Dave stared at the two of them for a moment as he recovered, and then his tone changed. “Hey, kid, I was just testing you. No reason we can’t be friends. Right?”
Will ignored him and walked back to the other corner before asking the big man, “What did they say your name was?”
The big man answered slowly in a deep baritone, “John, but my friends call me Tiny.”
“Mind if I look at your back, John?” said Will. “I know a thing or two about cuts and bruises.”
John hesitated, then nodded, resuming his place beside the wall and turning his back toward Will. “Call me Tiny.”
Tiny’s back was better than Will had expected. Two of the strikes had only left angry red welts, but one had broken the skin. It might leave a scar, but it would probably heal on its own. He would have liked to clean it, but without water or clean cloth, anything he did would just make it worse. He pulled Tiny’s shirt back down.
“If they bring us some water later, we can wash it, but I think it will be all right,” he told the man. “My name is Will, by the way. William Cartwright.”
“I’m Sven,” said the now mostly sober drunkard from the other side of the room. “If anybody cares.”
“Nice to meet you, Sven,” said Will.
The next morning was a disappointment, since it turned out the town magister wouldn’t be seeing anyone until the next day. Aside from being allowed out briefly to empty the chamber pot, the only thing to break the monotony was the two meals they were served.
Calling the stuff in the bowls they received a ‘meal’ was being generous. Grandfather would have been fine until now, then he’d have probably burned the place down, thought Will. He almost gagged on the first bite. Whoever the cook was, he seemed to think that the best way to cook oats was to boil them until they disintegrated into a gelatinous goo. The cook also probably didn’t know about salt or any other seasonings.
Still, Will was hungry, so he forced down about half of what was in the bowl before he stopped. He just couldn’t make himself eat any more of it. When he noticed Tiny eyeing it, he offered the big man the rest of his portion. Tiny lifted the bowl and finished it in two large gulps.
“Thanks,” said the big man.
The second morning they were taken out and lined up outside of one of the rooms on the second floor. The magistrate had them brought in one at a time. “Name?” asked the rather severe-looking man when Will’s turn came.
“William Cartwright.”
The magistrate gave him a bored look. “Care to explain how you came to be at the town gate wearing a Darrowan arming jacket?”
Will repeated the abbreviated story he had given the guards at the gate, mentioning nothing of the men he had fought in Barrowden or the help he had received from his faery aunt.
“You expect me to believe you crossed the pass from Barrowden while it was being defended by Darrowan soldiers?” asked the magistrate. When Will nodded he continued, “And that you slew one of their scouts and stole his armor and weapons?”
“It was dark and snowing, sir,” said Will, trying to clarify.
The constable beside him growled. “Address the magistrate as ‘Your Honor.’”
“Your Honor.”
“You seem to be of age. Why haven’t you been taken into the army already?”
“I wasn’t in Barrowden when the press g—when the king’s men came,” said Will. “I came to Branscombe to volunteer.”
The magistrate frowned. “Is there anyone who can vouchsafe your stated identity?”
Will nodded eagerly. “Yes, Your Honor. My uncle and cousin were taken into the King’s Army a little over a week ago. If they’re in Branscombe, they can prove I’m from Barrowden.”
The magistrate glanced at the clerk who was seated beside him. “Have a messenger sent to Captain Levan. He can check the rolls. Mister Cartwright, if you will wait over there, we will come back to you once we’ve heard from the captain.”
Will sat on the bench indicated and watched while his three cell-mates had their own moment in front of the magistrate. It turned out that Sven had been picked up for being out after curfew. His wife had locked him out from coming home drunk. Tiny had simply had the misfortune of trying to buy some staples for his father’s farm. The town constables had decided that given his size he had to be a deserter, but the truth was that the big man had simply been unaware of current events. His father’s farm was rather isolated.
Dave was the only one that Will had no sympathy for. As he had stated, the cutpurse had been caught stealing and then nearly murdered someone when his victim had protested. The magistrate made it clear that under normal circumstances he would have had Dave locked in the stocks for a week and then had him branded as a thief. Given the current state of war, he simply ordered the thief be forced to serve in the King’s Army.
That hardly seemed fair to Will, since it was the same sentence given to both Sven and Tiny, even though neither had committed any real crime. Will had the sense to keep his mouth shut, though. The constabulary might as well be another press gang, thought Will. All they do is round people up and then send them to the army anyway.
It was almost an hour before the messenger returned with a note confirming Will’s identity. Even so, he was surprised when the magistrate told him he was free to go. “You can pick up your weapons at the town gate when you leave, Mister Cartwright. Have a good day.” Finished with his work, the magistrate stood as though he would leave.
Will gaped. “But…”
“Yes, Mister Cartwright?”
“You sentenced everyone else to serve in the army.”
The magistrate gave him a severe look. “I know it may seem as though the local constabulary is simply a—what did you almost call them?—a press gang, but that is not the case. My job is to enforce the law. You have broken none that I am aware of, and your age is below that required to serve in the military, no matter what the king’s agents say when they scour villages for able bodies. If you really do intend to enlist, the minimum age for that is sixteen, but that is entirely your business.”
