He made up his mind. "I will send you to New Hastings," he said. The old town was far enough from Stuart to leave him feeling safe. "You may learn a trade there, or pursue such education as fits your pleasure and abilities. And I will dower you, richly enough to let you marry and enjoy the blessings of domestic felicity." Or as many of them as a hellcat can enjoy, at any rate.
Ethel Radcliffe looked him in the eye. She didn't spit in his face, but he thought she wanted to. "Salve your conscience all you please, old man. I'll kill you anyhow."
He had her taken away then. She went peaceably enough. He wasn't going to worry about her any more. He told himself he wasn't, anyhow.
It wasn't as if he didn't have other things to worry about. Elijah Walton wanted to place all of Avalon-indeed, the whole west coast of Atlantis from Avalon northwards-under the direct rule of the King of England. "He provided the wherewithal by which it was won," he said.
"Piet Kieft will be surprised to hear it," William remarked. "So will the House of Orange. And so am I. Did my armed merchantmen do nothing here? Did my backwoodsmen not take this town with the Royal Marines?"
"They made their contributions," Walton said with a grace both easy and, Radcliff reckoned, false. "But truly, what difference does it make unless you are a damned Dutchman? His Majesty already rules the Atlantean settlements. This would but extend that rule."
"It would not, for we have our longstanding rights and privileges to guard against tyranny and misrule," William said. "Land ruled straight from London would not."
"Say you that his Majesty is a tyrant?" Walton no doubt thought he sounded dangerous, but he'd had little to do with Ethel Radcliffe.
"I said nothing of the sort, sir, and will style you liar and knave should you publish it abroad that I did," William replied. "But king follows king as autumn follows summer. Who knows what the next reign may bring, or the one after that?"
Elijah Walton waved his words away. "You quarrel over the shadow of an ass."
"I think not," William Radcliff said. "Nor will the English settlements here. As for the French and the Spaniards here in this western land…"
"One more reason for the Crown to rule here: to protect you from them," Walton said.
William laughed in the Englishman's face, as Ethel had laughed in his. "As the Crown warded off the corsairs?" he inquired.
Walton reddened. "You mistrust the spirit in which this proposal is offered."
"By God, sir, I do indeed," Radcliff said. "And I tell you again, I am not the only one who will. If you wish to see insurrection against the Crown flare all through English Atlantis, you have but to persist in your mad policy."
"You jest," Walton said. "You bluff."
"I am willing-I am even glad-to have the king rule me…from a safe distance, both in travel and in law," William said. "Were his rule more intimate, it would prove less congenial. I am not alone in this sentiment, nor anywhere close to it. Heed me or not, as you like. I have told you the truth." His warning was at least as determined as Ethel's had been.
"His Majesty will not be pleased," Elijah Walton warned. Radcliff only shrugged. And he carried the day. No one can stop the Radcliffs when they set their mind to something, he thought, and then, remembering Red Rodney's daughter, he rather wished he hadn't.
PART THREE
Nouveau Redon
XVI
V ictor Radcliff squelched through muck. Englishmen weren't supposed to come this far south in Atlantis. Radcliff thought he must have passed the French settlements and entered Spanish territory. At the coast, it would be. There, telling who lorded it over a piece of ground was easy enough. Everyone's settlements faded toward nothingness the farther into the interior a man went.
New Hastings had been settled three hundred years before, but that was almost as true up there as it was anywhere else in Atlantis. People who liked exploring for its own sake were thinner on the ground here than they might have been. A lot of them went on to Terranova, beyond the Hesperian Gulf. A broader land, it offered that kind of man more scope.
But you could find something new here if you worked at it. Plenty of Englishmen crossed the Green Ridge Mountains to travel from New Hastings and Hanover (formerly Stuart) to Avalon, following a route pioneered by Richard Radcliffe when Atlantis was a strange new world. Some of them turned away from that route and founded little villages in the hinterland. No one knew how many such villages there were. A lot of the people who lived in them wanted nothing to do with the outside world, and kept to themselves.
Or you could range farther afield, as Victor was doing. So many things here in the south seemed strange to an Atlantean who'd grown up near New Hastings. The weather was a good place to start; it reminded him of a steam bath. New Hastings could get weather like that. So could Hanover. Down here, the news came when it wasn't beastly hot and beastly muggy.
With the different weather went different plants. The theme was the same as it was all over Atlantis: conifers and what the Atlanteans called barrel trees and ferns. But instead of the pines and towering redwoods near New Hastings, instead of the firs and spruces north of Hanover that made such splendid masts, here most of the conifers were cypresses growing on knees half lifted out of the swamps. The rest, on higher ground, were scrubby pines different from the ones farther north. There were more varieties of barrel tree, too; both Frenchmen and Spaniards cooked up a formidable spirit from the sap inside some of them. And the ferns grew in riotous profusion wherever there was shadow and moisture-which is to say, almost everywhere. Victor had seen them sprouting from between the bricks of country homes. In every shade of green, in every size from smaller than his hand to twice as tall as he was, they formed the forest's understory.
Something almost under Victor's boot said, "Freep!" and jumped into the water with a splash. He froze for a moment: he hadn't seen it till it moved and croaked. Only a frog, he thought. Down here, though, only wasn't necessarily so. Some of the frogs here had bodies twice the size of a man's fist. They ate anything that wasn't big enough to eat them.
Others were of more ordinary size, but colored black streaked with vivid scarlet or gold or turquoise. Nothing ate them-not more than once, anyhow. They were poisonous. It was almost as if their colorful hides warned the world to leave them alone.
A flapjack turtle peered at Victor from the swamp. All he could see of it were its pointy-nosed head and snaky neck. Flapjack turtles made better eating than the frogs. But they could fight back. One that size could bite off a man's finger with no trouble at all.
A lizard skittered away into some ferns. Another one, larger, eyed Victor from a cypress branch well out of his reach. Both of them were harmless. Some of the lizards down here, though, grew longer than a man was tall-and those were the ones that lived on land. It said nothing about the sawbacked monsters that haunted streams. The Spaniards called them all dragons even if they didn't breathe fire. The name seemed fair enough to Victor. They were formidable beasts, with formidable teeth and claws. They couldn't flourish up in the English regions of Atlantis; the winters were too cold. Victor didn't miss them a bit.
When up in New Hastings, he also didn't miss the snakes big enough to coil round these lizards, suffocate them, and swallow them. He kept a wary eye on the fern thickets through which he pushed. A snake big enough to kill and eat a dragon was big enough to kill and eat him, too.
They also had flying snakes down here, and you didn't have to get into the barrel-tree juice to see them. Victor supposed they didn't really fly, but the name had stuck. They spread themselves flat and glided from one branch to another or from a branch down to the ground either to escape from becoming something else's dinner or to catch their own. Three or four different kinds had learned the trick; one was venomous, but the rest weren't.