by Lee Abrey
The other thing they all agreed on was to never, ever volunteer. I waited patiently for some fifteen minutes until the corporal signed a chit that allowed me temporary passage to and from the stables then walked back through the sticky town. I was getting my land-legs back and walking was easier.
Redhampton seemed busy despite the heat, men everywhere, in uniform or fatigues, streets lined with shops doing brisk trade and the whole place heaving with floozies of every stripe. Several slyly flashed bare breasts or bottoms at me. In the daytime! Certainly made me pay attention. It was weeks since my last woman. I tried to remember when.
To my horror I couldn’t. The last time was when heading back to Port Azrael from Malion. There was a vague and drunken memory of a brothel on the road somewhere and after that I was on such a bender I hadn’t even picked up any women. It was definitely time for a tumble. I admired the naked bits of the working girls and noted possible favourites for later.
****
Chapter 19 –First Night on the Northern Front
Back at the Lady of Starshore Ross suggested a party.
“On here?” said Captain Ernst, looking alarmed.
“Lad’s going into the army,” said Ross. The captain was unmoved.
“The yacht is as much an heirloom of the duchy as she is Himself’s property,” he said, beginning to glower. I could take a hint.
“Oh,” I said, before hostilities began, “I don’t want a party. Let’s go into town. Someone else can do the washing up.”
It was something Mother always said, about letting someone else do the washing up. Ross told me once that all men turned into their mothers. Gods, I thought, kill me now. I remembered that kind of dramatic statement might be ill-advised. Even unbelievers shouldn’t push their luck with the gods.
Did or could Cree the not-ghost fit with an atheistic view of the universe? Could we still be nothing more than double helices of stardust spiralling in the void? If of course that was what we were, because like every belief system the Atheists were riven by schisms. Some ascribed to the single-helix version.
“Right,” said Ross, interrupting what were possibly my insane thoughts, “what should we stop you from doing? Assuming you can’t sign up for the army again and that you need to be ready by dawn on Monday?” I considered the options for a moment.
“Stop me from touching any drug with a big come-down. No dreamdust.” That was dangerous. It went on for days and was easy to get addicted to. Strange dreams. I’d tried it once, dreamed things I’d never mentioned to anyone. Speaking of dreams, I hated poppy dreams. “No poppy of any kind, I had enough of that in hospital. Other than that,” I said, and grinned, “don’t let me go swimming in shark-infested waters.”
“You heard Himself,” said Fenric, smiling, “we keep him out of the river.”
“And now,” said Ross, “Fenric, you remember the Brown Onion Restaurant? It’s still here.” We offered dinner to everyone, but most said they’d rather go drinking, so we let them go with a generous donation from my duchy funds to their drinking ones and we’d see them later. The way to an employee’s heart has always been to buy the next round.
“Tell the steward,” I said suddenly, “to have winter fetes funded by the duchy too. As well as summer ones.” They made me write it up, sign, and then affix the ducal seal.
“Excellent,” said Ross, “let the party begin.”
“Not too wild,” I said, “remember I have to live to Monday morning or be declared a deserter.”
“We’ll be good,” said Fenric, looking innocent.
****
The sun was down and the day was starting to cool. I found myself looking forward to the evening. Nearly every place was open despite it being after sunset. The streets were full of people out for a stroll. When I walked through with the horses there were more horses and wheeled traffic, now I was surprised at the numbers of Blood. It seemed almost half the inhabitants had Dragon blood. That was high for a town. Usually there were more commoners. Even in the palaces, servants and staff outnumbered the Blood.
“We can relax a bit,” said Ross, grinning at a girl trying to entice him from a doorway with a quick flash of her breasts, “us bodyguards, I mean. Seeing now we’re out of Sendren and Highcliff you don’t need us. Nobody’s going to be trying to kill you from here on except Sriamans.”
