, God, for delivering Your enemies into my hands. Oh, I shall do Your work so well.”

“But how could the Prince have done anything, husband? He is away, in the west.”

“Yes, yes he is.” He turned slowly to face her, smiling, not wanting to frighten her. “This note confirms that he has a means for quickly getting messages between where he is and Prince Haven-a supernatural means. He is using magick which is, by its very nature, heretical. It’s worse than Fox, my dear, much worse. The Prince has been seduced by all of this Tharyngian nonsense, his studies and all that. And he should know better.”

“How would he have learned…?”

Bumble laid the note on his desk, then composed himself. “It is quite simple, woman, easy enough for even you to understand. He spoke with Fox and Fox revealed to him the details of his heresy. The Prince could not allow Fox to die, so he arranged for his escape. In return, Fox becomes his mentor, teaching him things that a layman was never meant to know.”

He clapped his hands. “Do you understand what this means for me? Do you, really? Do you have any idea, the least little inkling?”

Livinia looked down, shaking her head.

“Of course you don’t.” Bumble snorted. “It means everything. You see, when the Prince returns I will tell him that I am prepared to convene another Church Tribunal. I would have him and his wife on charges. Their children would be taken away from them. Owen Strake, the Kessian, Nathaniel Woods and his whore…” He hesitated. He’d almost added in Caleb Frost and Bethany, but Livinia and Hettie Frost were thick as thieves. If he let slip that the Frost children were vulnerable, she’d warn them.

He clasped his hands at the small of his back. “The Prince, to save them all, will be forced to resign as Governor-General. He’ll be recalled to Norisle. In his place the Queen will send Lord Rivendell. Who knows the colonies better among her advisors? He’s begged for the position ever since Anvil Lake, but the Queen has denied the request because she bears some slender affection for her nephew. With him in disgrace, however…”

His wife smiled weakly. “I recall Lord Rivendell. He was pleasant, if a bit loud.”

“Yes, he was.” The Bishop made no attempt to suppress his smile. “And the things he told me when I was his Confessor, they will give me a great deal of influence over him. I daresay he will listen to anything I suggest. I will be able to make Temperance Bay and all of Mystria into what it was always meant to be.”

He began to pace, spreading his arms, using his hands to conjure invisible buildings out of the air. “Gone will be the grog-shops and taverns, the gambling houses and places where men sate unholy lusts. Sins against men will be recognized as sins against God, and sins against God shall be punished most severely. A hundred years ago an adulterress would have a scarlet letter sewn on the breast of her dress, but we shall have it branded into her flesh. Of course, not all of the Good Book’s oldest laws shall be enforced, but just those God means to have guide us now. Drunkards and fornicators shall be flogged, thieves will have their hands smashed, magicians shall have their hands encased in steel, and all of them shall be put to work for the common good until such time as they repent and accept our Savior.”

In his mind’s eye, Temperance was transformed from a small city built on a series of hills to a gleaming metropolis that shined purely and brightly as a beacon for the rest of the world. Wickedness would be driven from it, and God would bless it. He would provide manna so the people would not need to work, but just worship Him. Thousands of voices joined in prayer would send the joyous sound of their devotion across the continent, converting Twilight People and Tharyngians and whatever else lurked out there, to God’s service.

And there he would be, Othniel Bumble, the man who made everything ready for the return of God to the earth. How could God not reward him? How could God deny him the riches He had bestowed upon Solomon? God surely would raise for him a palace and a throne. He would provide gold and wives and concubines. Bumble would be returned to the image of his youth and granted the extended years given to prophets and forefathers who had done considerably less in the service of God.

It will all be mine!

“Othniel.”

He turned to face his wife again. “Yes?”

“You seemed lost there for a moment.” She managed a timid smile. “What may I do to help you? You seem so happy.”

“I am, my dear. All I have labored for is within my grasp.” Bumble returned to his desk. “I think I should like tea. And some of your cakes.”

She glanced down for a moment. “I shall have to bake you up a batch, if you do not mind. I shall be quick.”

He glanced at the clock on his office’s mantle. “Take your time, my dear. No premature celebration-God’s work must be done first. I shall write up a full report to Norisle immediately. The Archbishop must know what is going on. By the time his reply comes, the situation will have been handled, of course, but I shall not take any chances.”

“No, dear, that would not do. I shall prepare the cakes for your tea as usual.” She gave him a quick smile, then turned away and disappeared.

Pulling a folio from his desk, and a sheet from that folio, Bishop Bumble never even noticed her leave. He inked a quill, and set about writing the document that would destroy Prince Vlad and make the Bishop the master of Mystria.

Despite the wind driving snow in from the west, Owen didn’t crouch down at the southwest corner of the fort’s palisade wall. He kept watch, looking out past the tented wurmrest and the big fire around it. The Shedashee had set up their camp around it, living in small domes covered with hides. They’d oriented them with the doors to the east, as if they’d known the storms were coming for days.

“Captain Strake, Lieutenant Frost asked to see you.” Clara Brown leaned her gun against the wall. “Said I was to take over for your watch.”

Owen glanced at the sky. “Sun’s only just gone down. I’ve got an hour left.”

“She said it was urgent, sir.”

“Thanks.” Owen grabbed his rifle and descended the steps. He crossed the open yard to the thaumagraph cabin. The table upon which Prince Vlad had taken to laying out maps was still there, but the maps had been rolled up. The only thing left on it was the cannon ball with Rufus’ fist dent.

Bethany gave him a brave smile when he came in, but said nothing. She extended a note to him, then withdrew.

