In Which Explanations Are Made, And Expectations Dashed

Captain Beverly Smoot of the Marshweather Army, to Mortimer Bleake, Councilor:

Well Sir, they got us good, and no thanks to the hired fellows. Those lit out practically as soon as the bugle blew – there was a rain of arrows from the Tower battlements and a handful of them fell right off. Their fellows just snatched them and ran, and I don’t know where they’d be now. His Majesty wanted to go forward, but his guards just bustled him off back into the mountains; you probably seen him at home by now. The rest of us was so outnumbered that there was practically no blood shed, and if I walks in shame for the rest of my days at how bad they beat us, at least I didn’t lose no men and only a couple of flesh wounds and a broken leg for casualties.

They are doing us pretty well here and the men are comfortable. The prince says as how he will write to you about some secret mission he had; you would know best about that. He seems in a good mood about it so maybe he was able to pull it off, I don’t know.

Your obedient servant,
Capt. Beverly Smoot, M.A.F.

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

I should have known that those damned mercenaries were a waste of my money. Taking away chests full of gold left and right and when someone appears with a sword in front of them, they disappear! What do they think I pay them for?

Smoot hints that young Hugo may have some good news for me, however. I knew that plan would be foolproof! If he managed to follow through, it will set all our losses in battle at naught, and there will be a Bentleweather yet. King Damn Your Eyes Davin will be singing small when he finds out that the rout was on our side after all.

I have quite come around to the name Bentleweather. It has a ring that Marshfay just doesn’t.

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Hugo, Crown Prince of Marshweather, to Mortimer Bleake, Councilor:

Dear Master Bleake,

I think it all went as well as could be expected. Bentlefay beat us amazingly of course, but there were almost no casualties and those of us who were captured have got awfully nice digs. The men are down in the barracks, and Smoot and Crubble and I have rooms in the Tower. The ravishing plan didn’t work out unfortunately; the closest I got to the princess that night was when she was kicking me in the ribs, although I’ve been sitting next to her at dinner ever since. She has a simply enormous woman bodyguard that nobody told us about, a Mistress Falconer. She is exactly my height and outweighs me by a stone or two, and you wouldn’t believe her grappling. She had me beaten before I knew what end was up.

I’m awfully sorry to disappoint you, but I really think it will be for the best. I told the king we can use our war money to pay the port tax and he told me they assess it on a sliding scale related to income anyway. I wasn’t sure what he meant but he said the poorer you are, the less you have to pay, so that a foot peddler would be paying nothing, someone with a cart would be paying one percent, and someone with a caravan would be paying two percent. It sounded like a decent bargain to me.

King Davin seems awfully smart about taxes and laws, and Queen Christina is simply wizard at tactics – I see Smoot every day and he can’t stop talking about how badly they routed us. I’m going to try to stay as long as they’ll let me so I can learn as much as I can; I know there will be treaties and things so it will probably run into weeks. Seeing how they run Bentlefay, I realized that it’s not fair to make you run a whole kingdom the way you do – no wonder you have trouble with dyspepsia. When I get back, I’ll be able to take an awful lot off your hands. I want to get married first, because now that it’s all off with Bentlefay I can marry Marta Figglesworth, can’t I? And then you can have a nice rest. Have you ever wanted to spend time in the country or the mountains? I can’t remember you ever having a hobby. I feel awfully badly about it.

Sincerely,
Hugo

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