“Perhaps they don’t care,” Carl said.
“Perhaps they merely don’t know,” Chester said. “Perhaps we can find somebody who does care. Besides, we can’t stay here.”
“What a strange thing that is,” Carl commented.
“What’s that?”
“To look at a whole planet and say, ‘We can’t stay here.’ And, I suppose, to have somewhere else to go.”
A quartet of officers came into the car and settled in the next group of seats. One of them had a newspaper under his arm, and they were in hot discussion of one of the items on the front page.
“I say The Virginia will sink her in the first exchange,” one of them stated firmly.
“I say they’ll fight for a week, or until they both run out of ammunition,” another said, “and the only result will be that both crews are stone deaf at the end of the engagement.”
“My money says that The Monitor will hole The Virginia, and her best bet will be to ram,” a third offered. “Those Yankees build better naval cannons, and their plate is just as good, but they don’t understand the rivet! And that could make the difference, properly handled.”
The fourth officer shook his head sadly. “You don’t understand naval warfare,” he said. “The basic problem is that this engagement is being fought at all. There’s no rhyme or reason for it. The function of the ironclads isn’t to sit out there and bounce cannonballs off each other. They should each ignore the other, and go about their primary task of sinking the wooden hulls. If The Virginia could keep away from The Monitor for four months, she could have the Yankee blockade broken; and that’s vastly more important than sinking the Northern ironclad.”
“You think The Monitor would allow The Virginia to just steam about sinking Northern ships?” the third asked. “No, the battle must be joined, and upon the outcome, I tell you, gentlemen, hinges the fate of the war.”
“Come on,” the first one said, “the Confederate States have been fighting the Union for over three hundred years now. You don’t really think that one little battle between two ships is going to make that much difference. After all, The Virginia and The Monitor have met before, and nothing decisive has happened yet.”
“What I wish,” the third one said, “is that I had a friend who was a Guest or an Inspector. I sure would love to get a bird’s-eye view of the battle. I’ll bet the flitters will be out in force for it.”
“Hush!” the first one said, glancing nervously around. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Come on,” the third one laughed, “there’s nobody here but the army.” He turned around to face Chester. “What do you think, sir, if you’ll excuse me?”
“Perfectly all right, Captain,” Chester said. “What do I think about what?”
“Them, ah, the ironclads, sir,” the first one nervously interjected. “What do you think of the coming battle of The Monitor and The Virginia?”
Chester eyed them severely. “Gentlemen,” he said. “Whatever the outcome of this engagement, the war will be won or lost by the infantry. This is principally a land war, gentlemen, and it is up to the infantry, with the aid of the cavalry and the artillery, to bring it to a conclusion.”
“Of course, of course,” Captain Number One replied, even more nervously, suddenly realizing that this discussion of the merits of two ships would sound almost like treason to an old-line infantry colonel. “I didn’t mean—I only meant—”
“Say!” Number Two said. “Let’s dash into the dining car and get a snack, what d’ya say?”
And in a few seconds they had all filed out, casting apprehensive glances over their shoulders at Chester as they went through the connecting door.
“You sure know how to clear a room,” Carl said.
“We couldn’t afford to get friendly with them,” Chester said. “They might ask difficult questions, like ‘What unit are you with?’”
Carl stared out the window watching the countryside pass by. “We’ll have to answer that,” he finally said.
“Eh?” Chester responded. “Answer what? You mean about what unit we’re with?”
“I mean if somebody asks us that, yes. But what if anybody asks us anything? What kind of answers can we give? What is this war we’re in the middle of, for example. What’s this whole part of the world like? How are we going to fit in here, make a place for ourselves?”
The giant Chester leaned forward and tapped Carl on the knee with one heavy finger.
Carl winced. “Ouch!” he said, trying to stifle the exclamation of pain.
“I’m sorry,” Chester said.
“It’s nothing.”