“Oh,” said Will. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
“A word of advice,” added the magistrate. “Remove the Prophet’s crest from that coat before you show up to enlist. I doubt the king’s officers would take kindly to you if they see it.”
A few minutes later, Will found himself on the street in front of the constabulary building, holding his steel cap in his hands. He put it on and buckled the strap since it seemed silly to just carry it. He was hungry, but what he wanted most was a bath.
The guard outside was kind enough to answer some questions, and he soon learned that Branscombe had a public bath, but it cost a penny to use. Unfortunately, he had no money, so that was out of the question, as was buying a meal. Without other options he decided he might as well go and present himself at the military camp, so he asked for directions to it.
“Head back out of town,” said the constable. “The camp is a quarter-mile northwest. You can’t miss it.”
Will took the man’s advice, marveling at the size of Branscombe as he walked down the cobbled street. It was several times larger than Barrowden and perfectly fit what he had always imagined a city would look like, yet the locals called it a town. If this is just a town, what is a real city like Cerria like? he wondered.
At the gate he recognized one of the constables from his previous arrival. “I told you I wasn’t a spy,” said Will sourly.
Ned grinned at him. “You still look like one to me.” He wandered over to the guard post and opened a large wooden box. “I guess you want your things back.”
“If you don’t mind,” said Will stiffly.
Ned sifted through the contents before withdrawing the sword and belt and handing them to the other guard. “One falchion of questionable origin,” he said aloud.
The second guard handed it to Will.
“One belt knife, with sheath,” added Ned. Will accepted that as well.
<
br /> “One murder weapon,” said Ned with a snicker, producing Will’s staff.
With a sigh of long-suffering, Will took his staff and left without replying. As soon as he had put a little distance between himself and the gate, he took out his knife and spent some time picking loose the stitches of the embroidered crest on his gambeson. At least I learned one thing, thought Will. Never show up at a gate with the enemy’s crest on your armor.
In the back of his head he imagined his grandfather’s mocking laughter. I could have told you that, idiot.
Chapter 36
“You’re here to enlist in the King’s Army?” asked the officer sitting at the desk in front of Will. The officer’s official title was lieutenant, though Will had no idea what that meant, and his name was James Stanton. The soldier outside the tent had told him to address the man as Lieutenant Stanton.
“Yes, Lieutenant Stanton,” Will responded nervously. The office he stood in was actually a tent with a small table and several stools to sit upon. A clerk of some sort sat at another table on one side with several books and a tall stack of papers on it.
The officer sighed. “You don’t have to say that every time you answer. A simple ‘yes, lieutenant’ or even a ‘yes, sir’ will be sufficient.”
Will nodded, which caused the lieutenant to frown, bringing his dark brows together in a steep ‘v’ that went perfectly with his sharp mustache. “Nods and casual replies aren’t acceptable, however.”
“Yes, sir,” he said hurriedly.
“Name?”
“William Cartwright, sir.” The questions went on for a couple of minutes as the clerk recorded his name, date of birth, and where he was from.
When the main questions had been answered, Lieutenant Stanton jerked his head toward the clerk. “Do you have all that? Please add Mister Cartwright to the rolls.” Then he looked back at Will. “Since you’ve volunteered and brought some of your own arms and armor, you will be listed as a voluntary enlistee. This entitles you to a slightly higher pay than the regular conscripts. You’ll receive five silver clima per week and we won’t be taking a fee for armor or sword, though you will still be required to pay for your shield and spear. Do you understand?”
Will was confused, which he quickly admitted. “Soldiers pay for their equipment, sir?”
“Conscripts don’t,” said the lieutenant, “though they are still required to pay for their food and drink, which comes to three clima per week.”
“Would it be all right if I was listed as a conscript then, sir?” asked Will.
The lieutenant gave him a cold smile. “We could do that, but conscripts are only paid four clima per week. After expenses they only net one clima. Are you sure you’d like to do that?”
For the first time, Will was glad that he had learned to do simple sums in his head. If the conscripts only received one clima a week then they’d barely make five gold crowns in an entire year, whereas an enlistee would get a little more than ten crowns. “How much is the cost of the spear and shield, Lieutenant?”
“Five clima each,” said the officer immediately.
Doing the math, Will realized it would take him five weeks to pay for the equipment, at a cost of one crown, leaving him nine crowns for the year, or four crowns more than a conscript would receive. From the point at which he had finished paying for the shield and spear, he would be making double what the conscripts made. “I think I would prefer to be an enlistee then, sir,” said Will.
Lieutenant Stanton smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes. He gestured toward the clerk. “Enlistees need to sign the contract roll, but you can simply make a mark and Sergeant Kavanaugh will witness it.”
The sergeant handed him a quill pen and turned a large book around to face him. It appeared to contain page after page of names with an x marked beside them, though occasionally he saw places where someone had written their own name. Curious, Will closed the book and opened it to the first page, which turned out to be a contract for his term of service. He could read it, though he didn’t understand some of the meaning. “Five years, sir?” he asked.
