In Which Bleake Makes Plans, But Reckons Without Prince Hugo

Hugo, Crown Prince of Marshweather, to Lord Harold Figglesworth:

Fimbles,

What a bore that you can’t do the surprise attack after all. I suppose it’s all for the best though; old Bleake looked awfully squiffy when I told him. The problem is that you can’t ever tell what’s going to make old Bleake squiffy. He has dyspepsia, poor old chap, so I don’t suppose it has anything to do with me. He doesn’t seem to want your men, so you should probably find something else for them to do.

No, we’re not going to bother with the border this time, although I asked Bleake if we should send a battalion or two to keep their northern castles busy. He looked at me in the eye, which he almost never does, and said it didn’t sound like a bad idea, although since it was mine, there must be something wrong with it and he would try to figure out what it was. I’m not sure if that means we’ll be doing it or not, but if Bleake couldn’t tell whether it was a bad idea or not it’s obviously better than my usual.

Actually, we will be infiltrating through Hingbach on the sly, some fellows openly dressed as merchants and so forth, and some of us tracking through the mountains. The idea is that we all meet up in the foothills below the Cragfinger and attack Bentlefay City from the west. It sounded like a lot of trouble to me so I asked why we couldn’t just march through Hingbach in armor and attack Bentlefay like normal people, but Bleake crumpled a sheet of paper and told me not to be an imbecile. It’s because Hingbach has treaties with Bentlefay apparently. They’re busy on their west with the hill bandits right now so they won’t be likely to bother any merchants and they don’t patrol their mountains with any kind of regularity, especially when the weather is getting cold. But we can’t expect them to ignore whole battalions according to Bleake. I don’t know why I should be expected to remember all that.

I say, it’s awfully nice of Marta to say she wants a letter from me. I will try to scrawl something that’s worth her time if I can think of anything.

Let me know about Midwinter and the boar.

Humps

----------

From the journal of Mortimer Bleake, Councilor of Marshweather, in cipher:

I am really beginning to think that the business with Bentlefay will be foolproof. The only thing we were missing was a reliable source of intelligence, and it really seems as though this Rafe person is going to provide it. He has been well known around the Bentlefay court for years, I understand from those who have been there, so he is as likely to have access to the normal court gossip as he says he is. Apparently there has been a falling-out with the royal family, so he no longer has the king’s confidence, but he says he has plenty of ways to get information from those who do. I believe it of him – I have never seen a young man so likely to take a crooked path by preference. I hope he will consider making his home here in Marshweather when this is all over; it will be a delightful change to have someone of like mind to talk to.

If that idiot Hugo does what he is told, I don’t see how it could possibly go wrong. Even if the king refrains from ruining the whole surprise attack, which is an outside chance at best, having the seed of Marshweather in the soil of Bentlefay will be our ace in the hole, so to speak. They will certainly marry her to him, and there will be no question of imposing that ruinous port tax on their son-in-law. We probably can’t hold out for Bentlefay agreeing to be conquered outright, but surely in time even they will see that a single combined kingdom would be greater than the sum of its parts.

Young Hugo gave me a nasty surprise yesterday by displaying the rudiments of intelligence. If that young cub turns out to be human after all, it will mean rearranging all my preconceptions and perhaps even changing my plans. I don’t think I will ever get to the end of the sheer annoyance that family can cause me. The dyspepsia alone might drive me mad before I ever see that damned alliance.

What Hugo said was that maybe we should send down a battalion or two to distract Bentlefay on the border while we send the rest of the army through Hingbach to the capital. I stayed awake thinking about it all night – the dyspepsia helped – and I really can’t see anything wrong with the idea except that Hugo thought of it. I wouldn’t bother with a whole battalion of course, but I would imagine that a dozen or so really ingenious men could keep one of those northern castles in enough of a state to draw a couple of hundred troops away from the capital, if they stay out of sight.

He redeemed himself – or the opposite – with the ludicrous assumption that we should march through Hingbach on our way to Bentlefay city, as though we could do that unmolested. I had been wondering if a reasonable person could have been disguising himself as Hugo, so I was more relieved than annoyed.

I wonder what the new kingdom would be called? Bentleweather? Marshfay? I suppose I can leave that to the diplomats. They both sound dire to me.

----------

Hugo, Crown Prince of Marshweather, to Lady Marta Figglesworth,

Dear Marta,

What ho! Fimbles said that you don’t mind if I write to you, so I thought I would. I always liked you best, but I didn’t suppose it was any use.

You see, I really did think you liked Arthur Tenderhall best, so I didn’t like to say anything. But Fimbles said no, so now I especially don’t want to do the whole Bentlefay thing. I don’t know if Fimbles said anything about it and I don’t like to say it outright because it’s not something you say to a lady. But it sounds kind of like Have Wish the Sin Press, and it’s why Bleake says I can’t marry you. I’m awfully cut up about it.

I’m not sure what we can do about the Bentlefay business. I would rather marry you, of course, but I’ve never gone against Bleake on purpose, especially in something this important. If you think of anything that will get me out of this, do tell me.

Yours,
Hugo

Next