In Which Everything is Quite Normal, Until It Isn't

Nicholas Rafe to King Davin of Bentlefay, in cipher:

Your Majesty,

We may be needing all the benefit of the queen’s generalship for this business, as Marshweather is beginning to show signs of being able to mount a stouter attack than we have been giving them credit for. Bleake won’t give away any secrets to me on purpose, but nobody would be able to miss the to-do at court, with mercenary captains from the Nine Kingdoms and farther passing in and out of the castle every day. They don’t all leave with a contract – I don’t suppose Marshweather’s treasury can support half of them if a simple port tax is too expensive – but there are plenty who do.

I know that Hingbach has its hands full right now, but my advice would be to call on some of our other treaties. Marshweather has so much trouble keeping a standing army that we have been able to rest on our laurels, but with a large mercenary force they might be a real threat. Fortunately for us however, a large mercenary force can be just as big a threat to Marshweather. Such a situation is notoriously volatile, but it also has the potential to hurt a great many innocent bystanders in the process of resolving itself.

The queen will know best how to handle the situation, but all the intelligence I’ve been able to gather indicates that their ultimate target is the capital, so do remind her not to leave it vulnerable – we don’t want to win all the battles but one, and thereby lose the war.

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From the diary of Dulcie, Crown Princess of Bentlefay:

In spite of the approaching trouble with Marshweather, I believe I am enjoying myself more than I have since I was a child, especially now that Mother is home. The tapestry has gone to rot in a trunk, and every other morning Mother, Lynde, Winnie and I work our magic on Lynde’s new gown while we talk tactics. Ellen’s mother has had pleurisy, so she has gone home for a long visit, and good riddance. Everyone is very concerned about the upcoming attack from Marshweather, but I secretly feel rather excited about it. Nicholas Rafe is at the court there pretending to be disaffected and feeding them bad intelligence while sending home anything of use. Thanks to him we have been able to prepare quite well, although we have to do it very quietly, so as not to jeopardize his position there.

The alternate mornings are just for Lynde and me, and now that the apples are all in Lynde is teaching me how to cook. I believe I have finally been able to make my point to old Tess – the very first thing I asked to learn was how to make porridge, and though she muttered and slammed noticeably while Lynde and I were working, I think she managed to realize that I was serious. When I started rummaging about for a pot and a spoon to take away with me so I could make it by my own fire upstairs, she relented and said she would send it to me from now on. The ridiculousness of my having to cook my own breakfast on the sly because nobody would give me what I like to eat has finally penetrated even Tess’ stubborn head, and once I take lessons in brown bread and chicken salad, maybe I can start getting what I like to eat for luncheon as well. Tess turns up her nose a bit at Lynde as a cook, since all she knows is “good plain cooking, not like we do for royalty,” but she seems to respect her enough to let her use the kitchen. I have seen ladies’-maids run screaming with crockery fired after them when their manners are found lacking in the matter of hot-water bottles and herbal tisanes, so Lynde can count herself lucky.

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

Darling Marta,

Of course you may call me darling, darling – if you really feel that way about me and all that, you should be able to call me anything you like. I don’t know if I would tell anyone else about it though, at least not anyone who could tell old Bleake. One never knows what’s going to get him squiffy, but I’m fairly sure that would.

That was a ripping idea you had about the business with Princess Dulcie. After all, she can’t possibly want to be ravished, can she? And it isn’t as though it would be easy to do. But Bleake came up with the idea in the first place because he wasn’t sure we would win, and I would hate to muck up the whole mission – people would die. I mean more people than might die anyway. I don’t think I can let people die if I can prevent it.

Still, I don’t think I can go about ravishing people, especially not now that I want to marry you. I think it would be better to kidnap her instead. That way, we can bargain with her person if we have trouble with the surprise attack, and I’m sure they will give us anything we ask for. I don’t suppose we will be able to let her go, but her keep would cost less as a hostage than it would as a queen, so Bleake ought to be just as happy. The poor girl will have a hard time at first, but we would give her a handsome room if she promised not to run away, and you would be nice to her, wouldn’t you?

Personally, I don’t quite get the logic behind the whole affair. The attack will cost a great deal of money what with the mercenaries and all, and while we did have a war tax about it, I don’t know why we didn’t just have a port-tax tax instead and not bother. Bleake is a funny old chap though. He would always rather do the harder thing if it gives him some kind of upper hand, even if it’s more expensive. Won’t he be surprised when I come out of Bentlefay Tower with the princess!

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Nicholas Rafe to King Davin of Bentlefay, in cipher:

Your Majesty,

I have been able to discover a little more about the distraction Bleake has planned at the border. He has it planned to begin two weeks from now, and he has decided on Dumcruckle as the target. They are rather poor and ill-defended, and the baronet is getting on in years, so Bleake considers him most likely to panic and send for reinforcements, thus drawing troops from the defense of the Tower, which is his real goal. His plan is to send just a few dozen men, who will establish themselves in the foothills and make sorties at irregular intervals – not to do any real damage, although he is not opposed to that, but to generally make a mess and draw attention from the seaport and the capital. I know that --

(the letter breaks off here with a scribble)

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