Paxton's War by Kerry Newcomb

been left and attended to by servants and slaves, stood Major Randall Embleton, accompanied by a dozen red-coated English soldiers, one of whom lowered the Brown Bess that had just announced the Crown’s military presence. Not yet forty, Embleton was a man whose ambition shone in his enormous jet-black eyes. His reputation as a ruthless warrior had been won in Scotland and was being hardened during his tour of duty in the colonies. The son of a wealthy London banker, Embleton was not an attractive man. His bug eyes and floppy ears were too large, his neck too thick, his lips far too protruding. He nonetheless looked formidable as he sat firmly upon a black steed. His uniform was graced with fringed epaulets the color of gold, and an impressive array of medals. His highly polished boots matched his eyes and his horse. He removed his tricorn to reveal a short white compaign wig that was braided in the back into a ponytail secured on top and bottom by black velvet bows. On his appearance, and without causing notice, Hope and Ethan quietly moved Allan to the back of the crowd and into the dense woods.
    â€œI mean not to disturb the festivities,” the major announced in a voice laden with murderous restraint. “I’ve recently arrived from Charles Town”—he was careful to separate the two words—“where I’m most happy to report that the king’s forces, as you might well expect, continue to be handily in control. Furthermore, I’ve been asked by Colonel Tarleton to ensure the peace and political tranquility that the Crown has brought to this colony. We’ve had, however, some reports of trouble in your fair community of Brandborough, and therefore I think it appropriate that I take this festive occasion to state that under no circumstances will insurrection be treated with anything less than swift and severe rebuke.”
    The Tories cheered, the Patriots jeered, and Embleton raised his hand to still the crowd. The thin veneer of civility peeled away from his voice, revealing a harsh, strident undertone. “If I must set an example, mark me well, I’ll welcome the opportunity. It should be clear to all that these colonies are the king’s. To think or, more foolishly yet, to act otherwise is a hopeless endeavor. My mandate is to keep this great colony secure and, no matter the cost, I do not intend to fail. If any of you has any questions in this matter”—his smile resembled a shark’s open-mouthed gaze—“I shall be glad to answer them—in the more … felicitous surroundings of the Old Customs-Exchange building in Charles Town.”
    There was a great stir from the crowd, a mumbling of more muffled jeers from the Patriots and a swell of hearty cheers from the Loyalists. “I’ve got a question I want answered right now,” an unidentified voice shouted. “Why don’t you pack up and go home?”
    The corner of Embleton’s mouth twitched and his hand tightened around his reins, but he maintained control of his temper. His eyes swept over the crowd and, one eyebrow raised, stopped on Peter. “You’re Tregoning?” he asked.
    â€œYes, sir! Captain Peter Alfred Tregoning, commanding, New Dunston—”
    Embleton silenced him with an imperious wave, and with the same gesture commanded him to approach.
    â€œDamn!” Peter whispered to Jason. “What a pickle. Just arrived, and already partying. He’ll be furious. Walk with me, will you?”
    There was no way out of it. Made to walk the gauntlet between the two opposing groups of colonists, Jason wished he could become invisible.
    â€œLost no time, eh, Captain?” Embleton asked, returning Peter’s salute.
    â€œSir, I—”
    â€œYour troops looked good, considering they’d just landed, and your lieutenant was suitably impressive. On top of which, you’re making yourself known with an alacrity I find commendable.”