“And officers,” said Fenric. They chortled at the joke. I was only half-paying attention, wondering what was going to happen to a Blood idiot in the ranks. Would the officers pick on me while the men refused to talk to me? Would it be like growing up in Lower Beech? I didn’t want to go back to that kind of loneliness. The sergeants and corporals might be alright if I didn’t cause them trouble. They were always good to me when I visited the army garrison next to the farm.
“Have any of you,” I said, “ever heard of anyone Blood in the ranks?” Turned out they had, though it wasn’t common.
“Officers busted down to private,” said Fenric, “then for some reason don’t buy their way out. Officers, even unranked, can buy their way out.”
“But that’s men who joined as officers,” said Ross, “never heard of a Blood man joining the ranks.” The others agreed. “No provision for it in the reg’s. Which is how you ended up in the army. That sergeant was right, it wasn’t anticipated.”
“Well,” I said, “my father was the only peasant anyone had ever heard of joining the Military Guild.”
“How did he know he could?” said Archie.
“I don’t know,” I said. “He always says he just really wanted to join and there was no provision against it in reg’s so they couldn’t stop him.” They all laughed.
“I didn’t know commoners could be officers until I joined the army,” said Fenric, “once I did, of course everyone’s heard of Evan Shawcross.” I blinked. Everyone went very quiet.
“They have?” I said.
“Oh,” said Archie, “as an example at the Military Guild. Second year, wasn’t it?” The others nodded. “You know,” he said, mimicking something the tutors always said, “Blood or commoner, anyone can join the guild, we operate on a meritocracy here.”
“Aye,” said Fenric, a little too quickly, “most people probably won’t remember your father from that.” Gods, I hadn’t considered people knowing who my father was. It wasn’t so much I thought he might be embarrassing as a guild example, more I dreaded to think how many people Father had offended while drunk. Still, hopefully most people wouldn’t know Mother.
There was a steep walk up from the river wharves into the better part of town, to where the brothels had proper curtains in the windows instead of paint over the glass. I was surprised at how much was available in what wasn’t a big place. The army might provide the basics but entrepreneurs offered the rest, including taverns, soft women or hard ones, all kinds of music, and any number of additions and adjuncts to basic army issue, in all grades.
There was even a branch of the emporium where I had some very flashy armour made up when I was living in Malion. I didn’t bring that with me, it being practice armour to pose in, not fight in. In yet another example of my idiocy, I ordered it in green and copper to match my eyes. They’d laugh me out of the army if I wore it.
What can I say to defend such a profligate purchase? At the time, I was in Malion studying warfare, with too much money to spend, at Court there a lot, and most people I knew were much sillier than that.
Now everything was business. While I did my training the army would provide the basics, but most men bought better if they could afford it. We paused outside the emporium to browse, discussing options. There were different weights and styles of armour and weapons, the best for me would depend on terrain, role and if cavalry or foot. They took my measurements so all I had to do was send a message saying what I wanted and it would be sent to me within days.
Meanwhile I was in an army town where nobody knew my name. Breathing in the warm night air, I watched crowds of excited-looking men and a surprising n
umber of bright-eyed women swirl past. The town seemed to throb and hum, an expectant edge to the activity. It was quite thrilling to be anonymous. In the street at home I was recognised, both in Malion and my home city of Peterhaven, especially if I was on Magpie, who was rather distinctive with his shiny black-and-white coat.
“Everyone seems excited about something,” I said, looking around.
“People are scared,” said Fenric, shaking his head. “Worse than it was. Sriamans have attacked south of the river a few times. The walls are rebuilt to front line standard, and nobody wants to be outside. Everyone is crowded in or leaving.” A squad of soldiers marched past us.
“Aye,” said Archie, “or out on patrol.”
“Is there something happening?” I said.
“Don’t think so,” said Archie, “only lots of soldiers looking for a party. It’s the front line. They’re looking for a good time in case it’s their last one, or because they just survived and want to prove they’re still alive.”
