"A general's wife, on second thought. You'd be wasted on the diplomatic corps; we're all such dry paper-shufflers." He speared a piece of toast with his fork, and Lady Amelia, whose manners with her own family were as punctilious as if she dined with royalty, looked away. Sir Charles piled marmalade on his toast till it began to ooze off the edges, added one more dollop for good measure, and ate it all in three gulps. "Melly, I know I've told you about the difficulties we're having in the North, on this side of the mountains with our lot, and on the far side with whatever it is they breed over there - a very queer bunch, from all we can gather - and it's all begun to escalate, this last year, at an alarming speed. Harry, Dick's told you something of this?"
She nodded.
"You may or may not know that our real hold over Daria ends just about where this station stands, although technically - on paper - Homeland rule extends right to the foot of those mountains north and east of here - the Ossanders, which run out from the Ramids, and then that far eastern range you see over the sand, where none of us has ever been ... those mountains are the only bits of the old kingdom of Damar still under native rule. There used to be quite a lot of fighting along this border - say, forty years ago. Since then their king - oh yes, there's a king - more or less ignores us, and we more or less ignore him. But odd things - call them odd things; Jack will tell you what he thinks they are - still happen on that plain, our no-man's-land. So we have the 4th Cavalry here with us.
"Nothing too odd has happened since the current king took the throne around ten years ago, we think - they don't bother to keep us up to date on such things - but it never does to be careless. Um." He frowned and, while frowning, ate another piece of toast. "Everything has been quiet for - oh, at least fifteen years. Nearly as long as I've been here, and that's a long time. Ask Jack, though, for stories of what it was like up and down the northern half of this border before that. He has plenty of them." He stood up from the table, and went across the room to the row of windows. He lifted the curtain farther back as he looked out across the desert, as if breadth of view might assist clarity of thought. It was obvious his mind was not on the explanation he was giving; and for all his assumed cheerfulness, he was deeply worried. "Damn! ... Excuse me. Where is Jack? I expected he would have at least sent young Richard on ahead before now." He spoke as if to himself, or perhaps to Philip Mortimer, who made soothing noises, poured a cup of tea, and took it to Sir Charles where he stood squinting into the morning sunlight.
"Trouble?" said Lady Amelia gently. "More trouble?"
Sir Charles dropped the curtain and turned around. "Yes! More trouble." He looked down at his hands, realized he was holding a cup of tea in one of them, and took a swallow from it with the air of a man who does what is expected of him. "There may be war with the North. Jack thinks so. I'm not sure, but - I don't like the rumors. We must secure the passes through the mountains - particularly Ritger's Gap, which gives anybody coming through it almost a direct line to Istan, and then of course to the whole Province. It may only be some tribal uproar - but it could be war, as real as it was eighty years ago. There aren't many of the old Damarians left - the Hillfolk - but we've been forced to have a pretty healthy respect for them. And if King Corlath decides to throw his chances in with the Northerners - "
There was a clatter in the street below. Sir Charles' head snapped around. "There they are at last," he said, and bolted for the front door and threw it open himself, under the scandalized eye of the butler who had emerged from his inner sanctum just too late. "Come in! I've been in high fidgets for the last hour, wondering what's become of you. Have you found out anything that