He stopped, and touched the metal splinter with his left hand. Then wrote,
You are true north.
Believe me ever your servant, sir,
John Grey
He sanded the letter and shook it gently dry, folded it, and taking the candlestick, dripped wax upon the edge and pressed his ring into the warm soft wax to seal it. The smiling crescent moon of his signet was sharp-cut, clear in the candlelight. He set down the candlestick, and after weighing the letter in his hand for a moment, reached out and touched the end of it to the flame.
It caught, flared up, and he dropped the flaming fragment into the hearth. Then, standing, shucked his banyan, blew out the candle, and lay down, naked in the dark.
THE SCOTTISH PRISONER
There are only two compensations to Jamie Fraser’s life as a paroled Jacobite prisoner of war in the remote Lake District: he’s not cutting sugar cane in the West Indies, and he has access to William, his illegitimate (and very secret) son, otherwise known as the Ninth Earl of Ellesmere. His quiet life comes suddenly apart with the appearance of Tobias Quinn, an Irishman and an erstwhile comrade from the Rising.
Some Jacobites were killed; others, like Jamie, imprisoned or transported. Others escaped. And many of them didn’t give up. Quinn still burns with passion for the Stuart cause, and he has a Plan. A singularly dangerous plan, involving Jamie Fraser and an ancient relic of Irish kingship—the sacred cup of the Druid king.
Jamie has had enough of politics, enough of war—and more than enough of the Stuarts. He’s having none of it.
IN LONDON, LORD John Grey has brought home from Quebec a packet of papers that might as well have come equipped with a fuse, so explosive are their contents. Material collected by a recently deceased friend, the papers document a damning case of corruption and murder against a British officer, Major Gerald Siverly. For the sake of his friend, and his own honor as a soldier, John is determined to bring Siverly to justice.
John’s brother, Hal, the Duke of Pardloe, takes this cause as his own and enlists the help of his wife, Minnie, a retired spy in her own right. The Greys show Minnie a mysterious document from the dangerous docket—what appear to be verses, written in a language they don’t recognize. Minnie does recognize the language. It’s Erse, she tells the brothers. The language spoken by Irishmen and Scottish Highlanders.
Erse. The word gave Grey a very odd sensation. Erse was what folk spoke in the Scottish Highlands. It sounded like no other language he’d ever heard—and barbarous as it was, he was rather surprised to learn that it existed in a written form.
Hal was looking at him speculatively. “You must have heard it fairly often, at Ardsmuir?”
“Heard it, yes. Almost all the prisoners spoke it.” Grey had been governor of Ardsmuir prison for a brief period; as much exile as appointment, in the wake of a near scandal. He disliked thinking about that period of his life, for assorted reasons.
“Did Fraser speak it?”
Oh, God, Grey thought. Not that. Anything but that.
“Yes,” he said, though. He had often overheard James Fraser speaking in his native tongue to the other prisoners, the words mysterious and flowing.
“When did you see him last?”
“Not for some time.” Grey spoke briefly, his voice careful. He hadn’t spoken to the man in more than a year.
Not careful enough; Hal came round in front of him, examining him at close range, as though he might be an unusual sort of Chinese jug.
“He is still at Helwater, is he not? Will you go and ask him about Siverly?” Hal said mildly.
“No.”
“No?”
“I would not piss on him was he burning in the flames of hell,” Grey said politely.
One of Hal’s brows flicked upward, but only momentarily.
“Just so,” he said dryly. “The question, though, is whether Fraser might be inclined to perform a similar service for you.”
Grey placed his cup carefully in the center of the desk.
“Only if he thought I might drown,” he said, and went out.
But needs must when the devil drives—and Lord John and Jamie are shortly unwilling companions on the road to Ireland, a country whose dark castles hold dreadful secrets and whose bogs hide the bones of the dead.
THE CUSTOM OF THE ARMY
London, 1759
All things considered, it was probably the fault of the electric eel. John Grey could—and for a time, did—blame the Honorable Caroline Woodford, as well. And the surgeon. And certainly that blasted poet. Still…no, it was the eel’s fault.