“Prove they’re still alive?” I said.
“When you’ve been badly scared or nearly killed,” said Fenric, “it’s good to prove you’re still alive. Touching another person gets to be important. It means you’re not a ghost. You get drunk and dance until the music stops or until you find someone willing. You’ll understand soon.”
“The place certainly is fizzing,” said Archie.
“There’s a formula,” said Ross, “to do with the number of single men per square mile reaching a critical level. If you aren’t army or feeding off them, you better get out before the enemy arrive.”
“It draws the innkeepers and the floozies,” said Fenric, nodding at some women standing across the road, trying to entice passer’s-by inside with a can-can dance. One of the girls tripped, nearly sending the line flying. They whooped and giggled, holding each other up.
“Aye,” said Ross, “that’s part of the formula. The bars and brothels outnumber the grocers.”
“Hey gorgeous,” a girl called from a nearby alleyway, “not all of us are in brothels.” Ross laughed. She licked her lips and lifted her skirt, quite demurely for a woman in an alleyway, only to the knee. “Come on,” she said, “I’ll do all of you and cheaper than those stuck-up bitches.”
“No thanks, darlin’,” said Ross. We kept moving, refusing several women and at least one simpering male on most blocks.
I wondered, not for the first time, seeing I knew plenty of men who liked sex with men, why brothels always assumed the only kind of men other men liked were those who acted like women, and annoying women at that. Flouncing and squealing like particularly shallow teenage girls. Mind you, I knew men who were old enough to know better and still liked teen girls. Or boys.
Mother had suggested to me once that older people who liked teenagers thought they were easy to fool and never made real emotional demands. I thought it was more the other way, for me at least, that older women were demanding and almost impossible to fool, but they knew what they wanted, weren’t afraid to say it, and didn’t mind me looking at their glorious bodies in the light.
Younger women in particular were often so coy it quite interfered with the lovemaking and were forever making bizarre emotional demands on the basis of one night’s sex. Most had never even looked at themselves in a mirror, let alone explored their own bodies to find out what felt good. Unless they were floozies, who pretended everything felt good if you paid them enough. I didn’t pretend to understand it all. Life, women, any of it.
“Sirs,” the hawkers shouted, “hot girls here sirs, all new to town, sirs!” They could see we were Blood and their logic was that we were officers in civvies. As had become our habit, this shore excursion was my treat. A thousand freeloaders would have to work hard to dent my fortune. Even then, once dented, my rather astonishing income would replace it soon enough, over and above what the duchy paid in tax to the king.
It made sense to pay my men and other employees well, so when they spent their coin in the duchy, or around the kingdoms, it stimulated local economies. Well-paid people were also less likely to be open to bribes from my enemies.
I had come to understand why the king didn’t really mind the Royal Court, the Hangers On as the family called them. Despite them annoying him on a personal level, the Crown could afford to keep them, and the Hangers On went out and spent their coin in Peterhaven, contributing to the city’s thriving businesses.
I sighed and paused by a shop window, lost in my thoughts. I would even miss the Hangers On, that mob of courtiers I was so careful to avoid being part of. If I stopped being angry, I could admit to missing Mother, Father, and Crown Prince Azrael.
However I would miss them all much more if only they stayed at least a duchy away from me from now on.
“Polo?” said Ross. He had obviously come back for me. Fenric and the others were waiting, about twenty feet further along the footpath.
“Oh,” I said, shaking my head and hurrying to catch up, “sorry, million miles away.” There followed a lecture from pretty much everyone, which might have been entitled ‘The Importance to the Modern Soldier of Not Being Lost in Thought.’ I must focus and stay right In The Moment because otherwise Sriamans would kill me in Many Horrible Ways.
“And don’t let ghosts distract you,” Fenric said at the end. I looked at him, but his gold-flecked grey eyes were focused on the far horizon. The weather was turning sultry, the night crackled with thunder, lightning over the mountains sparking other kinds of tension on the streets around us. It put a swagger in the step, a quiver in the belly.
