She smiled. "Most kind, sir, and far better a greeting than I deserve."
Owen frowned, working the squeaky pump. "You have me at a disadvantage, Miss."
Bethany wiped wet hands on an apron. "You will please forgive my conduct last evening, Captain Strake. Though it has been three years, I find myself still wanting to know of Ira. To discover that you had been there with him… it brought up many memories I had hoped I had put away."
Owen stopped pumping. "Please, Miss, I am the one to apologize. I meant to cause you no upset."
"Nor did you." Her smile shrank. "You were truthful and honest. And kind."
Her implication that some men had lied about knowing Ian-presumably to get to know her better-did not surprise him. Nor did word that many men embraced Lord Rivendell's lies about Mystrians. He'd seen such dishonorable behavior in the ranks, among the highborn and low. More among the highborn, in fact.
"I believe you will find, Miss, that very few men wish to take responsibility for their actions and desires. Lying, being tactless, hurting others: all of these are easier than just standing up and being men."
Bethany laughed, but would not meet his gaze. "You sound like my brother."
"Something I suspect he would deny."
She lifted her face, her smile returning. "You have a point, Captain. But do not think ill of him. He's not yet tamed his emotions, so he speaks his mind."
"Seldom a vice, save in the military."
"Always a vice when voiced as loudly as Caleb does." She laid a hand on his arm. "But I delay you when you need breakfast. We have some put aside for you."
"Lead the way. I shall bring the water."
He followed her into the kitchen and deposited the bucket on a counter-top. She directed him into the dining room, where her father awaited him. Owen sat, and Bethany returned to the kitchen to bring him some bacon and biscuits with butter and honey. With another trip she added a pot of tea and two cups, pouring for him and her father.
Dr. Frost slowly spun his steaming cup. "You're up early, Captain."
Owen chewed quickly and swallowed hard. "Sir, it is mid-morning. I should have been awake much sooner."
"Most of our guests sleep in much later, and ask for dinner to be served to them on a tray." Frost passed him a sealed message. "Colonel Langford was up early himself. He wishes to see you by noon."
Owen flipped the message over and back. "Do I need to read it?"
The elder man shrugged. "You will find that while my wife has little time for gossip-or so she says-there is a very quick and efficient spy network among domestics. Your expedition will be heading out at the beginning of the week under the leadership of Rufus Branch. The Colonel will be telling you how long you will be gone and inform you of some of the hardships."
Owen broke a biscuit in half and began buttering it. "Shall I assume there are wagers being placed on how long before I return to Temperance and allow the expedition to continue without me? Not that a gentleman such as yourself would entertain wagers."
Frost's eyes brightened. "You think too highly of me, sir. My father built a mercantile empire based on taking risks. I chose to become a Natural Philosopher, but I also take risks-those of a sporting nature. It is believed you will survive ten days or until you reach Grand Falls. It is also believed you will not run at first sight of the Twilight People; but that the first jeopard will have you screaming in terror."
Owen laughed. "Having seen the one in the Prince's collection, I find that to be a smart bet to cover."
"Captain, I think you underestimate yourself. At least, I hope you do. I have a bit riding on your success."
"Will you tell me, sir, how you are betting?"
Frost thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. You are the sort of man who would endure much to validate my trust in you. There is no need for you to know; and my fortunes will ride with my judgment of you."
Fully dressed in his uniform, Owen reported to army headquarters and was ushered in directly to see Colonel Langford. As predicted, the Colonel proceeded to outline the hardships in store for Owen, and hinted broadly that he could use a man of Owen's skill in Temperance itself. "To be frank, Captain, it would be a better use of your skills than getting lost and killed in the woods."
"I am certain you are correct, Colonel." Owen reached inside his jacket and produced a folded slip of paper. "But I do have my orders. Now, sir, if you could look this over, I believe it is all I will need to complete my mission."
Langford read the paper, his eyes narrowing. "You spent a great deal of time on this requisition, Captain."
"Yes, sir. On the passage I studied a Ryngian survey I found in a shop in Launston. De Verace's Survey of 1641."
Langford looked up. "It has been translated?"
"No, sir; I am fluent in Ryngian and Kessian. My grandfather had little tolerance for ignorance." Owen held a hand out. "If you approve, sir, I will go to the Quartermaster and draw these things."
Langford dipped a quill and hastily scrawled his name at the bottom. "I applaud your industriousness, sir."
"Thank you, sir." Owen accepted the paper, stood and saluted. "May God save the Queen, sir."
Langford, without rising from his desk, returned the salute. "And may He be kind on your person and soul."
Lieutenant Palmerston, the Quartermaster, a grizzled veteran with one eye, a handful of teeth, and a couple fingers shy of a fist on the left, studied Owen's list. Then he laughed aloud. "Brimstone, firestones, and shot for two-hundred fifty rounds for your musket; a hundred for a pistol? Biscuit and dried beef for three months? Clothing, blankets, trade goods, gold? Oh, sir, begging your pardon, but you cannot be serious."
"I most certainly am, sir." Owen's eyes narrowed. "Why would you think I won't need these things?"
The Lieutenant caught himself and aborted a laugh. "Well, sir, it is just that the Colonel already requisitioned supplies for your expedition. Rufus Branch drew it up. I've checked it all proper like. There's more than enough to cover your needs, sir."
Owen stroked a hand over his jaw. The Lieutenant presided over a warehouse that seemed quite well-stocked. In fact, the only thing it seemed to be lacking was men working in it.
"Might I have a look at the requisition?"
Palmerston opened a drawer to his desk and brought out a three-page document. "All signed proper like."
He was correct. Colonel Langford had signed the last page and initialed all the others. And if Owen was not mistaken, the document had actually been written by Langford. Owen studied it and fought to keep his growing anger hidden.
"Might I ask, Lieutenant, about this item here, about the beef for the trip. The charge for services, here."
"Oh, that's just standard, sir." The man scratched up under his eyepatch with a scarred finger. "You see, the cattle will be taken from our herd to Mr. Cask's slaughter house, killed, and butchered. They will smoke it and salt it, you see, sir, so there is your service."
"But, Lieutenant, that will take time and the beef won't be ready to go."
"No, sir, so we will issue beef here from our stores, and then that will replace it." The Lieutenant nodded reassuringly. "Just the way it is done here, sir."
Owen shook his head. "But the butcher, he'll take his customary forequarter, yes? And, forgive me, but don't we have butchers in the Regiment? Shouldn't they be doing that work?"
"And they would, sir, but they have other things to be doing."
"I see." Owen pointed to something else on the requisition. "Here they ask for brimstone and shot to make up five thousand rounds."
"Yes, sir."
"But they also ask for five hundred firestones. That much powder and shot only requires fifty firestones."
"Well, sir, in the wilderness…"
Owen grabbed the Quartermaster's jacket and yanked Palmerston across the desk. "I've fought on the Continent, sir, in pitched battles from which your unit ran. I've put a hundred-fifty, even two hundred shots through a firestone before it needed replacing. Those extra firestones, I would imagine, go for a pretty pence out here. You profit from that illegal trade, don't you?"