There must’ve been a neighbour, someone on the street, who’d seen and decided he didn’t much like it. A day later Da was dragged back to the house beaten close to death, and there we were, Ma and her two boys – that was before my brother ran away – there we were, nursing him back
.
How stupid was that? We should’ve finished what that right-thinking neighbour had started
.
But we didn’t
.
That swagger, and Ma darting about
.
I remember the last day of all that. I was seven, almost eight. Quiet Ginanse, who lived up the street and worked as a knife-sharpener, had
been found strangled in the alley behind his shop. People were upset. Ginanse had been solid, an old veteran of the Falar Wars, and though he had a weakness for drink he wasn’t a violent drunk. Not at all. Too much ale and he wanted to seduce every woman he saw. A sweet soul, then. That’s what Ma used to say, hands fluttering like wings
.
So people were upset. He’d been drunk the night before. In no shape to defend himself. The rope that had killed him was horsehair – I remember how people talked about that, as if it was important, though I didn’t know why at the time. But they’d found horsehairs in Gin’s neck
.
The old women who shared a house on the corner, three of them, seemed to be looking at us again and again – we were outside, listening to everybody talking, all those emotions running high. Ma was white as plucked down. Da was on the bench beside the shack’s door. He’d gotten a rash on his hands and was slowly melting a lump of lard between them. There’d been a strange look in his eye, but for once he wasn’t offering any opinion on the matter
.
Horsehair. A tradition among the outliers, the wood-cutting camps east of the city. ‘How adulterers are hung, aye?’ And the old women nodded. ‘But old Ginanse, he ain’t never—’ ‘No, couldn’t, y’see? Got burned down there – was on a ship that caught fire when they took Falar Harbour. He couldn’t do nothing
.’
The drunk seducer with nowhere to take it. How shit-fouled miserable is that? Breaks the heart
.
And he’d always a kind word for Ma, when she went to him to get the one knife we owned sharpened. Hardly charged a thing either. ‘That blade a mouse couldn’t shave with, hah! Hey, boy, your ma ever let you shave a mouse? Good practice for when one shows up under yer nose! Few years yet, though
.’
‘
So,’ said someone in the crowd, ‘a jealous man – no, make it a jealous, stupid man. With wood for brains.’ And a few people laughed, but they weren’t pleasant laughs. People were working up to something. People knew something. People were figuring it out
.
Like a bird in a thorn bush, Ma slipped inside without a sound. I followed her, thinking about poor old Ginanse and wondering who was gonna sharpen Ma’s knife now. But Da got up right then and went in a step before me. His hands were dripping melted fat
.
I don’t remember exactly what I saw. Just a flash, really. Up close to Da’s face, just under his huge, bearded jaw. And he made a gurgling sound and his knees bent as if he was about to sit down – right on me. I jumped back, tripped in the doorway and landed in the dust beside the bench
.
Da was making spitting sounds, but not from his mouth. From his neck. And when he landed on his knees, twisting round in the
doorway as if wanting to come back outside, the front of his chest was all wet and bright red. I looked into my father’s eyes. And for the first and only time in my life with him, I actually saw something alive in there. A flicker, a gleam, that went out for good as he slumped on the threshold
.
Behind him, Ma stood holding that little knife in her right hand
.
‘
Here y’go, boy, hold it careful now. It’s sharp enough to shave a mouse – Bridgeburner magic, what I can do with decent iron. Give us another smile, sweet Elade, it’s all the payment I ask, darling
.’
‘
Well now, recruit, y’ever stand still? Seen you goin’ round and round and round. Tell me, was your old man a court clown or something?
’
No, Master-Sergeant, my da was a wood-cutter
.
‘
Really? Outlier blood? But you’re a scrawny thing for a wood-cutter’s son. Not one for the trade then?
’
He died when I was seven, Master-Sergeant. I was of no mind to follow his ways. I ended up learning most from my ma’s side of the family – had an aunt and uncle who worked with animals
.
‘
Found you a name, lad
.’
Master-Sergeant?
‘
See, I wrote it right here, making it official. Your name is Widdershins, and you’re now a marine. Now get out of my sight – and get someone to beat those dogs. That barking’s driving me mad
.’
