Our Land (Queen's Own Book 1)

by James Tallett

  Frantic though they were, the creatures were grabbing their belongings with a purpose and trying to disappear into the vegetation that surrounded the camp. However, the Lifeguards had done quite an effective job of sealing the perimeter, and so the creatures had nowhere to go, and ran hither and yon across the camp, only to end up back in the growing knot in the middle.

  It was then they began to show the first signs of higher intelligence, for a few of the largest began rapidly squeaking and hissing, and the rest organized themselves into, of all things, a square, with the aged and the youngest tucked in the middle, as well as what could only be the females. And then they proceeded to advance in formation upon the far corner of the Lifeguards, who had only just completed their closing of the line around the camp. And out from sheaths and pouches slung about their persons came a rather unusual array of weapons, all clearly metallic in nature, although many did show the rather old-fashioned sheen of bronzes and coppers.

  Jacob stepped forward to push through the line and challenge them to stop, but an under-officer did so first, firing his pistol into the ground well in front of the creatures, setting off a puff of dirt and smoke. The weapon also fired badly, burning the gunpowder slowly rather than as it should, and so a great gout of flame and ash spouted forth from the muzzle. It was more likely that display of fire, rather than the impact of the ball with the ground, that caused the creatures to halt their progress, and re-examine the surrounding soldiers.

  With careful commands, Jacob had a single musketman, a marksman he trusted, fire a shot well away from any creature or Lifeguard. As he expected, the leaders of these creatures understood his meaning, that not only were the little items capable of emitting fire, but so were all the big ones carried by everyone else encircling them.

  Slowly, and with trepidation written large on their faces, the creatures laid down their weapons. Although not so far from hand as to be unavailable should a need arise. Then they milled about, still protecting what could only be the women and children while staring at the Lifeguards, fear and amazement in their every gesture.

  What followed thereafter could only be described as a farce. Jacob ordered a search of the camp, only to have the creatures flare up in anguish and rage. And then he tried to speak to them, loudly and slowly in the Queen's Tongue. But, of course, they understood not a word he was saying, and stared at him with bemusement and blank expressions. In that moment, Jacob Perlew IV felt all of his years of rhetoric and diction slipping away, leaving him as incomprehensible as a mewling babe. His university education, his subsequent study of the poems and epistolary novels of the recent Formalist movement, all of it was worth precisely naught.

  However, his ability to curse was in full flower, and many choice phrases sprang to mind, ones that he could not emit in the presence of his men. They were, however, remembered for later, when he could have a moment of solitary frustration.

  “Do we have a linguist in the regiment?”

  As this first wave had been a military expedition, and one that had not expected congress with the natives, Jacob was fairly certain that there was not an official one attached to Colonel Sherman. He had most certainly never met such a fellow, and felt he would have been introduced long ago if one had been along.

  The request made its way up and down the ranks of the Lifeguards, until at last everyone had had the chance to hear. That having happened, three different men, two officers and one enlisted, presented themselves to their commanding officer.

  “Qualifications?”

  “A first in classical languages from Williston, and author of the current translation of Clausewitz’s Principles in use at the War College.”

  “Impressive.” Jacob turned to the next man in line.

  “Son of the founder of Turbot's Library, and fluent in five languages and several more dialects.”

  “Well done. As for you, Joyce?”

  The enlisted man tugged at his hair before responding. “Well, sir, I always had a good ear, and can usually pick up fragments of a language within moments. Although, admittedly, my training is not on a par with the other gentleman.”

  Jacob understood. Joyce's father was a country squire, and only barely made the requirement of nobility needed to enlist his children in the Lifeguards. Likely had only been able to provide a single tutor for Joyce, perhaps just part time. Still, to Jacob's knowledge, the soldier had not a single disciplinary mark against him, and his 'talent' might prove to be helpful.

  “Very well. Each of you are to take one or two of the creatures and tour the camp, engaging in dialogue and attempting to determine their vocabulary. Use such means as you see fit. However, should any of your actions result in an unpleasant incident, be assured it will be marked on your records.”

  As the three soldiers turned to go, he held up a hand, forestalling their departure. “As the linguists among us, perhaps one of you can suggest a name that is more appropriate than 'creatures'. It seems rather crude to continually refer to them with such a non-descriptive appellation.”

  “We'll do our best, sir.”

  “Carry on.”

  From then on, the officers of the Lifeguards took it in shifts to have meals, and to stand down their men for the same. However, there was always a strong guard posted around the plainsdwellers, especially when they began moving about and miming gestures of eating. With a magnanimous wave, Jacob let them gather their food and eat.

  While they did so, he let his eyes roam across the camp once more, now that matters were somewhat more settled and he had no pressing engagements on his mental capacity. The fires that they had seen had apparently been in one small area, well away from the grasses, and on a bit of a platform, while scattered around them at wider intervals were a series of hemispherical tents and a large number of sacks and other items made from animal skin and bone. But once again, there were random metal objects scattered throughout their belongings. Combs, razors, polished mirrors, even a folding stand to dry and smoke meat on. But the creatures themselves exhibited no indication of forges or other manufactoria.