“But listen, my friend,” Chester said in a conspiratorial voice, “for the moment we have to keep an attitude of watchful waiting. We’re headed for the sector barrier and if we can make it across we’ll be in one of the most advanced sectors on the whole planet.”
“What about O’Malley?” Carl interjected.
“O’Malley is our wild card. If anything happens to us, he’s our outside man. He’ll find us somehow. Different and I have been through a lot, Carl, my boy. He may not seem like the most competent fellow around, but he’s got more twists to his cerebral cortex than you think. He’s always coming up with some startling notion.”
“And I suppose he regards us the same way,” Carl said. “Wherever he is, if he gets in trouble he expects us to come to the rescue.”
“I suppose so.”
Carl’s stomach gurgled at him. “Say, Chester, do you think we could get something to eat on this train?”
“I suppose so—that’s where our naval strategist friends went.”
“Maybe one of us should peep into the dining car, then, to see if they’re gone yet.”
Chester shook his head. “That would look suspicious. Better we go in together. Brazen it out, my boy.”
They stood up and made their way through the swaying, creaking car. The seats were crowded with travelers in and out of uniform, soldiers headed back to their units from leave at home (and vice versa), old men and women, merchants and businessmen. The countryside outside the train was low, rolling hills covered with trees and tall grasses. When the train passed a farm he could see horses and farm equipment. It was a beautiful world, Carl told himself—if only it were real.
Well, it was real for them! There might be some sort of artificial structure imposed on it, some mysterious pattern understood only imperfectly by the fives and not at all by the rest of the people. Something that the Guests knew about. If only he could have talked with Alyssaunde! She was the only person he’d ever met who seemed to understand everything that was happening—but that opportunity was past; he would never see her again in all likelihood.
As the train jolted around a curve in the tracks Carl saw Chester’s huge back disappear through the doorway into the dining car. Carl followed. Unlike the passenger coaches, the dining car was relatively deserted. The four officers he’d seen earlier were still sitting at a table. A black-faced person was hovering near them, pouring coffee when cups were emptied. One of the officers had produced a bottle of some brownish beverage and added it from time to time to the cups of coffee.
The senior of the four—a yellow-haired, bronze-skinned man wearing major’s insignia on his epaulettes—looked up and smiled at Chester and Carl. Carl saw Chester acknowledge his grin with a wave of the hand.
A second black-faced person emerged from the kitchen compartment at the end of the car and obsequiously ushered Carl and Chester to a table. They sat down and ordered food. The servant hustled away to fetch it for them.
“It’s a good thing they permit officers and enlisted men to dine together hereabouts,” Chester muttered to Carl. “In some armies we’d have had to separate.”
“Chester,” Carl said, “I’m pretty uncomfortable with those four so nearby. What if they recognize us as fakes?”
“Don’t worry, my boy. It’s almost certain not to happen. But if it does—Different O’Malley and I have bee
n through tighter scrapes than that would amount to. We’ll make it to the barrier all right, and into the next sector.”
“And when we get there? What then?” Carl demanded.
Before Chester could answer the servant was at their elbows putting down cups of hot soup and dishes with their food. Chester had ordered a couple of lamb chops that came with little frilly paper pants to keep the diner’s fingers clean. Carl had ordered beefsteak, a dish he’d had only a few times in his life. He might die tomorrow, but today he would dine!
When the servant disappeared Chester said quietly, “Carl, my boy, when we cross the barrier you will see sights your eyes will hardly credit. Why, the same to you, sir!” The last was spoken with a forced grin. Carl looked where Chester was looking and saw that the blond major was staring curiously at them. Chester reached down with one hand and unobtrusively checked his saber. Carl could see that it was loose in its scabbard. “A mere precaution, my boy,” Chester whispered to Carl. “It’s too bad that you are not armed. Be ready to use your knife if you must.”
Carl swallowed a piece of gristle that forced tears from his eyes. He gulped some of his soup to clear his throat. He could see the four officers—aside from the blond major there were two captains, one fat and soft looking, the other with a lean and hungry look to him, and a very fuzzy-cheeked young lieutenant—engaging in a low-pitched conference.
