Chapter Four
27 March 1767
Prince Haven,
Temperance Bay, Mystria
Prince Vlad bid his traveling companions farewell at the drive leading to Owen’s home, then continued on the extra two miles to his estate. He scribbled notes about how far the snow had receded on the southern side of hills versus the northern into his notebook, and looked for anything else remarkable. He was certain there were things, but the import of Colonel Rathfield’s arrival distracted him.
Since the founding of the colonies, Norisle had treated Mystria with benign neglect. The Colonists paid duties and tariffs, accepting them as part of doing business with their mother country. Mystrians made few demands on Norisle and because most of the Norillian nobility saw the Mystrians as criminals and cowards, they certainly would never allow themselves to think they might actually need them.
The long and expensive war with Tharyngia had changed things. Norisle had, effectively, bankrupted itself prosecuting the war and, after ten long years, ended up with some of Tharyngia’s holdings in the new world. While the Spice Island acquisitions were immediately lucrative and New Tharyngia was an untapped resource, neither was sufficient to staunch the economic wounds suffered from the war.
The imposition of the document tax heightened tensions and built resentment. Mystrians didn’t believe the Crown had any right to tax their internal affairs—a position which, to the Crown, made Mystrians once again sound like criminals and rebels. Couple with that the antics of men like Lord Rivendell claiming credit for a victory against the Tharyngians in Mystria, and the Mystrians were feeling unappreciated and abused.
Sending Ian Rathfield to conduct a mission into the interior to bring unruly subjects back into the fold would not be taken well. People had fled to Mystria to avoid Norillian oppression or seek freedom. And they moved into the interior of Mystria to avoid further oppression or seek freedom from the coastal society. Rathfield would be lucky if those people acknowledged his existence, much less were impressed by his status as a hero. They certainly weren’t going to reverse life decisions based on his say-so alone.
Vlad turned down the roadway to his home and smiled. Baker, the wurmwright, was up on a tall berm, forking hay from a hayrick into a large, round enclosure with ten-foot-high, sheer sides on the interior. The wurmwright waved, then turned back to his task.
The Prince returned the wave and rode over, dismounting and letting his horse nibble hay. He climbed up the berm, his smile growing. “He looks content.”
“He does, Highness. Weathers the cold right nice, but seems to like a bit of warmth.”
Below them the wooly rhinoceros named Peregrine happily grazed on hay. Over fourteen feet long, and half that high at the shoulder, the beast appeared placid and even uncaring about his being watched. Thick brown fur covered his forelimbs and aft but was darker on his chest and abdomen. A single horn nearly two and a half feet in length curved up from his nose.
In the year and a half since Peregrine had been bestowed upon him, Prince Vlad had spent a great deal of time studying the beast. In many ways the wooly rhinoceros struck him as being a perfect heraldic animal for Mystria. Largely docile, but very industrious, capable of fierce fighting and with a preference for being left alone, Peregrine reminded him of many a Mystrian. The fact that the creature was very short-sighted and ignorant of politics reinforced the impression. Which was not to say that he found either to be stupid.
The most curious thing he’d learned about the rhinoceros was discovered completely by chance. Peregrine’s enclosure required mucking out from time to time, but the beast was reluctant to allow anyone in to do the job. One of the stable boys had gone straight from helping clean out Mugwump’s pit, and had been thoroughly splashed with wurm mud. As the boy approached Peregrine’s enclosure, he expected the beast to charge at him. Instead, the rhino trotted over, nose high, nostrils flared, then reacted much as a puppy might. Given his gigantic size, this proved problematic in other ways, but was an amazing discovery nonetheless.
The Prince himself had experimented using soiled clothes and found that Peregrine appeared quite happy to be around people smelling of wurm mud. When they deposited wurm mud in the rhino enclosure, Peregrine was more than happy to roll around in it. Wearing just a pinch of dried wurm mud in a sachet around the neck was enough to calm the beast and a number of discussions had covered whether or not Peregrine could be ridden. Most agreed it was possible, but no one volunteered to be first.
