Authors: Adrian Tchaikovsky
‘The colonel says not. The colonel is waiting for our Captain Goss to make his full recovery and rejoin the fray. In the meantime I will act as commander for the Rabbit, again. And
you’re my second.’
‘Me? What about Mallen?’
‘Mallen does not command. He won’t. He’s chief scout, not a combat leader. He’s master sergeant just so people will listen to him when he needs them to. Sorry, Em, but
I’m going to have to lean on you a little harder.’
‘I can’t lead people, Tubal. I’m just . . . not made for it.’
‘Who is?’ He stopped then, despite the rain. ‘Am I? I’m a printer from Chalcaster, if God’s plan is to be adhered to. As a printer, decent enough; as a father and
husband, I begin to feel somewhat neglectful. But a lieutenant? A battlefield tactician? A commander in all but name, for God’s sake, of a company of the Lascanne army? Where was that in
God’s book, when he set me on my path? Hell, Em, we none of us had this in mind when we were being schooled.’ He grabbed her by her shoulders, held her still a moment.
‘You’ll serve, Em. Like the rest of us, you’ll serve because you have to. And you’ll serve well because you’re a Marshwic, and the Marshwics, as I know well, always
serve when they’re asked. Don’t think I didn’t know the family I was marrying into.’
After the Big Push, they wheeled out Father Burnloft once again, to read the roll of the dead.
Apathy greeted him, and yet I would not have it. I went amongst them, at least the men and women of my company – and especially those I had commanded. I told them that, whatever
the deficiencies in the human medium, the message itself still commanded our respect. Let the drunken priest slur the names and gabble them; still our dead comrades deserved our
presence.
I think the old priest had never seen such a turnout. I think the whole of Bad Rabbit was there to watch him sway and stammer.
It frightens me. I feel myself a fraud, to be exposed at any given minute. How is it that they all do these things when I ask?
And what happens when the thing I ask them to do is wrong?
‘Brocky’s in love!’ Tubal exclaimed delightedly. He had been bursting with the news ever since the members of the Survivors’ Club had convened this mild
evening in the first blush of summer. He had held it in whilst the drinks were poured and the pipes lit, the first hand dealt. Now, as Brocky himself made a cunning play at cards, Tubal came out
with it. The quartermaster spluttered and spilled his hand across the table, revealing a mediocre flush at best.
‘I am
not.
Who ever heard of such a thing?’
There was such a defensive tone to him that he found no sympathy.
‘Evidence?’ Mallen required. ‘Instances, come on, Salander.’
‘You say not a word!’ Brocky insisted.
‘Vote?’ Tubal asked. ‘Mr Mallen has tabled a motion. Who’s in favour?’
Every hand bar Brocky’s was up before he finished speaking.
‘Carried,’ he announced. ‘Yes, my good and dear friends, it is my sad duty to inform you of the death of John Brocky’s common sense at the less than tender age of forty
years.’
‘Thirty-seven, you bloody bastard,’ Brocky growled, but Tubal paid that no mind.
‘Who’s the lucky lady?’ Emily asked. Brocky glowered at her.
‘Ah well.’ Tubal teetered back on his stool. ‘Propriety suggests that I name no names, and thus preserve the sweet creature’s modesty.’
‘Damn right,’ snarled Brocky.
‘However, we are at war, friends, and this is no place for niceties.’
‘Bastard.’
‘So I can inform you all that the object of our quartermaster’s affections is none other than Master Sergeant Marie Angelline, of Fat Squirrel.’
There was a speculative pause at that, into which Brocky inserted, ‘Absolute nonsense,’ and was roundly disregarded.
Of course, Bear Sejant had needed a new master sergeant. The former incumbent had never returned, as Emily had more cause to be aware of than most. The surprise was that the new officer was a
woman, one of the newcomers who had marched in on the last day of the spring. Emily had seen little of her so far, but had in mind a tall, athletic girl with golden-fair hair, always racing about
the camp in her efforts to rebuild her shattered company. It was rumoured that Captain Pordevere was sweet on her, but such rumours were easy to spread about that man, and Emily put little credence
in them.
‘Out of your reach,’ Mallen remarked at last. ‘Give up. Nothing doing.’
‘As if you’d know a thing about the business!’ Brocky snapped at him. ‘There’s no reason on earth why a well-brought-up lady such as Miss Angelline would not be
flattered, I tell you—’
‘Thought it was “absolute nonsense”, Brocky.’ Despite the tattoos, Mallen’s mocking expression came through.