  Which meant they were trading for it from someone on the other side of the plains. Jacob sighed. Whatever this land was, uninhabited was certainly not one of the characteristics that could be assigned to it. It seemed every type of terrain had at least one race of creatures, if not multiple, living in it. He wondered if Matthias was coming to the same conclusion. He would have to place his thoughts in writing before returning to the Colonel to make sure he could claim it was independent work.

  A gesture to Fredericks brought his writing table out, and as Jacob shaved down the quill, he drew forth the vellum to inscribe his thoughts. And then he looked up to notice Joyce jabbering with one of the creatures, pointing at various items and speaking at such a high rate and pitch that he thought his ears were going to burst.

  “Joyce! Do try and keep it down. That noise is dreadful.”

  “I'm sorry sir, I'm just talking to Umholi. Well, trying, anyway. I think my accent is appalling him.”

  Jacob shook his head. Already talking. Some men are born with talents beyond all reason. “Very well. Do carry on, but a bit further away, if you please.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  Day turned into the long twilight of the plains, a great purple red sky stretching overhead, and still the soldiers and the creatures stared at one another across a moat of empty land. By now, the sentries had been reduced to one in four of the Lifeguards, and another fourth had gone to the fort and returned, bringing with it extra field kit and rations, enough so that the whole of the regiment could camp here tonight. Although the circumstances would be cramped.

  Jacob's report had gone with the soldiers too, and in return he had a received a reply from the Colonel, merely a single line. “I trust you know what you are doing” was all it had said. Jacob hoped so too, but he felt that bringing these creatures closer to the supplies of the regiments would be improper. They were, by nature, already proving to be quite intelligent and
inquisitive, a combination that was all too likely to lead to trouble in the future.

  His confidence in the situation was not entirely to his liking when he laid his head upon the cot for the evening.

  ***

  Jacob arose to find the day somewhat chill, as grey cloud scudded overhead, driven by winds too high to feel. Unfortunately, the light drizzle that accompanied said clouds he could feel all too well. First, however, there were the needs of the men.

  Breakfast was ordered, and in a moment of inspiration, he suggested to the three men who had been working with the creatures that they dine with their companions. Although in the case of Joyce, it appeared there was no need for such an order. He was already awake and speaking to Umholi, although there were definite pauses in the conversation as each side hunted for a word they did not know.

  A quick gesture brought the enlisted man over.

  “If you please?”

  “Yessir.” Joyce gathered his breath. This was clearly going to be a long speech. “Well, it appears these creatures call themselves the Umkhovu. That's the racial descriptor, sir. Their individual clan is called Uhlobo. They're nomads, as you can see from the tents and so on, and they travel around the plains, harvesting grain and occasionally herding creatures, although right now is the period of the year they call the 'Quiet Times', for whatever reason. And the metal tools, well, they come from trading with Ngaphansi, whoever or whatever that might be. I'd assume it was a city of some kind, but it might be a people. They aren't always definite on the difference between those things.

  “Their language, as far as I can tell, doesn't always use a great deal of distinctiveness between layers of society, the way ours does. They make fewer words do more work, in essence. Oh, and before I meander, Umholi himself is one of the tribal elders, what passes for officialdom, religious, legal, and political all rolled into one. I don't think they really see the difference between those concepts.”

  Jacob held up a hand, forestalling the rest. “When you have a moment, I'd appreciate it if this went into a written report. There are going to be a quite a few parties interested in all of this material.”

  Joyce understood the implicit command, and saluted before hurrying off to find quill and ink. No doubt the report would have language considered 'colourful' or 'quaint' by some of the other regimental commanders, but it would do Joyce a good turn all the same. After all, unless Matthias had someone of equal talents, he would be the man to make first true contact with the natives.

  A check upon the level of their provisions suggested to Jacob that there might be a need for a greater stockpile, and so he engaged a large proportion of the Lifeguards in retrieving said items from the primary fortification. While they were engaged in the process, he took a tour of both camps, his own and the Umkhovu. In his own, everything was as it should be. Neat, orderly rows of tents, cleared spaces for cooking fires, and latrines well away from water and habitation and downwind from the living area. Now that he thought of it, water was likely to become an issue, given there did not appear to be any streams in the immediate area. He therefore set men to capturing the incoming drizzle with canvas and tins and other manner of apparatus.

  Satisfied with the current state of affairs amongst the Lifeguards, he then strolled into the Umkhovu enclosure. What had once been a solid ring of sentries was now but a small contingent, looking more bored and uncomfortable than anything else. Although, like true sentries everywhere, the merest flaws in their posture disappeared the moment Jacob hove into view, an action that allowed him an inward chuckle. There was never a man so great that he could not be overcome by tedium.

  As for the Umkhovu themselves, they appeared to be engaged in the normal bustle of their daily life. What were presumably the females were sewing repairs and collecting rainwater and cooking and baking, that latter with the aid of a strangely mounded pile of dirt. The men were, for all intents and purposes, engaged in a strange form of dancing, one that he could only assume was religious. But it was slow moving and halting, taking advantage of the lengthy arms they possessed.