The lieutenant and sergeant glanced at each other, mild surprise showing on their faces. “Five years is the standard term for a private soldier. I should have mentioned that. Another difference between enlistees and conscripts is that conscripts are discharged from service as soon as the Royal Marshall decides they are no longer needed.” He paused, then asked, “You can read?”
Will nodded, then after a second he hurriedly added, “Yes, sir. I can write too.”
“What other skills do you have, Mister Cartwright? We should list those since you may be eligible for other posts after your training period,” said Lieutenant Stanton. Meanwhile the sergeant was muttering to himself and thumbing through a separate stack of papers.
“Cartwright, Cartwright, that name rings a bell for some reason,” said the sergeant as he searched.
Will answered the lieutenant’s question, “I can count and do sums. I’m well versed in fractions, ratios, geometry and stoichiometry. My mother was a midwife, so I’ve learned a lot about plants and treating wounds and illnesses.”
The officer stared at him, his face blank. “Stoichi—what? Were you an accountant or something?”
“It’s a type of math used for alchemy, sir. My grandfather was teaching me before he died,” explained Will.
The lieutenant nodded. “You’ll need to spell that for us when Sergeant Kavanaugh lists your skills. Is there anything else?”
“I’m a fair cook,” said Will. “I’m not sure if that matters, though.”
Lieutenant Stanton looked thoughtful. “Ever cook for large numbers of m—”
“Found it!” interrupted the sergeant. “Sir, Mister Carwright is listed on the service exceptions roll.” He held up another small ledger, pointing at one of the entries.
Lieutenant Stanton’s expression changed to one of annoyance. “Is there something you should have told us already, Mister Cartwright? Why are you here today?”
“Sir?” said Will, puzzled. “I came to enlist.”
“Then why did someone pay for an exemption for you?” The lieutenant glanced at the sergeant. “Who paid the fee?”
“Baron Nerrow, sir.”
Lieutenant Stanton studied Will for a while, his eyes full of questions. Eventually Will felt compelled to say something. “I’ve met him a couple of times, sir.” The lieutenant continued to stare, so Will pointed at his cheek. “I got this from his carriage driver. I saw Lord Nerrow’s daughter reach down to pick up a snake and pushed her away. His servant took after me with the coachwhip, thinking I was trying to do her harm.”
Lieutenant Stanton shook his head in disbelief. “You’re telling me that you were whipped by mistake after saving the baron’s daughter?”
Will nodded, forgetting to answer properly.
“And that the good baron decided to buy an exemption for you because of that?”
“That’s the only thing I can think of, sir,” said Will with a shrug. It was a lie, of course, but he didn’t want to admit to being a nobleman’s bastard son. He went over to look at the service exemption ledger. As before, he found a short contract statement at the beginning of the book, and he started reading it.
“You may as well put that down and leave,” said Lieutenant Stanton. “You’ve wasted enough of our time.”
“I still want to enlist, sir,” said Will firmly. “It says here the fee can be refunded if the named individual takes service later.” Then he whistled as he saw the cost. Apparently, his father had paid ten crowns to keep him out of the war.
“Mister Cartwright, I don’t keep gold here, nor do I intend to fill out the forms to make such a request for you,” began the lieutenant.
Will was struck by a sudden inspiration. “My uncle! You don’t need to give me a refund. Just mark it in the roll and put my uncle down for the exemption. He’s lost most of his family. If I take his place, he could take care of his daughter and si
ster.”
What followed was a long argument that showcased how stubborn Will could be. When it became apparent that he wouldn’t win by logic, Lieutenant Stanton tried authority. “Mister Cartwright, I don’t think you appreciate your position,” he said. “I could have you whipped for insubordination.”
Will shook his head. “I’m a private citizen, sir. You’ll have to let me enlist before you have me punished.”
Lieutenant Stanton turned red at that, and Will wondered if the man might explode, but the sergeant tapped the officer’s arm and took him aside for a moment. The two began talking quietly to one another, and although Will’s hearing had become slightly better after Tailtiu’s healing, he still couldn’t quite understand them. He did catch a couple of words, though, ‘Nerrow’ and ‘bastard.’ He clenched his jaw, since it wouldn’t do him any good to start a fight over that.
A moment later the lieutenant returned. “Very well, Mister Cartwright. I’ll allow you to enlist and we’ll release your uncle from his conscription. Are you happy now?”
“Yes, sir,” said Will, trying not to smile.
“You can have the rest of the day to explain the situation to your uncle and see him off. I’ll expect you back here in the morning to be sworn in. I sincerely hope you aren’t assigned to my company, Mister Cartwright,” said the officer. “Both for your sake and for my peace of mind.”
***
“Will?”
Johnathan Cartwright was surprised, to say the least, when he was brought out to meet his nephew. As happy as Will was to see his uncle, he was momentarily overwhelmed by the thought of the things he would have to tell him. “Uncle Johnathan,” said Will, stepping forward to hug the heavyset man.
As soon as they broke apart his uncle asked, “We heard the news about Barrowden. What happened? Are Doreen and the kids safe? Did they get out in time?”
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