When the Prince had brought Mugwump to the enclosure, neither beast showed much of an interest in the other, akin to the way that cattle and sheep could graze in the same field without difficulty. Prince Vlad had yet to work out the significance of that discovery, but this was because he had other distractions to deal with at home. With them in mind, he patted Baker on the shoulder, remounted his horse, and continued the ride to his home.
Prince Haven consisted of a large, rectangular main house with two wings, one at each end, which extended south toward the river. The easternmost one had originally been his laboratory prior to his marriage. He raised a new, larger laboratory further to the east, back behind the barn, and had converted that wing into rooms for his children, his wife’s servants, and a day room for his wife.
Opposite the new laboratory, down by the Benjamin River, lay the wurmrest. Up the lawn from it, a storage building had been added for canoes and other watercraft, as well as some half-built experiments too large for his laboratory.
Prince Vlad tossed the reins to a stable boy and entered his house. It remained one of the largest homes in the colonies, and one of the finest, but it paled in comparison to the refinements of a palatial estate in Norisle or on the Continent. The daub-and-wattle walls lacked murals or gilt-edged mirrors, but the warmth of wooden floors and exposed beams and posts provided an atmosphere that he loved, even though Norillians would dismiss it as rustic. The furnishings had all been crafted locally, as evidenced by their sturdy, blocky nature. He’d made the table in the dining room himself and his bed. The other items he’d purchased in Temperance.
His reasons had been simple: he saw no virtue in paying ridiculous prices for spindly chairs from far away that would break easily when perfectly good work could be had nearby. Men who had visited—and many of the survivors from the Anvil Lake expedition had visited down through the years—took it as a sign that he’d rejected fancy notions from Norisle. Prince Vlad feared that some of his aunt’s advisors might well believe the same.
Princess Gisella had changed some of that perception. She added things here and there—a picture on a wall, a tea service, seasonal decorations—which transformed his dark and masculine domain. He’d never seen the need for such before, since he mostly spent his time in the laboratory. Having a wife and family drew him out from what Gisella lovingly called his “Cavern of Science” and into their home.
The door had barely closed behind him when a squealing peal of laughter started from the east. He darted forward into the corridor running the width of the house and scooped up his son. The boy, his blue eyes shining, giggled even more loudly, reaching out to his father. Soaking wet and utterly naked, Richard steamed in the cool air.
Tucking his son under his arm, Vlad waved off the serving girl bearing a towel. “It’s fine, Madeline. I’ll take him back.”
“Yes, Highness.”
Vlad looked down at his son. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Birdie, birdie, birdie.” The boy pointed off somewhere. “Birdie.”
“What kind?”
“Red.” His eyes widened. “With feathers. Feathers. Feathers.”
“Red with feathers, very good.”
He entered the bathing room and held his son upside down by the ankles, eliciting a delighted shriek. Madeline followed through the door and took the boy from the Prince. She drew the boy to the side and toweled him off. The way he squirmed suggested that getting him into clothes would be an epic battle.
He crossed to where his wife sat, holding their six-month-old daughter to her breast. He leaned down and kissed Gisella on the top of her head. “You are the two most beautiful women in Mystria.”
She looked up, her blue eyes focusing, her smile broadening. “I did not expect you back so soon. This is wonderful.”
“I hope.” He dropped to a knee and caressed Rowena’s cheek with a finger. “She’ll look just like you, which is a blessing.”
“I care only that she is as brilliant as you, my darling.”
“If our children combine our brilliance, we are truly in trouble.” He kissed his wife on the cheek, then stood. “I take it ‘feathers’ is our new word for the day?”
“Yes, he was collecting them earlier, clutching them in his hands, and trying to fly.”
“I’ll make certain there’s no access to the roofs.” Vlad shook his head. “I do have some news from town. We are going to have guests for dinner. Captain Strake, his wife, and Colonel Ian Rathfield.”
Gisella looked up, surprise widening her blue eyes. “The hero of Rondeville? He’s here? Why?”