“I hope they’re still just talking about ships,” Carl said to Chester. “But I kind of have my doubts.” He looked at the four. The major was staring at Chester harder than ever, and the other three were casting suspicious glances at Chester and Carl.
Finally the major stood up, took a swig at his cup of coffee-and-whatever, and started down the aisle toward Carl’s and Chester’s table. As he reached it the train swayed suddenly and the major lost his balance. Carl managed to catch him before he crashed into the food and crockery, and shoved him back to his feet.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” the major muttered. His speech was somewhat slurred. He turned toward Chester. “If I might have a word with you, sir,” the major said.
Chester said, “Of course, Major. What can I do for you?”
“My colleagues and I were admiring your sword, Colonel. Ah, Colonel—I don’t believe I caught your name, sir.”
“Colonel Nottoway,” Chester said.
“Yes, sir. As I said, my colleagues and I were admiring the colonel’s sword.”
“Yes, thank you.” Chester dropped his hand to the hilt of the weapon. “It was a presentation.”
“Yes, sir, I recognized that at once, sir.”
“And—?” Chester asked.
“It was our outfit that presented it to you, sir, only, if you’ll excuse me, sir”—here the major lurched up against the far side of the car and took a minute to straighten himself out—“it wasn’t you, sir. If you know what I mean, sir.”
“No, Major, I’m afraid I don’t,” Chester said, smiling up at him.
“You are not the Colonel Nottoway we presented that sword to, sir,” the major announced in a loud, clear voice, “and I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask to see your identification, sir. I’m afraid I must insist, sir.”
All noises, Carl noted, slowly came to a stop in the dining car: the cutlery ceased to clatter, saucer stopped clanking against cup, and the hum of conversation died out, as every eye in the car was turned to watch the little drama being played out between Chester and the major.
“Of course, Major,” Chester said in a hearty voice. “I would do the same in your place. It’s an honest mistake, easily rectified, and I can only commend you for your thoroughness.”
“Your identification, Colonel,” the major demanded. His three companions got up and clustered around the table.
“Of course, Major,” Chester said, digging into his pocket. “The sword you gave was to Colonel Charles Nottoway, my cousin. I am”—he glanced quickly into the identification folder as he flipped it open—“Colonel Aubrey Nottoway. We have often remarked, Charles and I, over the amazing similarity between our two presentation blades.”
“It was Aubrey Nottoway we gave that sword to, Colonel,” the major said, his voice rising an octave and several decibels. “And he ain’t you! Where’d you get this sword and that identification folder?”
Chester looked around nervously. “Keep your voice down, Major,” he said. “You can never tell who’s listening.” He leaned forward. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but now I suppose I’ll have to,” he said in a low voice. “I am not Colonel Charles Nottoway.”
The major signaled over his shoulder to the three companions he had left at their table. But he kept his eyes fixed on Chester A. Arthur all the time. Carl saw the two captains and the fuzzy-cheeked lieutenant put down their cups and make their way down the aisle to stand behind their major.
“I don’t believe that you are any Colonel Nottoway, mister,” the major said to Chester. “Not Charles, Aubrey, or—”
Chester was on his feet towering over the major. Carl pushed away from the table, mourning over the steak which he now figured he’d never get to eat, and clambered to his feet. “Major, as Colonel Nottoway’s aide, sir, I think I can explain. The colonel suffered a head wound some time ago and—”
“You be silent, Sergeant!” the major hissed. “Now both of you two raise your hands high and don’t make any sudden moves!”
The three officers clustered behind the swaying major had all pulled weapons from various parts of their clothing and were pointing them menacingly at their newly taken prisoners. Which, Carl realized, was exactly what he and Chester were: prisoners once again. His life, which until the encounters with Alyssaunde had been a well-ordered and rewarding climb through the military ranks of Hiram VI’s forces spiced with the excitement of their battles with the Saracens, had turned into a nightmare series of imprisonments, escapes, flights, and recaptures.