After a high society electric-eel party leads to a duel that ends badly, Lord John Grey feels the need to lie low for a while. Conveniently, before starting his new commission in His Majesty’s army, Lord John receives an urgent summons. An old friend from the military, Charlie Carruthers, is facing court-martial in Canada and has called upon Lord John to serve as his character witness. Grey voyages to the New World—a land rife with savages (many of them on his own side) and cleft by war—where he soon finds that he must defend not only his friend’s life but his own.
Not that the New World does not offer its own interesting opportunities.
He woke abruptly, face-to-face with an Indian. His reflexive flurry of movement was met with a low chuckle and a slight withdrawal, rather than a knife across the throat, though, and he broke through the fog of sleep in time to avoid doing serious damage to the scout Manoke.
“What?” he muttered, and rubbed the heel of his hand across his eyes. “What is it?” And why the devil are you lying on my bed?
In answer to this, the Indian put a hand behind his head, drew him close, and kissed him. The man’s tongue ran lightly across his lower lip, darted like a lizard’s into his mouth, and then was gone.
So was the Indian.
He rolled over onto his back, blinking. A dream. It was still raining, harder now. He breathed in deeply; he could smell bear grease, of course, on his own skin, and mint—was there any hint of metal? The light was stronger—it must be day; he heard the drummer passing through the aisles of tents to rouse the men, the rattle of his sticks blending with the rattle of the rain, the shouts of corporals and sergeants—but still faint and gray. He could not have been asleep for more than half an hour, he thought.
“Christ,” he muttered, and, turning himself stiffly over, pulled his coat over his head and sought sleep once again.
AS USUAL IN the life of a soldier, though, war tends to intrude upon one’s personal affairs, and Lord John finds himself in a barque upon the night-black waters of the mighty St. Lawrence, assisting General James Wolfe and an officer named Simon Fraser, in command of a party of Highlanders, who plan to make a daring assault on the Citadel of Quebec by climbing a sheer cliff—in the dark.
The scrabblings and gruntings grew fainter and abruptly ceased. Wolfe, who had been sitting on a boulder, stood up, straining his eyes upward.
“They’ve made it,” he whispered, and his fists curled in an excitement that Grey shared. “God, they’ve made it!”
Well enough, and the men at the foot of the cliff held their breaths; there was a guard post at the top of the cliff. Silence, bar the everlasting noise of tree and river. And then a shot.
Just one. The men below shifted, touching their weapons, ready, not knowing for what.
Were there sounds above? Grey could not tell and, out of sheer nervousness, turned aside to urinate against the side of the cliff. He was fastening his flies when he heard Simon Fraser’s voice above.
“Got ’em, by God!” he said. “Come on, lads—the night’s not long enough!”
The next few hours passed in a blur of the most arduous endeavor Grey had seen since he’d crossed the Scottish Highlands with his brother’s regiment, bringing cannon to General Cope. No, actually, he thought, as he stood in darkness, one leg wedged between a tree and the rock face, thirty feet of invisible space below him and rope burning through his palms with an unseen dea
dweight of two hundred pounds or so on the end, this was worse.
The Highlanders had surprised the guard, shot their fleeing captain in the heel, and made all of them prisoner. That was the easy part. The next thing was for the rest of the landing party to ascend to the cliff top, now that the trail—if there was such a thing—had been cleared. There they would make preparations to raise not only the rest of the troops now coming down the river aboard the transports but also seventeen battering cannon, twelve howitzers, three mortars, and all of the necessary encumbrances in terms of shell, powder, planks, and limbers necessary to make this artillery effective. At least, Grey reflected, by the time they were done, the vertical trail up the cliff side would likely have been trampled into a simple cow path.
As the sky lightened, Grey looked up for a moment from his spot at the top of the cliff, where he was now overseeing the last of the artillery as it was heaved over the edge, and saw the bateaux coming down again like a flock of swallows, they having crossed the river to collect an additional 1,200 troops that Wolfe had directed to march to Levi on the opposite shore, there to lie hidden in the woods until the Highlanders’ expedient should have been proved.
A head, cursing freely, surged up over the edge of the cliff. Its attendant body lunged into view, tripped, and sprawled at Grey’s feet.
