Egalitarianism again. The Marquis de La Fayette was like a pianoforte that had but a single key. “You forget that our enemy in Detroit is American.”

“You forget that our enemy is the horde of illegal squatters, no matter what nation they come from, who have settled in the Red Reserve.”

“That's a quibble. They're all Americans. They all pass through New Amsterdam or Philadelphia on their way west. So you encourage them here in the east– they all know how much you admire their anti-monarchist philosophy– and then I have to pay for their scalps when the Reds massacre them out west.”

“Now, now, Frederic. Even in humor, you mustn't accuse me of being anti-monarchist. M. Guillotin's clever meat-slicing machine awaits anyone convicted of that.”

“Oh, do be serious, Gilbert. They'd never use it against a marquis. They don't cut off the heads of aristocrats who propound these insane democratic ideas. They just send them to Quebec.” Frederic smiled– he couldn't resist driving home the nail. “The ones they really despise, they send to Niagara.”

“Then what in the world did you do– to get sent to Detroit?” murmured La Fayette.

More humiliation. Would it never end?

The Marie-Philippe was near enough for them to see individual sailors and hear them shouting as the ship made its final tack into Port Irrakwa. The lowest of the Great Lakes, Irrakwa was the only one that could be visited by oceangoing vessels– the Niagara Falls saw to that. In the last three years, since the Irrakwa finished their canal, almost all the shipping that needed to be transported past the falls into Lake Canada came to the American shore and was taken up the Niagara Canal. The French portage towns were dying; an embarrassing number of Frenchmen had moved across the lake to live on the American side, where the Irrakwa were only too happy to put them to work. And the Marquis de La Fayette, supposedly the supreme governor of all Canada south and west of Quebec, didn't seem to mind at all. If Frederic's father ever got back into King Charles's good graces, Frederic would see to it that La Fayette was the first aristocrat to feel the Guillotin knife. What he had done here in Canada was plain treason.

As if he could read Frederic's mind, La Fayette patted his shoulder and said, “Very soon, now, just be patient.” For a moment Frederic thought, insanely, that La Fayette was calmly prophesying his own execution for treason.

But La Fayette was merely talking about the fact that at last the Marie-Philippe was near enough to heave a line to the wharf. The Irrakwa stevedores caught the line and affixed it to the windlass, and then chanted in their unspeakable language as they towed the ship close in. As soon as it was in place, they began unloading cargo on the one side, and passengers on the other.

“Isn't that ingenious, how they speed the transfer of cargo,” said La Fayette. “Unload it on those heavy cars, which sit on rails– rails, just like mining carts!– and then the horses tow it right up here, smooth and easy as you please. On rails you can carry a much heavier load than on regular wagons, you know. Stephenson explained it to me the last time I was here. It's because you don't have to steer.” On and on he blathered. Sure enough, within moments he was talking again about Stephenson's steam engine, which La Fayette was convinced would replace the horse. He had built some in England or Scotland or somewhere, but now he was in America, and do you think La Fayette would invite Stephenson to build his steam wagons in Canada? Oh, no– La Fayette was quite content to let him build them for the Irrakwa, mumbling some idiotic excuse like: The Irrakwa are already using steam engines for their spinning wheels, and all the coal is on the American side– but Frederic de Maurepas knew the truth. La Fayette believed that the steam engine, pulling cars on railed roads, would make commerce and travel infinitely faster and cheaper– and he thought it would be better for the world if it were built within the borders of a democracy! Of course Frederic did not believe the engines would ever be as fast as horses, but that didn't matter– La Fayette did believe in them, and so the fact that he didn't bring them to Canada was pure treason.

He must have been forming the word with his lips. Either that or La Fayette could hear other men's thoughts– Frederic had heard rumors that La Fayette had a knack for that. Or perhaps La Fayette merely guessed. Or perhaps the devil told him– there's a thought! Anyway, La Fayette laughed aloud and said, “Frederic, if I had Stephenson build his railroad in Canada, you'd have me cashiered for wasting money on nonsense. As it is, if you made a report accusing me of treason for encouraging Stephenson to remain in Irrakwa, they'd call you home and lock you up in a padded room!”

"Treason? I accuse you?" said Frederic. "It's the farthest thought from my mind. " Still, he crossed himself, on the off-chance that it was the devil who had told La Fayette. "Now, haven't we had enough of watching the stevedores loading cargo? I believe we have an officer to greet."

“Why are you so eager to meet him now?” asked La Fayette. “Yesterday you kept reminding me that he is a commoner. He even entered the service as a corporal, I think you said.”

“He's a general now, and His Majesty has seen fit to send him to us.” Frederic spoke with stiff propriety. Still La Fayette insisted on smiling with amusement. Someday, Gilbert, someday.

Several officers in full army dress uniform were milling about on the wharf, but none was of general rank. The hero of the battle of Madrid was obviously waiting to make a grand entrance. Or did he expect a Marquis and the son of a Comte to come and meet him in his cabin? Unthinkable.

And, in fact, he did not think it. The officers stepped back, and from their position by the railing of the canal barge de Maurepas and La Fayette could see him step off the Marie-Philippe onto the wharf.

“Why, he's not a very large man, is he,” said Frederic.

“They aren't very tall in the south of France.”

“South of France!” said Frederic scornfully. “He's from Corsica, my dear Gilbert. That's hardly even French at all. More like Italian.”

“He defeated the Spanish army in three weeks, while his superior officer was indisposed with dysentery,” La Fayette reminded him.

“An act of subordination for which he should have been cashiered,” said Frederic.

“Oh, I quite agree with you,” said La Fayette. “Only, you see, he did win the war, and as long as King Charles was adding the crown of Spain to his collection of headgear, he thought it would be churlish to court-martial the soldier who won it for him.”

“Discipline above all. Everybody must know his place and stay in it, or there will be chaos.”

“No doubt. Well, they did punish him. They made him a general, but they sent him here. Didn't want him involved with the Italian campaign. His Majesty wouldn't mind being Doge of Venice, but this General Bonaparte might get carried away, capture the College of Cardinals, and make King Charles pope.”

“Your sense of humor is a crime.”

“Frederic, look at the man.”

“I am looking at him.”

“Then don't look at him. Look at everyone else. Look at his officers. Have you ever seen soldiers show so much love for their commander?”

Frederic reluctantly tore his gaze from the Corsican general and looked at the underlings who walked quietly behind. Not like courtiers– there was no sense of jockeying for position. It was like– it was like– Frederic couldn't find words for it–

“It's as if each man knows that Bonaparte loves him, and values him.”

“A ridiculous system, if that's what his system is,” said Frederic. “You cannot control your underlings if you don't keep them in constant fear of losing their position.”

“Let's go meet him.”

“Absurd! He must come to us!”