‘Oh, shut up.’
‘Instances, Salander,’ Mallen said again.
‘Oh, one hears of certain things. Bear Sejant being better than usually supplied. A bottle of port reaching the master sergeant’s tent, for one. The affections of a quartermaster,
you see, being of a mercantile sort. Also a hint of Mr Brocky being witnessed combing his hair for the first time this decade. And you must agree that the beard there on display is definitively
trimmed, as it never has been before.’
‘A man likes to keep well turned out,’ Brocky said weakly.
‘Well I think Mr Brocky is entitled to entertain his affections,’ Emily mused, ‘however unrealistic. Mr Scavian?’
Scavian, who had said little so far, looked up from his reverie. ‘Almost certainly. What is it we’re discussing? In truth I was miles away.’
‘Would that we all were,’ Brocky remarked. ‘These fools have conceived the idea that I am, in some way, infatuated with that Angelline woman. A more foolish idea I have never
heard.’
‘Oh, but you are,’ Scavian said. ‘It’s well and widely known.’
Brocky eyed him narrowly. ‘What?’
‘The lady has a generous heart, old friend. When a collection of candies falls into her possession, she is remarkably free with them. But the question arises, where did she get such a
treasure? And eyes inevitably point to the stores . . .’
‘Oh hellfire.’ Brocky scowled ferociously. ‘Are we playing cards or aren’t we?’
‘Amongst other games.’ Tubal gathered and redealt. ‘Mallen’s right, of course. I hate to break it to you, but you’re not quite her type.’
‘Am I not?’ Brocky glowered. ‘What
type
might that be, perchance, Mr Salander?’
‘Captain Pordevere has been romancing her these past four days,’ Tubal revealed. ‘He’s nowhere yet into the lady’s heart, but I’m afraid he’s her type
if any man is: dashing.’
‘Daring,’ Scavian added.
‘Knighted,’ said Emily.
‘Handsome,’ Mallen put in.
‘Presentable.’
‘Of good family.’
‘Courageous.’
‘All right! All right! Bully for bloody Huill Pordevere.’ Brocky gathered up all the dignity within his reach. ‘Even if I had taken a shine to the woman – and
there’d be nothing wrong with that because she’s a fine piece of female flesh, and no mistake – even if I had taken a shine to her, and I’m not for a moment at any rate
admitting that it’s so . . . even if I had, then Captain Pordevere, who in any event is a posturing fool, has nothing on me and can do nothing that I can’t do.’
He folded his arms with an air of finality.
‘He can still buckle his belt past the endmost hole,’ said Scavian, after a pause.
‘“Piece of female flesh”?’ Emily couldn’t quite believe she had just heard the expression.
‘He can lead a company into battle,’ Tubal continued.
‘Get four hundred people killed in one day,’ Mallen said – and the mood guttered for a moment.
‘Shilling in the jar, Mallen. Rules of the Club,’ Tubal said firmly.
Mallen shook his head at the foolishness of the world, but made the required donation.
‘Are we quite finished?’ Brocky demanded of them all. ‘Is the topic well and truly exhausted? Honestly, a right knitting circle you all are. Gossip mongers, the lot of
you.’ He went on to lose spectacularly at cards, which went no way towards improving his mood.
*
Two days later came the sequel to all that.
‘Marshwic, I need a word.’
She turned, not recognizing the voice, but only because its owner was out in the open rather than back in stores.
‘Mr Brocky?’ Remembering the Club’s last meeting, she was hard pressed to keep away a smile. He looked so very solemn, though, and she managed it. ‘How can I help
you?’ His position in the army was unclear, being a civilian. It was generally reckoned that he was around a master sergeant’s rank though.
‘I need a
quiet
word. In stores, if possible.’ He glanced around as though expecting all the spies in Denland to be eavesdropping.
Inside the storehouse it was cool and quiet, fragrant with the supplies and Brocky’s hanging bunches of herbs. Rather than taking his place behind the counter, whence he dealt out his
lopsided provisioning, he beckoned her into the back room, where he tipped out the last of their port from two nights ago.
‘Drink up,’ he instructed. ‘John Brocky has a favour to ask. You may not survive the shock.’