He opened it and read it twice. “I…”

Bethany held both hands up. “Captain Strake, you need not say anything. I am happy for you. I do hope it’s a boy.”

Owen set his rifle down and read it a third time. “To Owen. C is pregnant. She thinks she will have his son. Congratulations, G.” He looked up. “Did you transcribe this?”

Bethany nodded. “The Princess sent it twice, just to make certain.”

“This is a mistake.”

“No, Owen, it’s not. It’s not a ghost message. It’s not wrong.” Bethany shook her head. “I know what I heard. I transcribed it correctly. You and your wife are going to have a child. I don’t… I didn’t have any…”

Owen crossed to her and took her hands in his. “No, Bethany, you don’t understand. My wife and I, we have not… The last time… Last year was… This just isn’t, this isn’t right.”

He turned away, letting the note flutter to the ground. There was no way Catherine could be pregnant, not by him. They’d not slept together for months, a half-year at least. He’d been gone for over two months, and couldn’t remember having had sex with Catherine in the new year. Has it been that long? Were he the father of her child, he’d have known. She’d be set to give birth before the summer was out and would have been showing before he left.

“This isn’t right.” Owen turned back. “Are you certain Princess Gisella sent this?”

“Yes, it was her touch.” Bethany frowned. “What are you thinking?”

“Too many things, all at once.” He hesitated, words catching in his throat. Joy at the possibility of having another child sank beneath waves of shame. He could not be the father, so Catherine had to have taken a lover. She had betrayed him and yet, he felt it was his failing to honor his pledge to her which drove her into another man’s bed.

He gathered the message from the floor and stared at it. “Catherine and I have not been together as husband and wife since before the turn of the year. If my wife is pregnant, then it is either a miracle or she has a lover. I cannot imagine, in either case, why Princess Gisella would think that I need to know this information. Informing me of my wife’s infidelity is something that could have waited on my return. We do not need the distraction.”

Bethany nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing. “Catherine would know that her child is not your child. She would keep her pregnancy a secret-for the sake of her reputation and that of her lover if nothing else. She would not confess her infidelity to the Princess.”

“Right. So, for the Princess to pass this information along, she had to think it was important that I know. And that means Catherine would have impressed upon her its importance. But why would Catherine have gone to the Princess with what is either a lie or proof of her promiscuity? What does Catherine gain?”

Bethany shivered and Owen released her arms. “The Princess would not reveal to Catherine the existence of the thaumagraph. If the Princess told her that she’d get a message out as quickly as possible, Catherine would accept that and hope. But why send that message? You know it is false, but will someone else hear it as true?”

“You’re suggesting her lover is here?” Owen’s guts knotted. “She can’t send him a note since someone might wonder what my wife is doing writing to someone else. So she hopes that her lover learns that she’s carrying his child through camp gossip about this message?”

“That could be, but who…?”

The hope that Catherine’s lover lay dead on the battlefield flashed through Owen. He hated that joyous spark. It would be too easy for him to be dead. Then another idea occurred to him. Owen ran a hand over his face. “No, no, it can’t be. It can’t.”

Bethany lifted her chin. “General Rathfield.”

“No. No, it couldn’t be.” Owen wanted to feel certain in his denial, but as he thought back, it did seem that they spent a great deal of time in each other’s company. But his thinking did not stop there. It continued back yet further, to when he had returned from captivity and lay helpless in the Frost household. It had been Bethany who had tended to him- as Catherine tended to Rathfield. Bethany had literally brought him back to life and had he not been married… Do not kid yourself, Owen, even in spite of being married, you had feelings for her.

Anger smoldered within him. I respected my vows, as did Bethany.

His fist balled. “Is General Rathfield…?”

Bethany grabbed his wrist. “Owen, you can’t do anything. You don’t know that your wife has a lover, or that her lover is General Rathfield. You don’t know and you have no way of knowing.”

“Quite true, of course. She’s likely slept with hundreds of men here.”

Bethany slapped him, hard, snapping his head around. “Stop it, Owen. I will not have you speak that way.”

His left cheek felt hot to the touch. “I beg your pardon.”

“You are a gentleman, Owen Strake, a man of honor. You always have been honorable.” Bethany half-laughed, then turned away, choking back a sob. She brushed a tear from her cheek. “Too honorable, sometimes, but a man like you should never speak ill of someone else, not when you do not know what is happening.”

“Bethany…”

“No, Owen, this is not a problem that requires fixing or attention now. We will be moving forward soon. We don’t know how things will turn out, if we will live or die.” She turned and caressed the cheek she’d slapped. “Do not think on this, for it serves no purpose.”

Owen glanced at the floor, shame burning its way onto his face. Here they were, on the brink of attacking a superior foe, and he was allowing himself to become embroiled in emotions which had no use in the current situation. His frustration at wondering why the message had been sent had opened him to directing darker emotions at Rathfield. Owen never had taken to the man, but Rathfield had been respectful and showed great courage on the battlefield. He had to respect him for that.

He took Bethany’s hand in his. “Thank you. I shall not go looking for ghosts where none may exist.”

“Good.”

His brow furrowed. “There is the other possibility, and this is one we cannot ignore.”

“What’s that?”

“Someone else believes there is a way to move messages quickly, and believes that message would involve magick that we know would be considered heretical. That person puts pressure on Catherine to find out about it and she goes to the Princess with this outlandish tale, knowing it will be sent. My reply, or even just an assurance by the Princess that things will be handled, would be enough to confirm suspicions.”

Bethany nodded. “Bishop Bumble.”

“That’s my thinking.” Owen shook his head. “The Prince needs to be informed. No matter what happens out here, I have a feeling the real battle resides in Temperance Bay.”