The Shadows of God - J. Gregory Keyes [21]
“You wouldn't dare!”
“Sir, you should not try me there.” He cocked his head. “By any chance, is the siege of Montgomery your command?”
“Of course it is.”
“Well, that's grand, very grand.” He looked up at Joseph. “Did he leave me any brandy?”
“I hid the best bottle, sir.”
“Bring it here, if you don't mind, and pour yourself a dram.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you intend to do with me?” the Earl of Mar asked.
Oglethorpe didn't answer until the brandy was in his hand and he had taken a sip. “I'm usually a temperate man, you know,” he said. “I had some unfortunate occasions in my youth involving this stuff. Just now, however, I need to steady myself for what may soon come.”
“What, sir? What do you mean?”
Mar's bluster was nearly gone, leaving only a shrunken, pitiful old man. Why in heaven's name had James kept this fool as a general?
Oglethorpe set his drink down. “Sir, how you are treated very much depends upon you. If you give me the details of your campaign against Nairne—true and accurate details, including the number and placement of all your diabolic engines—and if you tell me everything else you know concerning the Pretender's troops, designs, and intentions, then I will treat you as a gentleman. But if you vex me in the slightest, I fear I will be forced to demonstrate just how we treat your sort on this continent, if we take a mind to.”
The earl tried to glare, and the veins pulsed on his forehead.
“James is your rightful king,” he said weakly.
“I once would have agreed with you,” Oglethorpe said mildly, “as well you know. But that was before he forsook God and took Lucifer and the damned Russians as his bosom companions. Now only two sorts of men serve him—the evil and the foolish. Which are you, Mar? Evil I will not tolerate. I have the head of your pet witch in a bag. My Indian friends wish to burn the evil from you, slowly, with all the craft of their kind. But if you are merely foolish, you can make amends. You can set things right.”
“May I have some brandy?”
Oglethorpe laughed. “Yes, and you may have some brandy.”
“No —I meant—now, I meant …”
“I know you did. You may have it. Will it be one cordial of many to come or your last drink before dying?”
“You are no gentleman, sir, and your father would be ashamed.”
“My father is dead, and his estates are ash. Answer my question.”
The earl dropped his head. “Curse me for an old man,” he muttered, “but do not give me to the savages. I'm tired of this place, weary of this war. I will tell you what you wish to know. Only do not give me over to them.”
And Oglethorpe smiled as he might at a wayward child.
“You have my word. Serve me as I wish, and you will be quite safe. Joseph, bring him some brandy, will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mar gulped at it when it was in his hands. “I heard you were dead, you know,” Mar said, after a moment. “We had reports that your army had been crushed.”
“I don't doubt it. I put those reports out myself.”
“Eh? But General Simmon's command—”
“Quite destroyed. But I found one of his field aetherschreibers, and thus sent word back to Charles Town and your false king of a … different outcome. I'm sure they're onto the trick by now, but now they don't know where I am. Even with their flying corvettes, they must have some idea where to look, and they have none.” He raised his glass. “But they will. Nairne is at Fort Montgomery.”
“Yes.”
“And you have laid siege to it.”
“I have.”
“And how does that proceed?”
“Not well, thus far, but—” Mar stopped quite quickly.
“I did say everything,” Oglethorpe reminded him gently. “Vex me in the slightest, I said.”
“I sent for reinforcements,” Mar admitted.
“Are they coming on foot or in the flying ships?”
“Neither.”
“Boats, then, up the Altamaha? Come, sir, do not make me guess.”
“Boats, yes. The underwater