“Sergeant Cutter!” Grey said, grinning as he bent to yank the little sergeant to his feet. “Come to join the party, have you?”
“Jesus fuck,” replied the sergeant, belligerently brushing dirt from his coat. “We’d best win, that’s all I can say.” And, without waiting for reply, turned round to bellow down the cliff, “Come ON, you bloody rascals! ’Ave you all eaten lead for breakfast, then? Shit it out and step lively! CLIMB, God damn your eyes!”
The net result of this monstrous effort being that, as dawn spread its golden glow across the Plains of Abraham, the French sentries on the walls of the Citadel of Quebec gaped in disbelief at the sight of more than four thousand British troops drawn up in battle array before them.
A PLAGUE OF ZOMBIES
Lord John Grey, a lieutenant-colonel in His Majesty’s army, arrives in Jamaica with orders to quash a slave rebellion brewing in the mountains. But a much deadlier threat lies close at hand. The governor of the island is being menaced by zombies, according to a servant. Lord John has no idea what a zombie is, but it doesn’t sound good. It sounds even worse when hands smelling of grave dirt come out of the darkness to take him by the throat. Between murder in the governor’s mansion and plantations burning in the mountains, Lord John will need the wisdom of serpents and the luck of the devil to keep the island from exploding.
A FOOTNOTE ON CHRONOLOGY AND OTHER NOVELLAS
The Lord John novellas and novels3 are sequential but are built to stand alone; you don’t need to read them in order.
In terms of their relationship to the larger Outlander novels: These books are part of the overall series but are focused for the most part on those times in Lord John’s life when he’s not “onstage” in the main novels. The Scottish Prisoner, in particular, focuses also on a part of Jamie Fraser’s life not covered in the main novels.
All of the Lord John novels take place between 1756 and 1761 and in terms of the overall Outlander novels/timeline, they thus occur more or less in the middle of Voyager. So you can read any of them, in any order, once you’ve read Voyager, without getting lost.
Lord John’s Character
Well, the man’s got a ruthless streak, though owing to being a younger brother, he observes this in full flower in his brother, Hal, and keeps his own in better check. He doesn’t check his capacity for violence but has had either the good fortune or the good sense to let it loose (for the most part) in appropriate circumstances, such as on battlefields. He’s very impulsive, but since he’s usually acting from decent motives and is quick in his perceptions and actions, this usually doesn’t lead him into serious trouble. (“Usually.” Vide what he does when confronting a killer in Brotherhood.)
He’s vulnerable to the sexual attraction of violence, too—see the chapter titled “Shame” in Brotherhood—but is ashamed when he gives way to it. I.e., he certainly has flaws but is also very self-aware (doubtless because of his double identity; he has to know who he really is, particularly since the world can’t ever know), and that self-awareness usually preserves him from giving way to them. Not always, though. There are a couple of scenes in “The Custom of the Army” where he lets his impulses overpower his judgment—but, by and large, he knows what he’s doing and takes the rap for it.
There are several threads that lead through John’s life, regardless of where he is and what he’s doing. Love of his family and fierce loyalty to them; a strong sense of duty, to his regiment, his country, and the king. And…Jamie Fraser. From the first moment these two men met, John remained intensely aware of Jamie, whether the awareness was hatred, sexual attraction, or (much later) the deepening of a solid friendship. But as he thinks to himself (in A Plague of Zombies):
He had lost one lover to death, another to betrayal. The third…His lips tightened. Could you call a man your lover, who would never touch you—would recoil from the very thought of touching you? No. But at the same time, what would you call a man whose mind touched yours, whose prickly friendship was a gift, whose character, whose very existence, helped to define your own?
John isn’t a victim, pining away from unrequited love. He finds love, as well as physical gratification, where he can. But he understands the need to love—to give of himself, rather than to demand the gift of another.
Like anyone, he has his flaws—but he has a good heart.4
* * *
1 And I do indeed mean science fiction, not fantasy. The time travel in the Outlander series has a (theoretical) scientific basis and works on standard principles of energy and space; it’s not “magic,” as various ill-informed reviewers and copywriters are prone to put it.
