The Shadow Throne: Book Two of the Shadow Campaigns

by Wexler, Django

  Janus was in his study, still going over the maps of the ground between Vordan City and Midvale with a pencil and dividers. The usual stack of folded papers, weighed down with books, inkwells, and whatever else was handy, stood at his elbow. The colonel always insisted on thorough reports from his subordinates.

  Marcus saluted again, then relaxed at Janus’ vague wave. He closed the door behind him.

  “Good afternoon, Captain,” the colonel said. “What news from our officers of artillery?”

  “They’re making progress, sir.” Marcus related what he’d seen at the University, and what Val had told him.

  “It’s something, anyway.” Janus sighed. “If I were truly the all-seeing genius they call me in the streets, I would have had a cache of cannon secreted somewhere in the city in preparation for this moment. Take note, Captain. Preparation has its place, but there is no substitute for improvisation. And a great deal of hard work.”

  “Yes, sir.” Marcus hesitated. “You were up at Ohnlei today?”

  “Briefly,” Janus said. “Captain Warus and I decided to keep the headquarters here. If the duke moves quickly enough, it’s possible Ohnlei might come within his reach, and it’s poorly suited for defense. We’d have to abandon it.”

  “I see.”

  Janus looked up, big gray eyes skewering Marcus. “Why do you ask?”

  “I . . .” Marcus paused, his face reddening a little, but there was no turning back now. It was hard to hide anything from Janus. “I heard something on my way back. Just a rumor, I’m sure. They said a gang of women had taken up residence there, and were . . . practicing their trade. I wondered if you knew about it.”

  Marcus wouldn’t have put it past Janus to hire a bunch of prostitutes for the use of his newly recruited soldiers, now that he came to think about it. For all that he was a nobleman, he lacked delicacy in such matters, though as far as Marcus knew he himself never indulged. He wondered if Janus had a woman, back in Mieran County. Hell, or a wife. I’ve never asked, and he never talks about himself.

  “Ah.” Janus laid his pencil down and straightened up. “I suppose word was bound to get out.”

  Now I’ve put my foot in it. Marcus’ cheeks were flushed under his beard. “If this is something you’ve arranged, I don’t mean to imply—”

  “It is indeed something I arranged, Captain, but it’s not what you think. This morning I had a visit from a group of young women who wished to volunteer as soldiers.”

  Marcus barked a laugh, automatically. Then, as he put this together with what he’d heard in the carriage, his forehead furrowed.

  “You sent them on their way, sir, I should think,” he said.

  “On the contrary, I told them their services would be welcome. Their spokesman was the notorious ‘Mad Jane,’ with whom I think you may be familiar.”

  “You told them . . .” Marcus shook his head. “I don’t understand. What are you hoping to accomplish?”

  “I am hoping to defend this city and my queen against the Last Duke,” Janus said, a touch of harshness entering his voice. “I will accept the assistance of anyone who wishes to offer it.”

  “So you sent them to be—what? Nurses? Washerwomen?” Marcus’ frown deepened. “I don’t like it, sir. A few girls, out among so many young men. People are going to make assumptions.”

  “You don’t seem to understand, Captain. I sent them to be soldiers. As for their safety among so many men, I think Miss Verity and her companions have adequately demonstrated their ability to care for themselves, don’t you?”

  “You sent them to be soldiers,” Marcus deadpanned. “A bunch of girls.”

  “Yes.”

  “To carry muskets.”

  “Yes.”

  “And to march—”

  “Yes. Captain, what is it about this concept that you find so difficult to understand?”

  “But that’s ridiculous, sir! You can’t—I mean, they would—”

  Janus said nothing, eyes hooded. Marcus took a deep breath.

  “If they’re dead set on it, maybe we could use them for recruiting,” he said. “But you can’t seriously think of sending them into the fighting.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they might get killed!”

  “And I suppose you think all the boys we’ve recruited have steel skins?”

  “But—”

  “Forgive me if I sound callous, Captain, but from my experience I am reasonably certain that a woman can stop a musket ball as well as any man. If she can load and fire her own weapon as well, I see no reason to stop her.”