  One thing that had not changed was the foul smell radiating from their unwashed forms. Before they were ever introduced to Colonel Sherman, a good bathing was in order. Which Jacob did not have enough clean water for, leaving him muttering. How was he to present a savage creature such as these appeared to be without cleaning them up first? It would be most rude of him.

  A short while later, as he was tucking into a morning repast of jellied eels, he found out. Rather than allow his men to gather more supplies, Colonel Sherman had ordered the Lifeguards to return to the primary fortress. With all of the Umkhovu in tow. Jacob could only presume Matthias had been given the same order. It was not, entirely, one he understood, especially as both his and Joyce's reports indicated strong progress and little danger from the natives. However, it was not his duty to understand orders, but to obey them, and so he sent runners to the various units within the regiment, informing them that the Lifeguards must return to the fortress by nightfall.

  Rather than allow another to carry the order, he went in search of Joyce himself. Although he needn't have bothered, as the soldier was already attempting to persuade Umholi to bring his tribe along peacefully. Despite the enlisted man's best efforts, the tribal elder refused to be persuaded.

  “Joyce, if they refuse to listen, I'm under direct orders to herd them. Bayonets fitted and shot loaded, if necessary. Do please inform him.” The commanding officer of the Queen's Lifeguards barked at the nearest cluster of men. “Form line abreast, far side of camp. Bayonets fitted. Surround and pace inwards. Drive all before you to the fortress.”

  The men hurried to obey.

  Umholi, being of sufficient intelligence to understand the gesture, realized there was little choice in the matter. A disheartened squeak came from him, followed by a series of chirps, whistles, and other noises more befitting animals than language. The rest of his tribe stared at him for long moments, then at the advancing soldiers. They took to their tasks with a deliberate nature, clearly not pleased with the course of events.

  Jacob left them to it. As long as they obeyed, as inferiors did their betters, then the matter was satisfactory. Still, their reaction had seemed quite... human. It was the way a group of peasants on his lands would react after an unpleasant commandment. That did bear some thinking about.

  ***

  The move had gone off without any hitches, or at least with none that were unforeseen in any way. A few of the Umkhovu had attempted to slip away, but that was so natural to the situation that they had been caught with little more than stern glances. And when Jacob had Umholi questioned on the matter, he had responded with nothing more than a large shrug.

  It was something of a surprise for Jacob and the Lifeguards when they arrived at the fortress to find that not only was Matthias there ahead of him, but that his collection of creatures was an entirely unruly one that was under constant surveillance. And was gibbering in a most frightful way. Jacob immediately gave orders that the Lifeguards were to set up the Uhlobo camp as far away as possible from Mattias’s captured natives. Although that would likely be overruled by the Colonel and his ideas of propriety. Still, it was worth the attempt.

  “Sir, if you would come this way?”

  As expected, there was a messenger waiting to bring Jacob to the Colonel's offices. Presumably, Matthias was already there. Leaving his under officers to handle matters, Jacob strolled along, back ramrod straight and eyes locked ahead. Once, this had been a damned uncomfortable posture for him to hold, but after so long, he felt strange when told to stand at ease. Not that that happened frequently on campaign.

  Upon entering the tent, he was greeted by a polite nod from Matthias, and silence from the desk of his commanding officer. Standing to attention, Jacob saluted until a brusque gesture dismissed him from his pose. A glance over at Mathias showed there was a desire for conversation there, but no such thing would happen until this evening, at the officers' mess
. Where there would no doubt be questions from the unfortunates who were not chosen to capture natives.

  After some considerable time, Colonel Sherman looked up from his duties to the two regimental commanders standing in front of him. “Well?” This was aimed directly at Jacob.

  “Sir?”

  “Explain this rot in your report about them having a coherent language, and so on.”

  “Well, sir, I was lucky enough to have three soldiers in my regiment who had linguistic experience, and they have been able to begin a record and translation of the Umkhovu language. The best can even hold basic conversations in it. Umkhovu is their name for themselves, sir.”

  The Colonel's face became a bright, mottled, red, but his voice was still. So very still. “Jacob. And Matthias, since your report contained much of the same general information, if not quite so much detail. I shall say this once, and it shall never be repeated outside the walls of this tent. We are not here to study the natives. We are here to ensure that the Queen's subjects have living room to expand, and to operate as a valve for societal pressures. Natives, especially intelligent, coherent natives with a recognizable tongue, make said task much harder to accomplish. I was rather gratified when the first set of creatures we encountered appeared to be nothing more than a particularly advanced ape that we could ignore. But these plainsdwellers function too highly for that, which is quite a bother.”

  Matthias indicated that he would like to ask a question, and after a nod from Colonel Sherman, broached it. “Sir, if we are here on a mission of conquest, why does the capability of the natives matter? We clearly outmatch both kinds that we have encountered so far.”

  “Because the first kind has no language, and so there's no possibility of any of them being brought back to our lands by a rabble-rouser that wants to make the general populace feel ill over what we are doing. Unfortunately, every indication is that this second set is not only competent in their own language, they have individuals among them who are quite bright, or at least capable with multiple forms of linguistics. If you want to imagine what would happen, take one of them, and have them give a sad speech in the House of Commons.”