She lounged back against the door frame. It was shock enough to see him standing; she was so used to his overstuffed chair, the high stool behind his counter or his hammock, as his natural
habitats. He was bigger than she had realized, quite a bear of a man and taller than she was by a handful of inches. His belly sagged out over his breeches, despite the best efforts of his
straining shirt.
‘So what’s in it for me?’ she asked him, watching his eyes widen. ‘Come on, Brocky, I’ve been here long enough that I know a favour done for stores must have its
benefits in return.’ She would not usually have insisted on it, when doing a favour for a friend, but somehow she felt he would think less of her helping him out for free. It was a strange
thought; something Mr Northway might have suggested.
‘You wise up fast,’ he muttered.
‘I’m sure you draw up a bill as soon as someone gets a favour from you,’ she replied.
His face suggested that he could not deny it. ‘Well . . . let me know what you want. I’ve got my share of contacts back home. But, listen, you mustn’t tell anyone. I’ve
got to have your word on that before I say more.’
‘You have it.’ It was a man’s world, here, of giving and taking words for surety, and she felt oddly flattered that he had no doubt about the strength of hers.
‘Well . . .’ He wrung his hands. ‘Listen, Marshwic, you’re a woman.’
‘I can’t deny it.’
‘You must get that habit of backchat from your brother-in-law,’ he observed glumly. ‘Well, it so happens that . . . You remember the ribbing you all gave me? Well, well, I
can’t honestly say that I haven’t . . . noticed Miss Angelline. Master Sergeant Angelline, rather.’ To her amazement, he sighed as mournfully as any callow swain mooning over his
shepherdess. ‘She’s quite a sight, isn’t she?’ he said fondly. ‘Lovely girl. Any man would be happy . . .’ Another monstrous sigh. ‘All right, so
I’ve taken a shine to her. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’
She let him off the hook with: ‘None of my business either way, Brocky.’
‘Thank you, Marshwic. Good of you to say so. But the thing is . . . Well, what you all were saying about Pordevere, that maniacal bastard. I mean, even if I wasn’t . . . it’d
still be my duty as a decent chap to make sure he didn’t get his philandering hands on her, wouldn’t it? But he’s got all those medals, all that charging-around-with-drawn-sword
rubbish going for him. I mean, I could beat him at chess any day of the season, but that’s not what women
look
for in a man, is it?’
Emily wasn’t sure whether to feel mortally embarrassed for him or to collapse in fits of hysterical laughter, so she made do with a strangled ‘Different women look for different
things.’
‘The thing is, just because you wouldn’t catch me marching around with a musket all day doesn’t mean I’m any less of a man, does it? I’m just too sensible to go
constantly throwing myself in the way of the guns. There’s nothing wrong with a healthy attitude, surely?’ He had started pacing the narrow width of the room. ‘Only . . . if I
want that woman to notice what a well-favoured and eligible individual I am, it’s not easy to do it from behind a counter. I need to step up my campaign. I’ve sent gifts. I’ve
made my first moves. Now I need to try something a little more . . . high profile, if you see what I mean.’
‘And this is where I come in?’
‘Yes. Right, look, I happen to know your lot are backing the Bear next. Three days’ time, you’re heading out with them.’
Emily nodded. With the Bear Sejant’s strength still down, its squads were pairing with Leopard and Stag soldiers when their turn came to sweep the swamp for Denlanders.
‘
She’ll
be on your shift,’ Brocky explained.
‘You know that for certain?’
‘I got a look at the colonel’s rota. In fact I had some influence in how it fell out. Let’s just say that old Stapewood owes me a few favours. I just know it, all right. You
and Miss . . . Sergeant Angelline will be on patrol together.’
‘Do you want me to put in a good word for you?’ Emily asked him, but he was already shaking his head hastily.
‘No, no, don’t say a damned thing to her, you hear? I don’t need any pander wooing for me. No, I want to come with you.’
She let her silence hang for far too long, as his expression soured, before she replied. ‘Brocky . . . is that really wise?’
‘Wisdom doesn’t win women,’ he stated. ‘I want to come with you. I want to show her that I can do the soldiering thing. How hard can it be?’
‘Can you . . . have you ever fought?’
‘I did the basic training, same as everyone.’
Same as Elise.
‘Listen, Brocky, I’m really not sure of this. I . . . don’t want to see you get hurt.’
He gave her a smile on hearing that, breaking out from the clouds of his usual expression. ‘Emotionally or physically?’
‘I don’t want to see you get shot, Brocky,’ she said flatly.