  “The other recruits will never stand for it. Nobody will stand for it.”

  “You’d be surprised,” the colonel said. “‘Mad Jane’ is quite popular, and many of our new soldiers come from the Docks. And if anyone does object, they’ll have their officers to answer to.”

  “But . . .” Marcus turned even redder. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through, sir. What if they’re captured by the enemy?”

  “Then I suspect they will be raped,” Janus said, pronouncing the ugly word with a deliberate bluntness. “A fact of which they are certainly well aware. These are not noble girls from the Fairy Castles, Captain. It’s a threat they’ve lived with all their lives.”

  “But how can we send them out if we know that might happen to them?”

  “We fought the Redeemers, who liked to burn their prisoners alive and, some said, to eat them. There was also the option of impalement, which I understand involves a wooden spear inserted via the anus and positioned in such a way as to leave the victim alive for days while he’s mounted on the city wall. The Desoltai tortured, gelded, and murdered our scouts and left them for us to find. Against any of these enemies, did you hesitate to order your men forward because you were worried about what might happen to them?”

  “But these aren’t men. They’re—”

  “Captain d’Ivoire,” Janus growled. Marcus had only heard the colonel raise his voice in anger once, in a temple on Ashe-Katarion’s sacred hill. This was only a shadow of that violent outburst, but it carried an echo that made Marcus’ skin crawl. “You seem to be laboring under a misapprehension, and perhaps I am to blame. Our victories in Khandar have made many in the Colonials overconfident, and their estimation of my own abilities has risen to frankly unjustified heights.

  “I know my worth, Captain, but I have no magic trick to pull out of my bag here. Orlanko has more trained men than we do, and they are well equipped. He has more guns, and he has a regiment of cuirassiers to our few hundred light horses. All I have to set in our side of the balance pan is the assistance of the people of Vordan City, to whatever extent they are willing to offer it. If we lose, you and I, not to mention the other officers of the Colonials, will almost certainly lose our heads, and our queen will become a slave in all but name. Under the circumstances, please believe I mean what I say when I tell you I will take any help I can get. I am not going to turn away two hundred highly motivated volunteers because you have scruples about their gender. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Marcus drew himself up and saluted. “I understand, sir.”

  “Good.” Janus’ expression calmed, as though the brief burst of anger had never been. A moment later, he flashed a smile. “If you have any further objections, I suggest you take them up with Her Majesty. I have no doubt she would be happy to listen.”

  WINTER

  Putting on her uniform, straight from Janus’ laundry, felt more comfortable than Winter could have imagined. Her specially tailored undershirt, tight across the chest in the right places, tucked into blue trousers with razor-sharp creases. A proper lieutenant’s jacket, with a double row of gleaming buttons and the white stripes sewn on the shoulders. And the brimmed cap, which sat differently than she was used to. Winter puzzled at this until she realized she hadn’t had
her hair trimmed in weeks, and her usual close-to-the-skull cut was getting distinctly shaggy.

  It was all as familiar and comfortable as an old glove, but during the walk across the palace grounds she found herself tugging nervously at the seams and sleeves. The problem was Jane’s unaccustomed gaze. In Khandar she’d managed to forget that her disguise was a disguise, but with Jane watching she couldn’t put it out of her mind.

  Finally, out of earshot of the outer ring of sentries, she muttered, “You don’t have to stare at me like I was a dancing bear.”

  “Sorry,” Jane said, with a smile that was anything but. “I’m still getting used to this. Do you know you even walk differently?”

  “This is going to be awkward enough,” Winter said, “without you making me nervous.”

  “All right, all right. But promise me something?”

  “What?”

  Jane’s grin turned wicked. “Wear that outfit to bed sometime? I can’t look at it without thinking about how I’d peel it off you.”

  Winter rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a little blush. So now I have that image to keep me company. She started off again, and Jane fell in behind her. Winter could almost feel her leering gaze. Jane could out-ogle any tavern full of sailors Winter had ever encountered, when she put her mind to it.

