Of Limited Loyalty

Chapter Sixty-four

20 June 1768 Prince Haven Temperance Bay, Mystria

Prince Vlad, his daughter in his arms, walked happily beside his wife down the drive to their home. He matched his pace to hers and laughed as Richard ran ahead. Miranda Strake caught up with him, scolded him on running too fast, and somewhat chastened, he waited for them to catch up. Even Becca Green appeared happy as she skipped forward, took Richard and Miranda in hand, and led the way.

Vlad shot his wife a smile. She returned it, then stroked a hand over her swollen belly. That gesture, so loving and gentle, shot a thrill through him. The promise of new life nibbled away at the horrors he’d seen. He wished, just for an instant, to work a spell so he could see inside her womb and learn of the child she carried. Was it a boy or a girl?

And yet, even as he asked that question, he immediately wanted to know if it was whole and well, or if a limb might have been twisted. With the right magick, he might be able to fix a club foot or cleft palate. It would be incredibly easy to do and would save him and his wife and his child a lifetime of pain.

To do that, however, would require information no man was meant to know. Vlad caught himself. It wasn’t the information that was bad, nor knowledge of the magick to solve such a problem, but the temptation to use it in ways that were not altruistic. Rathfield had said that he’d not had the impression that Vlad had used magick in a way that was not in line with the Good Lord’s commandments about compassion, but Vlad could not be certain it would always be that way. And he found it frighteningly easy to imagine a world in which compassion was forgotten, where magick would be seen as the exclusive birthright of the nobility and clergy. They could use it to make sure their children were whole and that their loved ones escaped death. Everyone else would be left to fend for themselves, creating a sharp divide between those who were “cursed” with magick, and those who were damned to live without it.

Even as he found himself pleased that he’d had Kamiskwa sever his access to the concentrated source of Norghaest magick, he also realized that threats to Mystria might require him to reopen that connection. Can I do that without being consumed by the magick? If I cannot, what could possibly stop me?

He stopped dead and turned, staring straight at Mugwump. “Now I understand: the pasmortes, the trolls, the demons, the Norghaest. Now I understand that you will keep an eye on me.”

It had all been there in his studies of nature. Everything has a predator. When rabbits reproduce in abundance, foxes, coyotes, bobcats, and dire wolves multiply and consume them. Dragons consumed magick, magick with the taint of evil. To them, the Norghaest were a feast because of their selfish use of magick.

“That’s it, isn’t it?”

Mugwump did not reply, but simply walked along behind Baker.

Prince Vlad turned and continued, catching up with his family. He passed Rowena on to Madeline, then watched as Baker took Mugwump to the wurmrest.

Gisella came to him, kissed his cheek, and clung to his right arm. “You cannot believe how happy I am to have you home. I appreciated the message you sent letting me know you were well. I’ve since learned you lied, since you did not mention breaking your arm or rib.”

“An oversight.”

She slapped him lightly on the chest. “No more oversights. I was so certain… there was a point when I had a very strong impression of your suffering.”

Vlad turned and kissed her, caressing her hair. “Shhhhh, don’t think any more on that. It’s over.”

“There’s so much I have to tell you. I wanted to send so many messages, but as you requested, I put the thaumagraph in a small casket and sank it in the river.” She looked up at him. “Can you tell me what the matter was with it?”

“Yes, of course.” He started on his explanation, but the crunch of stone under wheel from the drive caught his attention. “Who?”

A coach drawn by one horse stopped before the main house. The coachman leaped from the box and opened the door, helping an older, slender woman dressed head to toe in black from the interior. She carried with her what appeared to be a thick folio. It look him a moment to recognize her. “Mrs. Bumble, to what do I owe this honor?”

A quick, courtesy smile flashed over Livinia Bumble’s face, but died quickly. “You will forgive my intrusion, Highness, but I felt this was a matter which could not wait.”

Gisella pressed a hand to her husband’s chest. “I’ve not had a chance yet, Mrs. Bumble, to let the Prince know your husband passed away.”

“Yes, nearly a month hence.”

Bumble, dead? Vlad gasped. “Please, Mrs. Bumble, you have my greatest sympathy at your loss. Your husband was a pillar of our community. He was…”

The small woman again let a smile fleetingly tug at the corners of her mouth. “He was a man of convictions and great energy.”

“Yes, yes, he was.”

Mrs. Bumble patted the folio. “I have something here, Highness, I should like to show you. If you do not mind my being rude, Princess, perhaps if your husband and I were to retire to his laboratory, we could dispense with this business quickly and I can be on my way.”

Gisella looked at Vlad, then nodded and smiled. “You will, of course, stay for tea and even the evening, if the weather turns bad. The coach house has more than enough room for your horse and coach.”

“If it comes to that, yes, thank you.”

Vlad kissed his wife, then walked in silence with the widow Bumble to his laboratory. Save for the absence of the thaumagraph, and the notebooks detailing its use, his sanctuary was exactly as he had left it. He offered Mrs. Bumble a chair, but she shook her head and instead handed him the oilskin-wrapped folio.

She turned from him and traced a finger over the curved horn of the troll’s skull. “I should have you understand some things, Highness, before you look at that. I am Mystrian. My maiden name was Vale. I am distantly related to Henrietta Frost. We grew up together in very strict Virtuan homes. I did not know my husband then. He went off to Launston to study at seminary and returned full of vigor. He was a much smaller man, then, but just as powerful a speaker. I fell for him almost the instant I saw him, and we were wed within two years. That was a scandalously short time to be betrothed, but everyone figured me the luckiest woman in Temperance Bay.”