‘How’s the stomach, Wid?’
‘Burns like coals, Sergeant.’
A half-dozen regulars were coming up alongside them. The one in the lead eyed Balm and said, ‘Fist Blistig assigned us t’this one, Sergeant. We got it in hand—’
‘Best under a blanket, Corporal,’ said Balm.
Throatslitter piped an eerie laugh, and the squad of regulars jumped at the sound.
‘Your help’s always welcome,’ Balm added. ‘But from now on, these wagons got details of marines to help guard ’em.’
The corporal looked nervous enough for Widdershins to give him a closer look.
Now that’s an awfully plump face for someone on three tiny cups a day
.
The corporal was stubborn or stupid enough to try again. ‘Fist Blistig—’
‘Ain’t commanding marines, Corporal. But tell you what, go to him and tell him all about this conversation, why don’t you? If he’s got a problem he can come to me. I’m Sergeant Balm, Ninth Squad. Or, if I rank too low for him on all this, why, he can hunt down Captain
Fiddler, who’s up ahead, on point.’ Balm cocked his head and scratched his jaw. ‘Seem to recall, from my basic training days, that a Fist outranks a captain – hey, Deadsmell, is that right?’
‘Mostly, Sergeant. But sometimes, well, it depends on the Fist.’
‘And the captain,’ added Throatslitter, nudging Widdershins with a sharp elbow.
‘Now there’s a point,’ Balm mused. ‘Kinda sticky, like a hand under a blanket.’
Throatslitter’s second laugh sent them scurrying.
‘Those soldiers looked flush,’ Widdershins muttered once they’d retreated into the gloom. ‘At first, well, the poor fools were just following orders, so I thought you was being unkind, Sergeant – but now I got some suspicions.’
‘That’s an executable offence,’ said Deadsmell. ‘What you’re suggesting there, Wid.’
‘It’s going to happen soon if it hasn’t already,’ Widdershins said, grimacing. ‘We all know it. Why d’you think Fid nailed us to these wagons?’
Throatslitter added, ‘Heard we was getting our heavies for this, but then we weren’t.’
‘Nervous, Throaty?’ Widdershins asked. ‘Only the four of us, after all. The scariest thing about us is your awful laugh.’
‘Worked though, didn’t it?’
‘They went to moan at their captain or whoever,’ Balm said. ‘They’ll be back with reinforcements, is my guess.’
Widdershins jabbed Throatslitter with his elbow, avenging that earlier prod. ‘Scared, Throaty?’
‘Only of your breath, Wid – get away from me.’
‘Got another squad on the other side of these wagons,’ Balm pointed out. ‘Anyone see which one?’
They all looked over, but the three lines of wretched haulers mostly blocked their view. Throatslitter grunted. ‘Could be Whiskeyjack himself. If we get in trouble they won’t be able to get through—’
‘What’s your problem?’ Balm demanded.
Throatslitter bared his teeth. ‘This is
thirst
we’re dealing with here, Sergeant – no, all of you! Where I came from, droughts hit often, and the worst was when the city was besieged – and with Li Heng, well, during the scraps with the Seti that was pretty much every summer. So I know about thirst, all right? Once the fever strikes, there’s no stopping it.’
‘Well isn’t that cheery? You can stop talking now, Throatslitter, and that’s an order.’
‘I think it’s Badan Gruk’s squad,’ said Deadsmell.
Balm snorted.
Widdershins frowned. ‘That’s a problem, Sergeant? They’re Dal Honese just like you, aren’t they?’
‘Don’t be an idiot. They’re from the southern jungles.’
‘So are you, aren’t you?’
‘Even if I was, and I’m not saying I wasn’t, or was, that’d make no difference, you understand me, Wid?’
‘No. Tayschrenn himself couldn’t have worked out what you just said, Sergeant.’
‘It’s complicated, that’s all. But … Badan Gruk. Well, could be worse, I suppose. Though like Throaty said, we’d both have trouble supporting the other. I wish Fid ain’t pulled the heavies from us. What d’you think he’s done with ’em?’