I began writing in my head, about being on the front line with only the mountains between me and Sriama, thunder echoing down from the peaks and up and down the river. Suddenly I remembered I was going to die. The thought took all the fun out of my dramatic little imaginings.
Best to live while I could, I told the thought. First, I was going to eat.
****
Chapter 20 –Telling the Future
By the time we reached the Brown Onion, I was starving. Fenric, Ross, and Archie were with me, which was perfect. I wanted to be with those I was closest to while I could.
The Brown Onion was a small restaurant with brisk ceiling fans, an excellent kitchen and unflappable staff. I said we were celebrating, they recommended the special menu for the night, and that sounded perfect too. It turned out to be. While we waited for a table they served complimentary jugs of ale and their trademark onion rings, doused in a spicy batter and fried, served with various dips.
Not being much of a drinker, which was how I ended up in the army, I was thinking of avoiding alcohol, but beer didn’t seem to hit me so hard in the heat. Food helped soak it up and my appetite was definitely back. After the onion rings were platters of rice, vegetables and curried meats, tender and sweet, with flatbreads stuffed with dried fruit and spices, a myriad of pickles, sauces, and little dishes of unfamiliar vegetables, all of it spiced, flavoured with fruits and herbs, with a heat that was sometimes enough to take my breath away, but there were yoghurt dips to soothe and cool.
It was a wonderful adventure of the taste buds and took my mind off impending doom in a most positive way. Dessert likewise was a selection of dishes I never even imagined, fruits I had perhaps only read about, maybe tasted dried or preserved in syrups, jams and marmalades, or occasionally from various palace hothouses. Fresh banana was a lot better than dried. Burping gently, we wandered out onto the veranda for coffee and pipes of mindweed. I was feeling calm, like I might be able to cope.
“Your spirit guide around?” said Ross.
“He’s not my spirit guide,” I said, and tried to think of the right way to say it. Spirit guide? I shook my head and shuddered at the words. What was I, some bint in a tent talking about tall dark strangers? Then I remembered what an idiot I was. I supposed, with due respect to bints-in-tents, that fortune-telling was a living and one safe from Sriaman axes. Signing up for the army? What had I been thinking? I was going to die.
“No idea,” I said, shrugging, then remembered Cree tended to appear and correct me if I didn’t say what he was. In fact, I thought at him in case he was lurking, one might say Cree had a tendency to harp on the not-ghost thing. “He’s whatever a being not-in-body is,” I said, knowing I sounded evasive but not knowing how else to explain. “Fenric, do you know?” The big man shrugged too, taking a long pull on a pipe.
“No idea,” he said, and breathed out a plume of smoke, “just know you can’t usually see through a person.”
You won’t die, said Cree, appearing so suddenly I nearly jumped. I kept still, the not-ghost floating next to me. I glanced at Fenric but he hadn’t noticed Cree or couldn’t see him, which reminded me that not only was I going to die but no matter who else saw him I was haunted and might be mad-and-dangerous. Cree smiled.
I can choose who sees me. Or who hears me.
Aye, I thought, only the really crazy people see you all the time. He was very amused.
How do you explain others seeing me at all? I smiled.
It might be a group delusion, I thought in a rather triumphant manner.
Damn, I was falling into the same trap I always did, arguing with a hallucination. Or the dead. Or the crazy part of me that Cree’s presence probably represented. A splintered aspect of my psyche. I had read enough psychology books to make a guess. Though I was pretty sure Cree himself suggested the ‘splintered aspect of my psyche’ explanation during one of our arguments.
I told you, Cree said, I’m alive. You’re not mad. I didn’t think after this many years you would still doubt my existence. I took another hit on the pipe and passed it to Ross. Lost in the past, they were talking about their wartime leave experiences in Redhampton and other northern towns.