"Well then," I said, leaning back slightly. "Now that you've taken on your new position, I should explain what your responsibilities will be from here on."
A capable young recruit had arrived.
Naturally, he needed proper training.
Pinkerton was already doing more than enough work for one man—but what I wanted was something closer to James: someone who could handle the work of two.
Ideally, he would eventually grow into a boss like James himself.
Someone who could recruit a second or third Pinkerton.
"Of course, Your Royal Highness!" Pinkerton replied immediately. "Please give me any task you see fit."
"Your enthusiasm is admirable," I said with a small smile. "Did James explain roughly what your duties here would involve?"
"Yes, he did."
Pinkerton straightened.
"He told me slave hunters from the United States would continue crossing the border."
"And that I should eliminate them all."
"He also said we were to show absolutely no mercy."
"Why do you think that is?" I asked.
"If any survivors escape, they might raise unnecessary suspicions," Pinkerton replied without hesitation.
"If word spreads that armed Black settlements are conducting organized ambushes with military-style tactics, people will start asking uncomfortable questions."
Exactly.
In the original history, Pinkerton had made a career out of crushing labor unions, gangs, and criminals alike.
His instincts were excellent.
Sooner or later the Americans would learn the truth.
But at this stage, it would only complicate matters if anyone discovered that a powerful organization was secretly supporting Black communities along the border.
"Incidents like this will likely continue," I said. "Have you thought about how you plan to hunt the hunters?"
"Yes."
Pinkerton nodded.
"The regions they're targeting are mostly settlements founded by freed Black communities."
"Many of the residents originally came from the United States. Quite a few are escaped slaves."
"But there are still more who migrated north voluntarily from the Northern states, correct?" I asked.
"That's right."
"Settlements founded primarily by escaped slaves are still relatively few."
"Even so," I continued, "defending every one of them constantly would be extremely wasteful."
The U.S.–Canada border was enormous.
Protecting every settlement near it was simply unrealistic.
Pinkerton answered immediately.
"That's why we're using the intelligence network of the American Detective Agency inside the United States."
"We were able to ambush the hunters in the last incident because we knew their route in advance."
"I see."
"So the agency is cooperating with slave hunters inside the United States?"
"On the surface, yes," Pinkerton said calmly.
"We buy and sell information. That's part of our business."
"And technically we didn't lie—we did provide accurate information about where escaped slaves might be."
Which meant the hunters naturally revealed their planned routes while purchasing that information.
Efficient.
And methodical.
"Just in case," I added, "teach the settlements how to defend themselves."
"There will inevitably be times when your agents can't arrive in time."
"Of course," Pinkerton replied.
"We've already started selecting a few talented men from each settlement."
"We're training them in basic marksmanship."
"They'll then teach the rest of their communities."
Excellent.
This was exactly why capable subordinates were so valuable.
Give them one task—
And they completed two or three.
It made life far easier.
"Good," I said. "Then continue maintaining the situation for now."
"Until it's time for the main event."
Pinkerton hesitated slightly.
"…Your Royal Highness."
"Are you certain we should proceed as planned?"
"That area has taken nearly two years to cultivate."
"That's precisely why we must do it," I replied.
"If we suffer no losses at all, suspicion will naturally fall on us."
This unexpected blunder by the United States had already created a tremendous opportunity.
But it wasn't enough yet.
If America simply bowed its head and apologized—
That would be the end of it.
What we needed was one decisive blow.
Something that would silence them completely.
But for that to happen, the fire still needed a little more fuel.
Pinkerton shook his head in disbelief.
"To sacrifice a region that required more than two years of preparation…"
"I never could have imagined such a strategy."
"The benefits will outweigh the cost hundreds of times over," I said calmly.
"There's no reason to hesitate."
I stood.
"And now, I'm afraid I must leave. I have another meeting scheduled."
"Don't forget to maintain your disguise when you leave."
"Understood, Your Royal Highness!"
No one outside my closest circle could know that Allan Pinkerton, head of the American Detective Agency, was secretly working with me.
Watching him adjust his false beard and wig, I left the room.
My next appointment awaited.
Lunch with the Mexican ambassador.
A grin spread across my face.
This fresh piece of bait…
I fully intended to turn it into the British Empire's most reliable pawn.
Washington, D.C.
"What in God's name is this supposed to mean?!"
President John Tyler slammed his fist against the desk.
The room fell silent.
Since becoming president, Tyler had never experienced such bewilderment.
Not even when the Whig Party expelled him.
The crisis had begun almost simultaneously.