  The First Colonial camp was laid out directly in front of the palace itself, split by the broad main drive and occupying the grass lawns that spread out from the cul-de-sac with its fountain and statue of Farus IV. Farther down the drive was the space they were using as a drill field, and the new recruits, lacking tents, were bedding down in the offices and hallways of the various ministries. The notorious Cobweb had been mostly gutted by fire, started by Orlanko’s minions as they’d fled. The drill sergeants had been using targets chalked on its facade for target practice, so the once-smooth columns and frontage were now scored and pitted as well as black with smoke.

  All the drills thus far had been with weapons, without even a token effort to teach march discipline or camp skills. Jane’s girls, given a hallway of hastily abandoned offices in the Ministry of War, had organized a cooking schedule and set watches on the doors with the thoroughness of long practice, but the rest of the recruits were not nearly so organized. Fires burned at random among the once-perfect grounds, and carefully trimmed trees and shrubs were hacked to bits for wood. Rough-looking men filled their buckets from the ornamental fountains, and the specially bred black-and-white carp in the Ministry of State’s reflecting pool were quickly captured and eaten.

  The First Colonial camp was far more organized, with the familiar torchlit avenues between rows of faded blue canvas tents. One ring of sentries surrounded the camp, and patrols with lanterns walked around the palace, protecting it from looters. There weren’t enough men to guard the entire vast estate, but Janus had asked that the royal residence, at least, be spared wanton destruction.

  Once they were among the tents, Winter was at least spared Jane’s continued attention. The familiar scene of an army camp was entirely new to her, and she looked around eagerly at the tents, the stacked arms, and the big kettles where the men were cooking dinner. Her stares were returned from every quarter, and as they passed, men poked one another and whispered. Rumors had obviously started to spread about the girl soldiers. For a moment, Winter felt the familiar urge to shrink in on herself, but a glance back at Jane steadied her. She straightened up and walked a little faster.

  When they found First Battalion, Seventh Company, the first few men they passed looked up and froze, unable to believe their eyes. Before she’d taken a dozen steps, though, Winter found herself at the center of an instant crowd, drawing soldiers out of their tents with almost magnetic force into a narrow circle around her and Jane. They were all shouting at once, greetings, questions, gossip, and Winter had to hold up her hands for silence. She could hear Jane laughing.

  “It’s good to see you all,” she said, when they’d calmed down a little. “No, I’m not back for good. Not yet. The colonel said he would see what he could do. For now, can you tell me where I can find the corporals?”

  A young man with a peach-fuzz beard and a pip on his shoulder was pushed forward. Winter recognized him vaguely but couldn’t recall his name. He saluted, nervously, and said, “I’m Corporal Morraz, sir. But I think you mean Sergeants Forester and Folsom. They’re with the lieutenant. Follow me, sir.”

  The corporal pushed his way through the crowd, and the men made way as Winter and Jane followed. He led them to a tent, marked out from the others only by the light of a candle burning inside.

  “Shall I introduce you, sir?” the corporal said. Then, glancing at Jane, he added, “Miss?”

  “I can manage, Corporal,” Winter said. “Thanks.”

  Morraz saluted and scurried off. Jane looked at the tent, whose highest point was barely above her nose, and gave a low whistle.

  “You lived in one of these?” she said, quietly.

  “For two years,” Winter said. “You get used to it. Eventually all you care about is having a dry spot to sleep.”

  “And I thought we had it hard in the swamp.”

  Winter knocked at the tent pole. An unfamiliar man’s voice said, “Yes?”

  “Um,” Winter said, disconcerted. “It’s Lieutenant Ihernglass.”

  “Ah yes. I thought it might be, from the commotion. Come in!”

  Winter pulled up the flap and went inside. Jane followed, walking stooped. A folding table was strewn with papers and ledgers, the sight of which gave Winter an instant, instinctive feeling of guilt. Two people sat on opposite sides of it, pens in hand.