She continued around the table upon which the troll’s skeleton had been laid out, focusing on it. “As a Virtuan I was raised to strictly follow the message of Our Savior and to eschew the pomp and circumstance of the Church. I came to realize too late that Othniel cared less for the message than the trappings of his position, and the power his oratory gave him. By then, however, I had discovered that we could not have children. That was God’s punishment on me for my haste. Because we were wed and I hold my vows as sacred, I believed I was forever trapped in a loveless life.”

A shiver ran down Vlad’s spine. “What are you saying, Mrs. Bumble?”

“It is not something of which I should be proud, Highness, but feel no shame.” The older woman smiled, her eyes focused distantly. “Ephraim, he was so passionate a man. He loved Scripture and nature. While Othniel saw to his career, I fell in love with Ephraim. Our affair was discreet, and ended amicably as Ephraim went to do God’s work. Othniel confronted me with his suspicions and I confessed. Whenever Ephraim wrote him, Othniel commanded me to destroy his work, as punishment, of course. I could not. I did not”

“And so you had them to send to me. That was a brave thing you did.” The Prince nodded slowly. “You hoped I could help find him and save him from your husband.”

Her head came around and her smile survived a bit longer. “Othniel always thought you were clever, but he never understood how clever. Even in that document, even as he imagined what you had done, he could not understand the implications of it. I am not saying I do, either-the curse skipped me, so this is the stuff of faery stories. Othniel forced Catherine Strake to spy for him. She confirmed that you had a way of getting messages between Temperance and the west more quickly than a rider might.”

The Prince stared at the package on his desk. “He intended to bring me up on charges of heresy?”

“That would have been the threat. I think he would have extorted concessions out of you. If you were replaced as Governor-General, he believed he could control whomever they sent to rule in your stead.” Her head came up. “Where is he now, Ephraim Fox? He went west with you, yes?”

Vlad nodded. “Using what he learned, he saved many lives. Ultimately he sacrificed himself to save us all-and I do not mean only those in the west. Our enemies had opened a hole into the depths of Hell, and it took a good man to close it.”

Livinia Bumble covered her gasp with a hand. “He’s gone? I should have thought I would know if he was gone.”

“I don’t believe he is. I don’t know where he is, but my best people are going to find him and bring him back.”

Her eyes tightened, but no tear glistened. “You are not saying that to an old woman out of pity, are you?”

“No.” Vlad frowned. “And I am sorry to hear of your husband’s unexpected death.”

She looked up and blinked. “Highness, it wasn’t unexpected, not at all. He choked to death on biscuits I’d baked especially for him. For his tea. He liked them so.” The widow Bumble slowly shook her head. “Once again Othniel gave in to the sin of Gluttony, and this time God, in His wisdom, meted out swift justice.”

Though Vlad protested her leaving, Livinia Bumble chose to return to Temperance despite the thunder and lightning rolling in from the east. He instructed his wife to send Owen to him when he arrived, then ran back to his laboratory and studied the Bumble manuscript. He immediately lost himself in it, doing his best to ignore the man’s bombast and ego. That was no mean feat, but beneath all that he found that Bumble had made far more correct deductions than false ones.

The Prince sat back in his chair, trying not to shiver. Had Bumble lived, his manuscript would have provided the Church with unbelievable leverage at court. An ambitious man, like the Archbishop of Launston, might even have been able to force the Queen to abdicate by alleging she condoned and promoted the creation of a heretic state in Mystria for occult reasons of her own. Prince John would be elevated to replace her, the Archbishop would rule through him. Vlad’s own compliance could be forced through direct threats to the life of his children.

How much power the Church could wield in Mystria would depend upon the man they chose to replace Bumble. News of his death would be another two weeks reaching Norisle, and it would likely take until September for his replacement to be installed. If he were to guess, Vlad imagined that the Church would send a Norillian-born Bishop to take over-most likely someone from the Archbishop’s staff.

A crack of thunder startled the Prince. I shall worry about that when the man arrives. He blew out his lamp and as he sprinted through raindrops to the main house he realized Owen hadn’t come see him. Probably waylaid by his daughter.

The Prince entered through the kitchen door, removed his coat, and hung it on a peg by the hearth. He realized he was still in his road clothes, so he headed for the stairs. As he reached the foyer, a fist pounded on the door. Vlad smiled at his wife in the parlor. “Must be Owen.”

The Prince opened the door and stood back, instantly aware that the man before him was not Owen Strake.

The slender man had emerged from a coach and swept off his cloak and hat, spraying water over the floor and the Prince’s trousers. Vlad recognized the long face, despite the attempt to make it more jolly through the addition of a wide moustache. Better he had grown a beard to hide his lack of a chin. His pouchy belly had not grown nor shrunk since the Prince last saw him, but his gold waistcoat having the lower half of the buttons remain undone, made him look pregnant.

“Surprised you, I did, ain’t it true? Ain’t it?” Lord Rivendell smiled broadly. “Never expected to see me, did you? Did you?”

Vlad took a step back. “When did you arrive?”

“Just today, just now, came as soon as we hit dry land, which ain’t very dry.” The man drew a sealed sheaf of papers from inside his black coat’s breast pocket. “These are for you. The Queen’s ordered you home to Norisle, Prince Vladimir, and I shall be Governor-General while you are gone.”