by Jack
‘We walk, mostly,’ said Ishring. ‘With the wagons. But there’s always a mounted patrol as well, and cadets and guards alike take their turn.’
‘How long does it take to reach the bridge?’ asked Morghan.
‘You mean, “how long does it take to reach the bridge, serjeant”,’ said Ishring. ‘You’re a cadet now, not a visitor. Don’t forget.’
The serjeant’s tone was formal, but not aggressive.
‘Beg pardon, serjeant,’ said Morghan. He felt his back straighten by reflex as he asked again. ‘How long to reach the bridge please, serjeant?’
‘Sixteen days, weather permitting,’ said Ishring. ‘Twenty or more if there’s snow. Now, in barracks, your pole-axe goes across behind the bedhead, you see the brackets? You wear sword and knife at all times, and daggers as well when mustered to the guard. When you get your hauberk and gambeson, you will wear them at all times, except when you’re asleep, when they go on the stand here, half-unlaced and ready to put on. When I think you’re used to the weight, you can wear leather and cap when not on duty, but not until I say so. You’ll learn more about your duties and service on the march, from tomorrow. Understand?’
‘Yes, serjeant,’ said Morghan. He spoke softly, as he usually did, a habit born of not wanting to draw attention to himself at the inn.
‘I can’t hear you!’ roared Ishring. ‘Do you understand me?’
‘Yes!’ Morghan roared back, surprising himself.
‘Good,’ said Ishring, in conversational tones. ‘Ah, here comes Second Nerrith to show you to supper. Welcome to the company, Cadet Morghan. Good evening, Second Nerrith.’
‘Good evening, Master Ishring,’ said Nerrith, who was the first Bridgemaster’s Second who had rushed him hither and yon. She didn’t look much older than him, but had far more self-assurance. ‘Cadet Morghan.’
Ishring departed. As he strode away, Morghan relaxed a little, but not too much. He remembered Hrymkir’s stories of life in the Royal Guards, and though he didn’t fully understand the hierarchy of the company, he’d read enough in his new book to understand that the Bridgemaster’s Seconds were junior officers, and could not only give any cadet orders, but also subject them to a long list of punishments for any perceived infraction of courtesy or duties. He had not read about the status of the serjeants-at-arms, but it was clear they were to be obeyed. As for the Bridgemistress herself, she had already attained a status for Morghan as a figure of vast authority, who was not only to be obeyed, but worshipped.
‘Have you read the Orders?’ asked Nerrith.
‘Ah, some of it,’ said Morghan. Belatedly he added, ‘Bridgemaster’s Second.’
‘Just call me Second,’ said Nerrith. ‘The Bridgemistress is milady or Bridgemistress. Cadets call the serjeants ‘serjeant’. The guards you address by name, or ‘guard’ if you absolutely have to. You’ll need to learn everyone’s names as quickly as you can. I’ll get you a copy of the full roster, but you’ll need to try and fix the names in your head as you meet people. Do you have any questions right now? We have a few minutes before the first sitting for supper.’
‘Are there many cadets?’ asked Morghan. He was a little anxious about how he might get on, particularly after his experiences at the Academy. Working in the stables was not conducive to good relations with the mainly noble students and their highly inflated views of their own standing and how it might be affected by deigning to even notice, let alone befriend, a stableboy, even if his family had once been important at court.
‘You’re it in the Winter Shift,’ said Nerrith. ‘Didn’t you know? Each Bridgemaster only takes on one new cadet each season, and only then if they’re short of Seconds. You were lucky the Bridgemistress only has two Seconds right now and she didn’t care for the cadet candidates we’ve had these past months. I thought she might have to borrow a Second from one of the other Shifts, which is what happened to me last year, but I suppose she always knew you’d turn up.’
‘How?’ asked Morghan.
Nerrith gave him a look that he supposed was one of kindly scorn.
‘She’s a Clayr of course. You don’t see those blue eyes and that dark skin on anyone else do you? And her hair was all gold before, so they say.’
‘But the Clayr live in the Glacier,’ said Morghan. ‘They See the future there, in the ice. What’s she doing here, with the company?’
‘Maybe she’ll tell you one day,’ said Nerrith, with the air of someone who already knew this secret, though Morghan doubted that she did. But he did believe Amiel was a Clayr, though he had never heard of one that had permanently left the Glacier. He had seen Clayr, from time to time in Belisaere. But they were only visiting, and always travelled in groups, on the business of their strange community.
‘Where are the Bridgemistress’s Seconds?’ he asked next.
‘Gone on ahead, to check the road and the waystations,’ said Nerrith. ‘They’re all right. Terril, the senior, will probably be a Bridgemistress herself in a few years, and Limmie, I mean Limath, he was a cadet till only last summer, so he’ll remember what it was like and not be too hard on you.’
They’re often the worst, thought Morghan pessimistically. Keen to pass on whatever horrible happened to them.
