The Thousand Names (49 page)

“A fracas?”

“An altercation, you might call it. The locals are unhappy.”

“Wonderful. Where’s the colonel?”

“He rode through the town already, sir. Said he saw something on the hill just beyond and took a squadron of cavalry as an escort.”

“At least he had that much sense.” Marcus wouldn’t have put it past Janus to wander off on his own if something really interested him. For a man with his obvious military talent, he could be surprisingly obtuse at times. “Come on. Let’s get to this town before someone burns the place down.”

•   •   •

It hadn’t quite come to that, but it wasn’t far from it. Marcus found two companies of the First waiting on the outskirts of the little town, which would barely have qualified as a large village in Vordan. It was a collection of dusty shacks and a few brick-and-timber buildings, not much bigger than Weltae. Its primary purposes were to serve as a way station for farmers carting their produce to the city and to host markets for city merchants to sell goods to the rural folk who never got to make that trip. The main attraction was an underground spring that gave pure, sweet water, which some long-ago ruler of Khandar had built up into a fountain and pool with a statue depicting an unrecognizable god.

It was over this fountain that the “altercation,” as Fitz had termed it, had developed. A dozen Vordanai soldiers, looking very nervous, stood with shouldered muskets and fixed bayonets, while another blue-coated man lay in the dust with a corporal leaning over him. In front of the line, Marcus was depressed but unsurprised to find Senior Sergeant Davis, face red and veins bulging, screaming at a square-jawed Khandarai who listened impassively to his tirade. A small crowd of locals stood behind him. They looked more like curious onlookers than an angry mob, but Marcus knew that the line dividing the two could be a thin one.

“You little gray-skinned motherfucker,” Davis said. “If you and your little friends don’t clear this street right now, I mean
right
fucking now, I am going to order these men to blow the lot of you straight into your fucked-up afterlife. Is that what you want? You want me to take a bayonet and rearrange your insides?”

“Sergeant Davis!” Marcus boomed, in his best parade-ground voice.

Davis whirled, his face still lurid with rage, and for a moment Marcus thought he was about to receive the benefit of his acid tongue. Then good sense took over, and the fat sergeant quivered to attention and saluted as crisply as he could manage.

“Sir!” he barked. “Request permission to assemble my company and disperse this resistance,
sir
!”

“Are they resisting?” Marcus looked out over the crowd. “They don’t appear to be armed.”

“They’re blocking the road, sir! And one of them decked Peg—that is, one of them struck Ranker Nunenbast, sir!”

“Was that this man here?” Marcus said, indicating the big Khandarai.

“Yessir. I want him punished, sir!”

“Let me talk to him.”

Marcus dismounted awkwardly and went over to the man, with Fitz following at his shoulder. He mustered his politest Khandarai and said, “I am Captain d’Ivoire. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

The Khandarai blinked, a bit surprised, and said, “I am Dannin-dan-Uluk. I am the headman of this town.”

Marcus inclined his head at Peg, who was still groaning theatrically. “And what seems to be the problem?”

“He wished to use the fountain. I explained that he would have to make an offering to the Lord of Waters, but he refused. When he attempted to push his way past, I was forced to do him an injury.”

“I see. Did he understand you?”

Dannin shrugged. Marcus sighed inwardly.

“I apologize on his behalf, then,” he said. “Many of my men do not speak your language. I wish for them to have free access to your fountain for tonight and tomorrow morning. How large an offering to the Lord of Waters would be appropriate?”

“How many men?”

“A little more than four thousand, and our animals.”

The headman shook his head. “Too many. They will deplete the pool, and it will not refill for many weeks. In the meantime, the town will suffer.”

Marcus grimaced.
Here’s where I show that I’m no better than the likes of Davis, after all.

“We must have water,” he said quietly, so the crowd behind the headman would not hear. “I am prepared to make a generous donation to your town and your god in exchange for it, and to purchase food and other necessaries besides. If you refuse, however, we can commandeer these things in the name of the prince, and then you will have nothing.”

“You have no right to do such things.”

I have an army.
That’s even better.
“The prince disagrees. You may apply to him for compensation.”

“And if we refuse?”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder at Sergeant Davis, who was still glaring daggers at the Khandarai. Then he shrugged, as though it were a matter of indifference to him.

“You will pay,” the headman said, after a moment’s contemplation. “And we will bring wine for your soldiers to drink, so only your animals need to use the fountain. You must pay for the wine, too, of course.”

“Of course.” Marcus’ head was starting to pound in time with the ache in his arm. He wondered how he was going to explain this to Janus.
If he even bothers to ask.

•   •   •

“And did he say where we go next?” Jen said.

“Of course not,” Marcus said, pulling off his uniform jacket one-handed and tossing it into a corner. “He just smiles, as though he expects me to enjoy the sense of mystery. I swear to Karis the Savior the man missed his calling as a stage conjuror.” He picked up the wineskin—a too-sweet vintage generously provided by the villagers of Nahiseh—and took another long pull.

Jen, sitting on his bed, nodded sympathetically. He hadn’t invited her in, exactly, but she’d been waiting for him outside his newly erected tent, and his anger at Janus’ refusal to divulge his plans had come bubbling out almost involuntarily. Now he stood with the skin in one hand, facing her bright, curious eyes behind the thick-lensed spectacles, and wondered if he’d said too much.

She’s still Concordat, when all is said and done. And Janus is still my commanding officer.
Betraying a confidence went deeply against Marcus’ nature. He hadn’t mentioned the Thousand Names, or that Janus might have a reason for the march other than to run down the Divine Hand, but he wondered how much Jen might infer from his frustration.

“He doesn’t trust me. No surprise, really. I don’t think he really trusts anyone.” He tried a grin. “No offense intended.”

