When he got to the coastal settlement, he found a new reason to be unhappy. At the quays, along with ships from France and Spain and Portugal and their settlements in Atlantis and on the Terranovan mainland farther west, lay others from England and from her Atlantean colonies. War declared? No one in Cosquer worried about that, not when there was money to be made.
In high dudgeon, Roland repaired to the harbormaster's office. "War? Yes, indeed. A great pity," that worthy declared. "Would you care for a cigar, Monsieur?"
"No, thank you," Roland said icily. He had his vices, but pipeweed wasn't one of them. "I would care to know, however, why we tolerate ships of the enemy. For all you know, they are full of spies."
"Oh, I doubt it, mon vieux," the harbormaster replied. He lit his own cigar at a candle, then puffed out a cloud of aromatic smoke. "What would they need to learn of our city that they do not already know?"
"How many troops we have in it, how many ships of war, the state of our shore batteries…I could go on." Roland Kersauzon scowled at the lackadaisical official. "I am charged with defending the settlements and with carrying the war to the enemy in the north. How can I do that, pray tell, if he learns everything we aim to do before we do it?"
The harbormaster let fly with more cigar smoke. "Forgive me, but I think you are getting excited over nothing-it could be over less than nothing. If they want to fight in Europe, they are welcome to. But why should that foolishness trouble us, eh? Bad for trade, leaves hard feelings, and doesn't really settle anything anyhow. They'll just fight another stupid war in twenty years' time to fix up what they didn't get right this go-round."
Roland had the uneasy feeling that that might be so. Nevertheless, he said, "I am charged with doing as well as I can this time. That means seizing enemy ships in the harbor and preventing them from sailing to enemy ports."
"But it will cause such a disruption!" the harbormaster protested. "And the English will only do the same to our ships, so what do we gain?"
"It is a necessary military measure," Roland said. "See to it at once."
"And if I refuse?" the harbormaster asked.
"I have the authority to demand your obedience," Roland Kersauzon said softly. Perhaps because he didn't shout and carry on, the harbormaster looked stubborn and shook his head. With a sigh, Kersauzon drew one of the flintlock pistols he wore on his belt. The click when he cocked it filled the harbormaster's office. The man's eyes crossed fearfully as he stared down the bore of the weapon, which could not miss from a range of less than a yard. Still in a low voice, Roland continued, "And I will blow your stupid head off if you give me any more back talk. Is that plain enough for you?"
"You are a madman!" the harbormaster gasped, sweat starting out on his face.
"Very much at your service, sir," Roland said with a polite nod. "I am also a patriot. Can you say the same?"
"But of course!" With that pistol aimed an inch above the bridge of his nose, the harbormaster would as readily have confessed to being a Chinaman. "In the name of God, put up your gun!"
"And will I see action if I do?" Roland amended his words: "Action of the proper sort, I should say? Not foolishness. If you summon someone and try to have me arrested, he will be sorry and you will be sorrier. Do you understand? And, even more to the point, do you believe me?"
"Oui, Monsieur," the harbormaster choked out. "The pistol is most persuasive."
"I thought it might be. That is one of the reasons I carry it," Roland said complacently. He swung the flintlock aside and eased the hammer down. "Very well. No duress. Let's see how you do now."
The harbormaster didn't disappoint him. The functionary exploded into motion, shouting and waving his arms. Roland Kersauzon followed him to make sure all the shouting was to the point. It was. People stared at the harbormaster-he probably hadn't moved so fast in years. But, once they stopped staring, they did what he said. They did it with more enthusiasm than he seemed to expect, too. They swarmed aboard one ship from England or English Atlantis after another.
If they did some private pillaging while they were aboard, Roland intended to lose no sleep over it. This was war. And if he had to remind people what that meant, well, he would.
Victor Radcliff stared in dismay through the screening of ferns to the ford ahead. The French soldiers at the ford had no idea he and the three runaways were there. But the soldiers' presence was what dismayed him.
"You said no soldados this time." Francisco didn't sound happy with him.
"I didn't think there would be," Victor answered.
"You say no soldats last time, too." Blaise used bad French instead of bad Spanish.
"I didn't think they'd be there, either, dammit," Radcliff said. "They never are. Except now. Something's happened."
"Si. We happen," Juan said.
"No, no, no." Victor shook his head. "We aren't important enough to cause all this. We shook the ones on our trail a while ago now. These buggers shouldn't have any idea we're around, but they're here anyway. I'm as surprised as my great-grandfather."
"Is that a saying in your language?" Blaise asked. "What does it mean?"
"Not a saying in my language. A saying in my family," Victor replied. "My great-grandfather was the man who took Avalon away from the pirates a long time ago."
"Ah. Avalon. I know of Avalon," Juan said. Blaise nodded. Francisco didn't, but it didn't matter for the sake of the story.
"One of the pirate chiefs was my great-grandfather's cousin," Victor went on. "My ancestor killed him, but brought his daughter back to New Hastings. She was only a child, so why not? She grew up. She married. She had children of her own. And one day, more than twenty years later, she went up to Hanover-it was still called Stuart back then-and she called on my great-grandfather. He was old and rich by then, and glad to see her…till she pulled out a pistol and shot him dead."
He spoke a mixture of Spanish and French, to give them all a chance to follow. And they did, well enough. They laughed-not too loud, because the soldiers weren't far away. "As surprised as your great-grandfather," Blaise agreed. "What did they do to the pirate's daughter?"
"To the pirate's daughter? They hanged her. Ethel's last words were, 'I told him I would pay him back, and I did.' We're pigheaded, we Radcliffs." Victor spoke not without pride.
Juan had a more practical question: "Are you stubborn enough to know another ford? Or do we build a raft to get across?"
Victor pointed toward the Green Ridge Mountains. "There is another one, about half a day's travel west. It means more doubling back to get you to settled country and properly set up as freemen, but…" He spread his hands.
"We go," Blaise said. The black plainly led the runaways. Neither copperskin argued with him.
Not many men knew about the more distant ford-fewer on the French side than on the English, Victor judged. What he and his companions would do if it was garrisoned, too…he would worry about then. He'd never been one to borrow trouble. He found enough as things were. Most people did.
The sun was sinking in the west when they found the ford. They scouted it with unusual care, but no French troops seemed anywhere close by. Victor crossed first, his firearms above his head to keep them dry. The runaways followed through the waist-deep water.
They'd all come out dripping onto the north bank when an English voice shouted, "Hold it right there, or we'll ventilate you!" Several men with bayoneted muskets emerged from the undergrowth.
"I've never seen soldiers here before!" Victor exclaimed, also in English.
"You bloody clot! Don't you know there's a war on?" a sergeant demanded. He sounded tough but not unfriendly: Victor's accent disarmed him.