An urgent report from Canada.
Then the British ambassador arriving at the White House with a formal protest.
And now—
This.
"Which lunatic was responsible for this?" Tyler demanded.
"The Queen of the British Empire visits Canada, and dozens of armed men cross the Ontario border and start a firefight?"
"Your Excellency," Secretary of State Daniel Webster said cautiously, "our investigation indicates the perpetrators were private civilians."
"Private civilians?" Tyler snapped.
"You expect Britain to accept that explanation?"
Webster cleared his throat.
"That isn't what I meant."
"But it is important to clarify that the federal government was not directly involved."
"The situation isn't that simple," Tyler replied grimly.
"The British ambassador in Canada knows far more than we expected."
He handed them the protest document.
The ministers' eyes widened as they read it.
"…The Southern states officially hired slave hunters?"
"They weren't enlisted as soldiers," Tyler said slowly.
"But there were contracts."
"Escaped slaves have become a serious issue recently."
"Plantation owners have been demanding stronger measures."
That much was true.
Southern landowners wielded immense political influence.
And they had been pressuring governors and legislators for years to crack down harder on escaped slaves.
Tyler himself was not entirely innocent.
Seeking support in the South, he had coordinated with many Southern politicians to strengthen enforcement measures.
One of those policies—paying bounties to slave hunters—had been implemented through cooperation with Senator John C. Calhoun of South Carolina.
And now that policy had returned to strike them in the back.
Absurd.
Still—
The real fault lay with the slave hunters themselves.
They had been told to retrieve escaped slaves.
Not to cross the border into Canada and start a gunfight.
"We must demand an explanation from the Governor of Virginia immediately," one official said.
"If relations with Britain deteriorate over this, our political careers will be finished."
"Virginia currently has an acting governor," another pointed out.
"We could simply blame him and remove him from office."
"That might fracture Southern unity," Webster warned.
"And once the details become public, how do you think the Northern states will react?"
The answer was obvious.
Men like John Quincy Adams would immediately seize the opportunity.
They would blame everything on the barbarity of slavery.
And they wouldn't be entirely wrong.
"God help us…" one minister muttered.
"Her Majesty's reaction?" another asked.
"Furious," Tyler replied.
"And there's another complication."
"The Queen is not alone."
The room fell silent.
"She is with child."
Several ministers groaned simultaneously.
Of all possible moments—
The Queen had to be pregnant.
And this had to happen during her visit.
"Regardless," Tyler said sharply, "the responsibility must not fall on this administration."
"I will coordinate with senators."
"You must each do your part."
"Yes, Mr. President."
One man spoke hesitantly.
"…Surely Britain wouldn't actually send the Royal Navy."
Tyler didn't answer.
If another incident occurred—
The possibility might become very real.
And the worst part?
The United States clearly had no moral ground in this dispute.
If war broke out—
Tyler's name would forever be remembered as the worst president in American history.
That could not happen.
He had not clawed his way into power only to be destroyed by something this ridiculous.
At last, Tyler summoned senior leaders from both the Northern and Southern factions.
He presented them with his final solution.
"Gentlemen," Tyler said calmly, "if Congress continues fighting like this, we will never reach a decision."
"The British have issued what is effectively an ultimatum."
"We must respond."
"But Your Excellency," Adams said sharply, "the responsibility clearly lies with the South."
"And yet they demand we apologize alongside them."
"That's absurd."
Calhoun scoffed.
"And while we deal with this crisis, the Northern politicians are already plotting how to abolish slavery."
"How are we supposed to trust them?"
"Gentlemen, please."
Tyler raised a hand.
"I understand both sides."
"Which is precisely why my solution assigns responsibility to neither."
Both Adams and Calhoun frowned.
"If neither side is responsible," Adams asked slowly, "then who is?"
Tyler leaned forward.
"Listen carefully."
"We will apologize."
"But not for the reasons Britain expects."
"…What do you mean?" Calhoun asked.
"We will apologize," Tyler said smoothly, "for failing to notice the conspiracy operating within our borders."
"A conspiracy?"
"By whom?"
Tyler's finger moved across the map—
Toward the southwest.
Adams and Calhoun both stared.
"…You can't be serious."
Tyler smiled thinly.
"This entire affair," he said,
"is the work of Mexico."
First bow humbly before Britain.
Then redirect domestic anger toward the true villain.
And finally—
Crush Mexico while restoring American pride.
In Tyler's mind, it was a masterstroke.
A strategy so brilliant that even God might applaud.