“None taken. His Grace the Duke certainly doesn’t trust
him
.” She held out a hand, and Marcus silently handed the wineskin across. “That’s why I’m here, after all. Though what I’m supposed to do
now
is beyond me.”

“No secret instructions from the Ministry?” Marcus said teasingly.

“No instructions at all. ‘Observe and report,’ they told me.” She shook her head. “I don’t think even Orlanko expected the colonel to overthrow the Redeemers so quickly.”

“It had to be quickly, or not at all. If we’d settled into a siege, with the whole countryside against us, we wouldn’t have lasted a month. Janus was right. Breaking straight through was the only way.”

“The men in the camp are saying he’s a genius,” she said. “Farus the Conqueror come again. Is he?”

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. “That may be going a bit far. But he certainly knows what he’s about.”

“Then you agree with him about this march into the Desol?”

“I didn’t say that.” Marcus thought about Adrecht. “It’s not my place to agree or disagree. The colonel gives orders, and I execute them as best I can.”

“Ever the dutiful soldier.”

“Be sure to put that in your report.” He reached down to unlace his boots, and winced at a spasm of pain in his arm. “Saints and martyrs. I suppose I’d better see a cutter for this.”

“I can take a look, if you like.”

Marcus was dubious, but anything was better than a trip to the cutter’s tent. He finished with his boots and tugged his shirttails out of his pants, then looked over at Jen, suddenly embarrassed. It must have shown on his face, because she laughed and waved a hand.

“Go ahead, Captain. You can trust to my discretion.”

He pulled his shirt and undershirt over his head quickly, to hide the burning in his cheeks, and then gently pulled the bloody part away where it had gummed itself to his flesh, flinching each time it pulled out a hair. When he was done, he worked the arm stiffly, watching fresh blood well up through cracks in the clotted mass. Jen leaned forward and sniffed unhappily.

“That’s a mess. Do you have a clean cloth?”

“By the basin.”

Jen wet the cloth in the lukewarm water and sat down beside Marcus on the bed. She worked the cloth back and forth across the injury, and he endured the cleansing patiently, trying not to wince as bits of scab tore free. The cloth was streaked with red by the time she was finished.

“Just a little cut,” she said, holding the linen against the wound to soak up fresh bleeding. “You’ll have a scar.”

“It won’t be the first.”

“I can see that.” Her eyes ran across his torso, which was a patchwork of evidence of other minor altercations. Marcus, suddenly uncomfortable again, shifted himself away from her and nodded toward the trunk.

“There should be some fresh bandages in there,” he said.

Jen got up and fetched them. When she sat down again, she was right beside him, her knee nearly touching his. She knotted the bandage around his injury with the air of an expert, tested the knot, and let his arm fall. It brushed her thigh on the way down, and the tips of his fingers seemed to tingle.

“You were lucky,” she said. “You might have broken your neck.”

“I know.” Marcus sighed. “Fitz has already lectured me. But I couldn’t just let things get out of hand . . .”

There was a long silence, or as close to silence as there ever was in an army camp. Outside, there was the usual buzz of men putting up tents, cooking dinner, and dealing with the thousand other mundane tasks that made up the life of a soldier. But they all slowly seemed to fade away, until Marcus was intensely aware of Jen’s breathing. He found himself watching the way her chest moved under the flaps of her coat. When he realized what he was doing, he looked hastily away, blushing again, then caught her gazing at him steadily. He swallowed, hesitated, and opened his mouth, though to say what he had no idea.

“Yes,” Jen said.

Marcus blinked. “What?”

“I know what you’re going to say. Or what you want to say, anyway. And the answer is yes.”

“Yes? I mean—I don’t know what you mean. I wasn’t—”

“You’re very gallant,” Jen said. “But if you keep stuttering, I may have to hit you.”

He kissed her instead. It wasn’t a very good kiss. Marcus was out of practice, and the edge of Jen’s spectacles dug into the side of his face so hard they left a mark. But she was smiling when he pulled away, and her cheeks were as flushed as his. She took the glasses off with one hand, snapped them closed, and set them carefully by the side of the bed.

“I didn’t mean to be . . . forward,” Marcus said. “You don’t have to—you know—”

“Please,” she said. “
Please
stop talking.”

He did. After a while, she snuffed the lamp, leaving them in the warm, dry semidarkness.

It had been a long time for Marcus, and even longer since he hadn’t had to hire his company. Adrecht might have been able to get Khandarai women to fawn over him, but Marcus had never had the knack, so his romantic life had been confined to a few of the cleaner establishments in the lower city. Compared to the practiced embraces of those seasoned professionals, Jen was hesitant and awkward, but he found he didn’t mind.

Afterward, she lay close beside him, her breast pressed against his shoulder. The camp bed wasn’t really big enough for both of them, and Marcus’ injured arm dangled over the edge. His other arm was trapped underneath her, but he felt no desire to move. Jen’s breathing was so soft he thought she was asleep, but when he turned his head he found her eyes open and watching him.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“Just thinking.” She pursed her lips. “Remember the bottle we opened?”

“Of course.”

Jen smiled. “I just thought that if we all die in the desert, at least I won’t have to regret not doing this.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Marcus said.

“You didn’t sound so confident earlier.”

“I was angry.” Marcus let out a long breath. “Janus will come through, somehow. He won’t say where we’re going and he won’t explain, but in the end he’ll come through, and drag the rest of us with him.”

“You sound like you have a lot of faith in him.”

For a moment, Marcus was back at Weltae. He saw Adrecht urging him to escape while he had the chance. He struggled to recall the certainty that had blazed in his mind, that Janus would be there.
And he was.
Another, treacherous voice added,
Too late for Adrecht, though. And how many others?