“Purportedly on a similar mission to Owen’s, but of much greater potential trouble.” Vlad sighed wearily. “At least with Owen there was a very distinct threat, a very visible enemy. Rathfield has been sent out to see how far west colonists have gotten, with an eye toward returning with them to chartered colonies.”
Gisella stroked Rowena’s brow. “It will be a long expedition. You’ll send Owen and Nathaniel. Will you be joining them?”
“No.”
“But you would like to.” She smiled openly. “No, Vladimir, do not protest to the contrary. The man I love loves this land very much, and wishes to know more about it. You would gladly head west with the least bit of provocation. I only wish I could go with you.”
He laughed lightly, then frowned. “I will make you a promise, beloved, that we shall go west. We, together, will see sights no other human beings have seen. The only thing I love more than this land and our children is you, and I can think of no greater joy than sharing Mystria’s wonders with you.”
“Then you will go on this expedition.”
He shook his head. “Were it possible, perhaps, but it is not. The Temperance Bay Colonial assembly will be meeting come May, and I need to be here to support the cooler heads among then. I’ve already had petitions from other legislatures requesting things from the Crown.”
“And there is training.”
He smiled back over his shoulder at his son who was struggling mightily to get back out of his clothes. “There is that, too. My uncle, his namesake, was said to be able to read at three.”
“That’s not what I meant, husband.”
He nodded. “Yes, there will be the spring militia muster, and I need to be here for that. ’Twould be good if Nathaniel was here as well, of course.”
Gisella reached up and tugged his shirt once, sharply. “My dearest love, our children you will educate. Soldiers you will drill. Mugwump requires training.”
“I am sorry, my dear. I’ll pay more attention to semantics in future. Yes, Mugwump does need training.” Vlad smiled to himself. In many ways the wurm—despite his having wings, Vlad had studiously avoided calling Mugwump a dragon—resembled Richard in terms of energy and determination to go exploring. The successful molt had imbued the wurm with a puppyish sense of wonder about the world. This included wing-assisted flying hops, which clearly presaged full flight, but growth of the wings had not caught up with the body, making the short flights end prematurely and somewhat comically.
“I am going to ask Count von Metternin to travel west. He will be able to mediate between Colonel Rathfield and the others.”
“Will you invite him to dinner this evening?”
Vlad thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’d rather have a chance to brief your countryman before he meets Rathfield. I’ll have to go over documents from Launston before I can do that.”
His wife nodded, then handed him their daughter before adjusting her gown and standing. “Will you want Catherine Strake and me involved in any discussions?”
He cradled Rowena in his left arm, then reached up and stroked his wife’s cheek. “I would welcome your insight, beloved, but I fear her reaction. Owen must go, but that means that she cannot sail back to Norisle this year. The girl is too young to make the voyage.”
Gisella kissed his hand. “I would gladly keep Miranda here, if it would grant Catherine the chance to leave.”
“I can’t imagine she would abandon her child.” Vlad wasn’t sure if he was saying that because he thought Catherine loved the child, or because she was aware that no matter how disagreeable her position in Mystria, deserting her husband and child would hold her up to the sort of social ridicule that she hated. She is ruled by her own ambition and the judgment of others. She is caught within miseries of her own making.
“I think you’re right about her, dearest. Regardless, I shall arrange for us to be able to take tea and work at needlepoint while you discuss substantive matters.” Gisella smiled. “Perhaps it will be a good night for her and she can contribute. She can be quite clever.”
“I would tell you that I will make it up to you if she is in a mood, but I’m not certain that is within my power.”
“We’ll keep her glass full during dinner, and ply her with port afterward.” His wife’s eyes twinkled. “She is not the only clever one here.”
“Oh, how well I know that.” Vlad kissed her again, then handed her their daughter. “The people of Mystria do not know how much they owe to you. You keep me sane.”
“No, darling, I just let you be you.” Reaching up, she squeezed his shoulder as she slipped past. “And you being you is what will be their salvation.”