  The man facing Winter was in his shirtsleeves, but Winter guessed he was the lieutenant. He was blond and blue-eyed, giving his face a vaguely Murnskai cast, and he had a jawline you could have cracked rocks on. Winter guessed he was a few years older than she was, in his mid-twenties.

  His companion was Rebecca Forester, also called Robert Forester, known in both guises as Bobby. Senior Sergeant Bobby Forester, Winter saw, from the three pips on the shoulders of her jacket. Fitz had evidently done more than move a few lieutenants around in terms of getting the units sorted out. She looked somehow older than when Winter had last seen her, more adult. Winter still couldn’t see her soft, round face as a boy’s no matter how hard she tried, though it had fooled her well enough when they first met. As soon as Winter entered, Bobby popped to her feet. Before she could rush to embrace Winter, however, Jane came in, and Bobby stopped uncertainly in her tracks. The lieutenant raised an eyebrow.

  Winter stepped forward into the uncomfortable silence, head slightly bent, and offered her hand across the table. “Lieutenant Winter Ihernglass.”

  “Lieutenant John Marsh,” the man said, returning a firm handshake. “I think you know Sergeant Forester?”

  “You might say that.” Winter shot Bobby a conspiratorial grin. “This is Jane Verity. I don’t know if you’ve heard that I’ve been placed in charge of one of the new companies—”

  “I think everyone in the camp has heard by now,” Marsh said.

  I was afraid of that. “Jane is my second in command.”

  “I see.” Marsh glanced, for some reason, at Bobby, who gave a tiny shrug. “Well. Welcome, Lieutenant, Miss Verity. How can I help you?”

  “I just wanted to have a few words with my corporals. My former corporals,” Winter corrected. “If it’s all right with you.”

  Marsh, again, looked at Bobby. Winter thought she saw the girl nod very slightly.

  “Of course,” he said. “I expect you have a lot of catching up to do!” He got to his feet, slapping dust and drying sand off his thighs. “Shall I fetch Junior Sergeant Folsom?”

  “I’ll get him later,” Bobby said, and smiled at Winter. “Graff isn’t here, though. Fitz made him a lieutenant for the Third Company.”

  “I’ll have to congratula
te him,” Winter said.

  She and Jane stepped aside, letting Marsh slip past them with a polite nod. He ducked through the tent flap and let it fall behind him. Bobby gestured for the two of them to sit, and gathered up the paperwork to pile it out of the way. Winter settled herself onto the cushion in front of the old, familiar low table, with Jane at her side.

  There was a long pause. Bobby looked from Winter to Jane and back again, not sure what to think, and Winter couldn’t figure out how to begin the conversation. It was Jane who finally broke the silence with a laugh.

  “Look at the two of you.” She shook her head, trying to fight her grin and failing. “I’m sorry, but it’s funny. You’re so tangled up in your secrets you can barely move!”

  “I . . .” Bobby hesitated. “I don’t know what you—”

  “This is Jane,” Winter said. “From Mrs. Wilmore’s. I found her.”

  Bobby’s mouth opened, silently, and her eyes went wide.

  “I didn’t go anywhere. You were the one who disappeared,” Jane said. “What kinds of stories have you been telling about me?”

  “Winter told me the truth about herself,” Bobby said, “and about how the two of you were friends before she ran away.”

  “Friends.” Jane shot Winter a tiny smirk.

  “And Bobby’s story is . . . complicated,” Winter said. “I found out—”

  “That she’s a girl?” Jane said. She shrugged at Bobby’s shocked look. “She didn’t tell me anything, but it’s not exactly a stretch to figure it out once you start thinking in those terms. Just look at you!”

  “Nobody else has guessed,” Bobby said, defensively.

  “I doubt anyone else is looking,” Jane said. “Now. We’ve established that everybody knows everybody else’s secrets. Can we all relax?”

  Not all our secrets, Winter thought. There was no way for Jane to know about the naath Feor had gifted to Bobby, or the patches of her skin it had replaced with living marble. No need to break that to her yet—