Deadsmell said, ‘It was Faradan Sort who come up after Kindly, to talk to the captain. And I wasn’t deliberately eavesdropping or nothing. I just happened to be standing close. So I didn’t catch it all, but I think there might be some trouble with the food haulers on the back end. I’m thinking that’s where the heavies went.’
‘What, to lighten the loads?’
Throatslitter yelped.
Lap Twirl scratched at the end of his nose where the tip had once been. ‘Kind’ve insulting,’ he muttered, ‘them calling themselves Bridgeburners.’
Burnt Rope glanced over at the company marching on his left. Squinted at the three oxen plodding the way oxen plodded the world over.
It’s how it looks when y’get someone doing something nobody wants t’do. Draught animals. Of course, it’s all down to stupidity, isn’t it? Do the work, get food, do more work to get more food. Over and over again. Not like us at all
. ‘I don’t care what they call themselves, Lap. They’re marching just like us. In the same mess, and when we’re all bleached bones, well, who could tell the difference between any of us?’
‘I could,’ Lap Twirl said. ‘Easy. Just by looking at the skulls. I can tell if it’s a woman or a man, young or old. I can tell if it’s a city-born fool or a country one. Where I apprenticed, back in Falar, my master had shelves and shelves of skulls. Was doing a study – he could tell a Napan from a Quon, a Genabackan from a Kartoolian—’
Corporal Clasp, walking a step ahead, snorted loudly and then half turned, ‘And you believed him, Lap? Let me guess, that’s how he made his living, isn’t it? Wasn’t it you Falari who had that thing about burying relatives in the walls of your houses? So when rival claims to some building came up, why, everyone ran to the skullscriers.’
‘My master was famous for settling disputes.’
‘I just bet he was. Listen, working out a man or woman, old or young – sure, I’ll buy that. But the rest? Forget it, Lap.’
‘Why are we talking about skulls again?’ Burnt Rope asked. When no one seemed able to come up with an answer, he went on, ‘Anyway, I’m thinking it’s all right that we got them Bridgeburners so close, instead of ’em regulars – if we get mobbed at this wagon here, we could call on ’em to help.’
‘Why would they do that?’ Lap Twirl demanded.
‘Can’t say. But Dead Hedge, he’s a real Bridgeburner—’
‘Yeah,’ drawled Clasp, ‘I heard that, too. Pure rubbish, you know. They’re all dead. Everyone knows that.’
‘Not Fiddler …’
‘Except Fiddler …’
‘And Fiddler and Hedge were in the same squad. Along with Quick Ben. So Hedge is for real.’
‘All right, fine, so it isn’t pure rubbish. But him helping us is. We get in trouble here, we got no one else to look to for help. Tarr’s squad is on the other side of the haulers – no way t’reach us. So, just stay sharp, especially when the midnight bell sounds.’
From ahead of them all, Sergeant Urb glanced back. ‘Everyone relax,’ he said. ‘There won’t be any trouble.’
‘What makes you so sure, Sergeant?’
‘Because, Corporal Clasp, we got Bridgeburners marching beside us. And they got kittens.’
Burnt Rope joined the others in solemn nodding. Urb knew his stuff. They were lucky to have him. Even with Saltlick sent off back-column, they would be fine. Burnt Rope glanced enviously at that huge Letherii carriage. ‘Wish I had me some of them kittens.’
If anything, letting go was the easiest among all the choices left. The other choices crowded together, jostling and unpleasant, and stared with belligerent expressions. Waiting, expectant. And he so wanted to turn away from them all. He so wanted to let go.
Instead, the captain just walked, his scouts whispering around him like a score of childhood memories. He didn’t want them around, but he couldn’t send them away either. It was what he was stuck with. It’s what we’re all stuck with
.
And so there was no letting go, not from any of this. He knew what the Adjunct wanted, and what she wanted of him.
And my marines, and my heavies. And none of it’s fair and we both know it and that’s not fair either
. Those other choices, willing him to meet their eye, stood before him like an unruly legion. ‘
Take us, Fiddler, we’re all that you meant to say, a thousand times in your life – when you looked on and remained silent, when you let it all slide past instead of taking a step
right into the path of all that shit, all that cruel misery. When you … let it go. And felt bits of you die inside, small ones, barely a sting, and then gone
.