The weapons that the two captains and the lieutenant were pointing were only vaguely familiar to Carl. He’d seen fowling pieces in his lifetime: these hand-held weapons were clearly firearms of some related sort. He stared at them, uncertain as to how, precisely, they worked. But he knew that they were built to propel a missile violently from their barrels, one of which was pointing straight at his belly while the other two were directed at Chester.
The lean captain of the pair had shouted instructions to the few other diners scattered through the car, sending them back to their coaches where they would doubtless have wonderful tales to tell their companions. Then the lean captain raised his weapon so that it pointed directly into Chester’s face. “Don’t you move a muscle, mister, or I’ll blow your brains right out the back of your skull! Now, colleague, would you please take Colonel Nottoway’s sword away from this man.”
The fat captain gingerly drew the sword from its scabbard and slipped it through the decorative belt that circled the waist of his uniform coat.
The major had swayed against the wall of the car, and made his way to a vacant table where he sat now, quietly surveying the scene between his three subordinates and Chester and Carl. “Bring ’em over here,” the major called to the captain whose handgun was still pointed straight at Chester’s forehead.
The captain gestured and Chester made his way to the major’s table, followed by Carl They sat down facing the major. The two captains, corpulent and lean, seated themselves to either side of the major. The lieutenant—Carl turned his head to make sure and turned it back when he saw the look on the lieutenant’s face—stayed standing behind the two prisoners, pointing two guns now. Carl looked at the major and the two captains and decided that the fat captain must have given his gun to the lieutenant.
“The court will come to order,” the major announced solemnly.
“Court?” Carl yelped.
“Silence!” the major commanded. Carl could feel the muzzle of a handgun press briefly against the back of his neck. Its metal was hard and cold and he could almost feel a hot projectile splattering thr
ough his spine.
“I must protest, Major,” Carl heard Chester say. “This is completely irregular. You have no authority over the sergeant and myself, and furthermore you cannot try an officer of grade superior to your own. Now if there is any problem here that can’t be worked out among ourselves, let us proceed to Vicksburg and consult the provost marshal.”
“Mister,” the major said, “that would all make sense if you were really Colonel Nottoway, but you ain’t. As far as I know you are a Union spy and this so-called sergeant of yours is your accomplice. Now you are formally charged with spyin’ on the Confederate Army, impersonatin’ an officer, theft of transportation services from this railroad, and—well, I could think of a few more things but spyin’ alone is a hangin’ offense so I guess the others would be superfluous, wouldn’t they?”
Chester thumped one giant fist on the table. Carl looked up and saw two black faces peering fearfully from behind the partition that separated dining compartment from kitchen. “This is outrageous!” Chester roared. “When General Lee hears about this ridiculous indignity—”
“Enough!” the major snapped. “Unless you care to properly identify yourselves—”
“I am Colonel Nottoway and this is Sergeant Allan, as we have told you all along, Major!”
“Very well, sir! The court will now vote on the charges as stated against one John Doe posing as Colonel Aubrey Nottoway, C.S.A., and one Richard Roe posing as Sergeant Allan, C.S.A. Guilty?”
Carl’s eyes popped open and his jaw dropped as the two captains raised their hands. So did the major.
“Any votes for acquittal?” the major asked.
No one raised a hand.
“I protest!” Chester shouted. Carl saw him begin to explode upward from his seat, then crumple forward, sprawling across the tabletop. He moaned, blood running from his head. Carl turned and saw the lieutenant looking pale, one weapon still pointing shakily at Carl, the other bloodied where he had crashed it into Chester’s skull.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” the major said. “Captain,” he said to the fat officer, “would you please summon the conductor and have him stop the train for a few minutes. We are going to have us a little hangin’ right alongside the tracks, and then we will continue our journey to Vicksburg.”
Tomorrow Knight Page 11