His thoughts were interrupted as Nerrith announced it was time for supper. On the way to the refectory, she told Morghan that there were usually two sittings and that it was important to be on good terms with the chief cook and the stewards or else one might be served more gristle than meat, and that at some time, he would spend three months working in the kitchens and the refectory, as part of his training.
Morghan did not mention that he already knew this kind of work well, though he quickly discovered that the food in the refectory was better than that of the Three Coins. He had to force himself to eat slowly. If he’d been alone, he would have bolted down everything in sight, and tucked half a dozen of the small brown-crust pies under his shirt for later. But the refectory was crowded, and Nerrith sat next to him and talked and talked, so he ate slowly but steadily, and listened
Nerrith told him he would have an unprecedented three meals a day, including breakfast, luncheon and supper. She detailed the travelling rations they would draw, and what the food was like at the bridge, and where he should sit, or more importantly not sit, some tables being reserved by custom if not actual regulation for particular officers of the company. For example, Famagus the chief clerk, who after the four Bridgemasters was the most important officer, had a favourite table and a particular chair. On no account must a cadet ever sit on his chair, for as the keeper of all records he was a very important figure in the lives of both cadets and Seconds. Though he did not leave the headquarters in Navis, Nerrith said it felt like he was always around, because his letters fell upon them like arrows. There were dozens each day, always wanting some count of equipment, a tally of goods or an explanation of work, and replying was always the work of the junior officers.
‘I hope you have a good writing hand,’ she added. ‘And you can spell. If a report is untidy or misspelled, Famagus sometimes makes us write it out again, three times.’
‘You mean when you were a cadet,’ suggested Morghan.
‘You’re in for some disillusionment if you ever make it to Second,’ replied Nerrith. ‘We get paid and all, but no one thinks we’re worth much more than the cadets.’
‘Sometimes with good reason,’ said a voice behind them. Nerrith choked on a mouthful as she hastily stood up, and Morghan almost fell backwards over his chair as he followed suit.
‘I said I wanted to see Cadet Morghan before my evening rounds, not at the commencement of them,’ said Bridgemistress Amiel. ‘I am not pleased, Second Nerrith. Please let Bridgemaster Korbin know that you have let me down.’
‘Yes, milady,’ said Nerrith. She turned on her heel and left.
‘I expect my cadets and Seconds to be punctual, within reason,’ said Amiel. ‘It is now a quarter after the hour. Did you not hear the town
clock strike, Cadet Morghan?’
‘No, milady.’
‘Here we take our time from the town clock. At the bridge, horns are blown in the North Fort, the Mid-river Bastion and the Work Camp, on the hour, every hour. Doubtless you will be responsible for such timekeeping at some point. You have been provided with a book of Company Orders?’
‘Yes, milady.’
‘You will find a section on timekeeping between pages eighty-seven and ninety-one. Do you possess one of these timekeeping eggs the artificers are making in Belisaere?’
‘No, milady,’ said Morghan. He was about to add that they called them ‘watches’ now, but decided against it.
‘You can tell the hour from the sun? Or the moon?’
‘Yes, milady,’ said Morghan. He hesitated again, but this time he did speak. ‘And ... and from the Charter, milady.’
Amiel looked surprised.
‘Good. That is an old spell, not often known these days, save amongst folk who need careful count of time.’
‘My grandmother taught me,’ said Morghan. ‘It is the only spell that I had from her that I can remember. I was six and ... and wondering when I would get my dinner.’
It had been one of the last of the regular dinners. His grandmother had attempted to ‘fix’ his father not long after she taught him how to find and recognise the marks that spun in time with the passage of the sun, and waxed and waned in keeping with the hours of light and darkness. She had said it could sometimes be very important to know how long it would be before the sun would rise.
‘It is the first small part of weather lore,’ said Amiel. ‘Do you know anything more?’
‘No, milady,’ answered Morghan.
‘I have some small knowledge of weather lore,’ said Amiel. ‘If time permits from your regular instruction, we may look into it. Speaking of such, as doubtless you already know from your reading of Company Orders, part of the regular duty of cadets and Seconds is to accompany the Bridgemistress on her rounds, whether at house, bridge or camp. As my two Seconds have gone ahead to scout the road, this privilege is solely yours this evening. Follow me.’
Morghan learned a lot about the company and the Bridgemistress in the next hour and a half as he followed Amiel all over the house, as she called the whole sprawling array of buildings. Though preparations had been underway for more than two months for the Winter Shift to move to the bridge, and everything had supposedly been done, Amiel checked into everything. On nearly every enquiry she was satisfied with the result. The one occasion where she was not satisfied, and the nature of her dissatisfaction, made Morghan very thoughtful. He had been beaten, shouted at, spat on and worse on numerous occasions by his supposed superiors and customers at the inn, by older students at the Academy, and by his own parents when they were drunk or drugged. He had nursed his wounds alone, and swore that one day he would be richer, and more powerful and important than his tormenters. Their dominance over him was only temporary, a fleeting moment that would be forgotten.