2 I was born with a couple of risky genes: one of them causes a reflexive “Says who?” in response to any statement of a personally questionable nature, and the other causes an equally reflexive “Why not?” in response to any invitation that seems certain to offer challenge and/or bizarre complexity.
3 There are also a couple of short stories—and will eventually be more—dealing with minor events, minor characters, and/or lacunae in the main books. These are presently published in various anthologies but will eventually be collected in book form.
“A Leaf on the Wind of All Hallows” appears in the anthology Songs of Love and Death (edited by George R. R. Martin and Gardner Dozois). This is a short story set in WWII that tells the story of what really happened to Roger MacKenzie’s parents, Jerry and Dolly.
“The Space Between” is a novella that appears in an anthology titled The Mad Scientist’s Guide to World Domination (edited by John Joseph Adams). This story is set mostly in Paris and involves Joan McKimmie (Marsali’s younger sister), Michael Murray (Young Ian’s older brother), the Comte St. Germain (no, of course he’s not dead, don’t be silly), and Mother Hildegarde.
4 (BTW, the fact that a particular person doesn’t act in a given situation as you would doesn’t necessarily mean they’re wrong.)
PART THREE
CAST OF CHARACTERS
his list includes all the characters from the second four novels and from the Lord John books, with brief notes as to which book each character is introduced in, who they are, their role in the story, and whether they’re fictional or real historical persons (indicated by an “x”).
All Big Books [All]
All Lord John [All LJ]
The Fiery Cross [Fiery Cross]
A Breath of Snow and Ashes [Ashes]
An Echo in the Bone [Echo]
Written in My Own Heart’s Blood [MOBY]
Lord John and the Hellfire Club [HF]
Lord John and the Private Matter [PM]
Lord John and the Succubus [SU]
Lord John and the Brothe
rhood of the Blade [BL]
Lord John and the Haunted Soldier [HS]
The Custom of the Army [CA]
The Scottish Prisoner [SP]
A Plague of Zombies [PZ]
A Leaf on the Wind of All Hallows [LW]
The Space Between [SB]
A
Abbott, Mrs. Madge—Brothel owner in Philadelphia and Jane’s former employer. [MOBY]
Abercrombie, Mrs.—A member of Reverend Wakefield’s congregation, who runs to the Reverend (and Roger) for help when she thinks she’s killed her husband with the steam iron he presented her with as an anniversary gift, causing Roger to think carefully about his wedding gift to Brianna. [Fiery Cross]
Aberfeldy, Billy—One of the tenants who accompanies the Frasers to the Ridge to homestead. [Fiery Cross]
Aberfeldy, Ruth, Mrs.—The wife of Billy Aberfeldy, newly arrived tenants who are living in cramped conditions with the Frasers and two other families, until a cabin can be built for the growing family. [Fiery Cross]
Abernathy, Arabella (aka Grannie Belly)—The granddaughter-in-law of Old Grannie Abernathy, family matriarch of the Abernathys on Fraser’s Ridge. [Ashes]
Abernathy, Barnabas—Jamaican plantation owner of Rose Hall, supposedly killed by rioting slaves. [PZ]
Abernathy, Gail—Joe Abernathy’s wife. [MOBY]
Abernathy, Geillis—See “Geillis Duncan.”
Abernathy, Hugh—Member of the extensive Abernathy clan on Fraser’s Ridge, he stands by Jamie’s side during the heinous accusations voiced by Allan Christie regarding the murder of his sister, Malva. [Ashes]
Abernathy, Jocky—One of the extensive Abernathy clan on Fraser’s Ridge and Roger’s fishing companion. [Ashes]
Abernathy, Joseph, Dr. (aka Uncle Joe)—Claire’s best friend in the twentieth century, whom she met in medical school, later left in charge of Brianna when Claire returned to Jamie, and who helped establish twentieth-century credentials for Brianna and Roger MacKenzie and the children when they returned from the past; he also helped Brianna through Mandy’s medical issue. [Fiery Cross, Echo, MOBY]
The Companion to the Fiery Cross, a Breath of Snow and Ashes, an Echo in the Bone, and Written in My Own Heart's Blood Page 40