At the Queen's Command by Michael A. Stackpole

corner of the bread into his tea, then took a bite. “I don’t see the logic of that. I rode from here to the Prince’s estate. There is plenty of unoccupied land.”
    Doctor Frost sat forward, resting his elbows on the table. “That is a matter of contention, Captain. The Twilight People migrate seasonally, so what we see as open is land they require for hunting, or that might be sacred to them. They do not develop the land as we do. Because they do not engage in animal husbandry or much more than subsistence farming, they require far larger tracts than we do. When someone decides to go out, clear some ground, and set up a farm, the Twilight People take offense. Not close to the city, mind you, but out there, in the wilderness.”
    “Langford could send troops to punish the raiders.”
    “He could, but most of the settlers involved are squatting on land claimed by the Crown. Speculators, however, want those lands, so the pressure will increase to destroy the Twilight People.” Frost sat back. “That discussion formed part of the debate last evening. The larger question was whether or not Mystria would do better as its own nation, or subject to the Crown.”
    Owen’s eyes tightened. “That discussion could be construed as treason, Doctor Frost.”
    The older man smiled. “Not the discussion, sir, but advocacy of independence—and no one advocated that. What we did discuss, however, was whether or not the Crown was negligent in its conduct toward us. Benign negligence in the minds of most but, alas, not all.”
    “I’m not certain I follow, sir.”
    “Let me give you one simple example. The southern colonies are prohibited from selling cotton to anyone but Norillian merchants. They are paid a price set by the Crown, a price which is considerably below that offered by the Tharyngians.”
    “The Tharyngians are our enemies, Doctor. You cannot be suggesting we would trade with the enemy.”
    “No, but Norillian merchants buy our raw cotton, then sell to agents of the Alandalusians at a great profit. They, in turn, sell it to the Tharyngians.” Frost raised a finger. “And, more to the point, the cotton that ends up in Norisle is milled there, then shipped back here. The cloth is sold at a considerable mark-up. Because we have ample rivers, we could produce our own cloth here, even more cheaply than in Norisle. We could even ship and sell it cheaply in Norisle, but the Crown prohibits us having any native industry.”
    “I will admit, sir, that this seems, on the surface, to make no sense, but…”
    Frost chuckled and patted a hand against the broadsheet. “It makes perfect sense, Captain, when you realize that it is the men made rich in the various trades who have the Queen’s ear. They are the men who sit in Lords or have their agents elected to Commons. They tell the Queen that were we to have our own mills, it would ruin the Norillian economy. They remind her that we are the children of convicts, dissidents, and redemptioneers and, therefore, inherently untrustworthy.”
    Owen raised an eyebrow. “You argue against yourself, sir. You suggest you are not defectives. If this is true, and you were given industry, you would succeed in your ventures, ruining Norisle’s economy. The Crown is either ignorant, or terribly wise.”
    “I prefer ‘unthinking,’ Captain.” Frost lifted up the paper. “Consider, if a press can be shipped here and set up in two days, do you think it possible that a mill will not be someday duplicated? Might some man ruined by a rival not come here and build one? Might not a Ryngian cede us that knowledge to ruin Norisle?”
    Owen nodded. “Either could happen. Each would be illegal.”
    “If you were given the orders, would you destroy those mills?”
    “It would be my duty.”
    “But could you get all of them, Captain?”
    Owen shook his head. “They would still be illegal.”
    “And inevitable.” Frost smiled. “Change is an irresistible force, Captain. Progress cannot