Amiel did not swear or use force. On discovering that one of the wagon drivers had not replaced a broken axle with a new one, but had had repairs done instead and presumably pocketed the difference, she merely looked at the axle, then at the driver, and had said, ‘This is the second infraction, Werrie. There is the gate.’
Werrie had fallen to his knees and begged and pleaded for another chance. He’d sobbed out a story, made incoherent by his tears, something about debts and family. But Amiel had merely pointed at the gate again, and then when Werrie grovelled at her ankles, she gestured to summon two of the gate guards, who picked him up and dragged him out. Morghan made particular note that they tore the company emblem from the sleeve of Werrie’s coat and unpinned the enamelled badge from his hat.
‘Cadet Morghan,’ said Amiel conversationally, as she continued to the next wagon, ‘you have seen a very rare occurrence. This company looks after its people well, but we expect much in return. While you may err out of stupidity, or weariness, or simply make less than ideal choices, if you intentionally put the company’s goods, persons or premises at risk, you will be warned once only. The second time, you will be expelled, your share or shares forfeit and your name published across the Kingdom as an offender against the company. In some very few cases, we take even sterner action, as we may under our original patent from Queen Hellael the Second.’
Morghan thought about that later, as he lay in his narrow bed and tried to sleep. There were many people in the barracks, a lot of them still preparing gear, or talking, but it was not this busy noise that kept him awake.
It was pure amazement that forestalled sleep. He could not believe how much his life had changed for the better, a wonderment that was accompanied by a deep-seated fear that something would happen to take it all away again.
Finally, Morghan did sleep, but he felt like he had only just closed his eyes when he was roused again, by a rough shake on his shoulder.
‘Come on, lad! The day won’t wait for you.’
* * * *
The next few weeks were a golden time for Morghan. He wasn’t necessarily happy, as such, for he did not really know that such a state existed, or how he might reach it. But he was content and busy, a combined state that he was equally unfamiliar with, the result of finally finding a respectable place among a well-ordered community, rather than the confusion of never knowing what the next day would hold, apart from the petty miseries that were his lot at the Three Coins, or the arbitrary actions of his parents.
The company’s wagons travelled the Royal Road north, and had right of way over almost everyone, so they rarely had to leave the paved and well-drained highway for the muddy shoulder. They were lucky with the weather too. To begin with the days were cold but fine, and the morning frosts light, not much more than a tonic to wake up a tired cadet.
He was tired, for his every waking hour was occupied, mostly following the Bridgemistress everywhere or dashing off at her orders, usually to discover something she already knew but Morghan did not. She also set him passages of Company Orders to memorise, and showed him Charter marks that he had to summon for her the next day, with the promise that in time he would also learn how these marks could be combined with others to become useful spells.
Amiel did not sleep very much herself, which made things even more difficult. By the fourth day he was very tired indeed, so tired that he could not even summon the energy to be nervous about the imminent arrival of the Bridgemistress’s two Seconds, who were due to arrive that evening, having already been to the bridge to check the road and discover anything unusual, before doubling back.
The two Seconds rode into camp at dusk, the hails of the sentries alerting Morghan before he saw them. He was holding a washing basin and an ewer of warm water for Amiel in her tent, for her to wash the dust from her face and hands. She heard the calls too, and gestured for him to set basin and ewer on their stands.
‘Go and meet my Seconds,’ she instructed. ‘Tell them to report when they have taken some repast.’
‘Yes, milady.’
‘For your instruction, if they have anything urgent to report, they will refuse and come straight to me,’ added Amiel. ‘As you will do, if returning from a similar task.’
‘Yes, milady,’ repeated Morghan. He bowed and went outside into the orderly camp, and walked between the rows of tents to the horse lines. The guards there nodded to him.
‘Good even, Romashrikil and ... Kwor ... Kworquorakan.’
The guards smiled and nodded again. Morghan walked past them, still unsure if they were playing tricks on him. They had told him their names themselves, but they were like nothing he had ever heard before, and they did not look as if they were from so distant a country as to have such names. He had yet to hear anyone else address them, which in itself suggested it was all some kind of elaborate joke to play on the new cadet.
The Seconds were taking off their saddles. Terril was a slim, serious-looking woman easily eight or nine years Morghan
’s senior. Limath looked to be much the same age as himself, Morghan reckoned, though he was considerably broader in the shoulders and sported a rather splendid beard as jet black as his hair. He was also much more mud-splattered than Terril, some of it above his belt, though Morghan noticed neither of the horses was particularly dirty, and not at all above the knees.
Limath saw him first as he turned around with his saddle and gear over his shoulder.
‘Terril!’ he cried. ‘By all that is marvellous! A cadet!’
‘A cadet indeed,’ said Terril. She inclined her head.
Morghan bowed, not quite as deeply as he did to Amiel.
‘My name is Morghan,’ he said carefully. ‘The Bridgemistress desired me to inform you that you need not report to her until you have taken some repast.’