Lynn resumed her own practice. What did she care if that dirt lifter got sent away? He really was useless. Lynn slashed then parried, again and again, moves she had mastered long ago. Squid picked up his training sword, looking around to see if Sergeant Francis had noticed his mishaps. He began slashing again enthusiastically. At least, Lynn thought, he wanted to try. It wasn’t his fault The Bear didn’t recognize that as a form of courage. Out of the corner of her eye Lynn saw Squid manage to somehow hit his own hand.
Lynn stopped, sighed, and walked over.
“If that was a real sword,” she said, “you would’ve cut your hand off. When we do start using real swords I don’t want to see you bleed to death. You’ve never used a sword before, have you?”
“Why would I have?” Squid asked.
Lynn looked at him. “That’s fair, I suppose.”
“I don’t really like them,” Squid added. “They’re quite sharp.”
“Here,” Lynn said, holding her sword in front of her. “If you’re going to use your left hand to hold your sword you should stand with your left foot forward. This keeps your sword to your enemy, your body turned away from them, and it will improve your balance.”
“It’s okay,” Squid said. “Class is almost over.”
“Come on,” Lynn insisted.
Squid didn’t move.
“Look,” Lynn said, lowering her sword and her voice. “I know what I’m doing. You don’t. If you don’t start figuring it out they’ll send you away.”
Squid seemed to think for a moment before lifting his wooden sword tentatively, holding it away from himself as if it were a snake that at any moment might whip around and bite him.
“Bring it in closer,” Lynn said. “Hold it tight. Pretend you have some kind of confidence with it. My father once told me that if you’re no good with a sword at least look like you know what you’re doing.”
Squid straightened his back, bent his left elbow and tried to hold the sword strongly. “Who’s your father?” he asked without looking at Lynn.
“Nobody,” Lynn said quickly, wishing she hadn’t said anything about him. “It doesn’t matter. He just knew a bit about swords.”
“How come?” Squid said, eyes still on the sword. Anyone with more social skills than Squid would have known not to push the point.
Lynn looked at him. “Just leave it, okay!”
Squid stared blankly at Lynn’s face for a moment. Then he returned to posing with the sword. “Like this?”
Some of the other students had turned at Lynn’s loud outburst but it hadn’t seemed to bother Squid in the slightest. He was so weird. Lynn sighed. He was standing like a duck.
“Maybe just try and pull your … straighten your back and … hold on.”
Lynn gave Squid’s backside a nudge with her foot. Squid nearly overbalanced before he stood up straighter.
“Okay, now just …” Lynn reached around and pulled Squid’s arm up so that the blade was in front of his face at an angle ready to strike. “Now, try your forward slash.”
“So I slash from out to in?” Squid asked as he turned quickly toward Lynn, not realizing that he hadn’t stepped away. Lynn dropped to the ground with reflexes like a cat. Squid’s face went red.
“Sorry,” he said.
“That’s all right, try it again.”
Squid and Lynn practiced next to each other, Lynn running through the motions absent-mindedly while she watched Squid’s movements. With the odd tip here and there, and an occasional intervention to stop him re-breaking his nose, it seemed that Squid was at last becoming more comfortable with the sword. That was a start, Lynn thought. She had lessened the chances that she or anyone else within a five-mile radius of Squid would be in mortal danger.
Throughout practice the pair began to speak more. Well, Squid did quite a lot of talking, more than he had ever spoken to her before, and Lynn mostly listened. Squid told her about long days on the farm, his uncle’s temper and his aunt’s obsession with knitting. Lynn told Squid nothing.
“My parents are dead,” Squid said with the delicateness of a sledgehammer. “Are yours dead too?”
Lynn looked at him for a long while. “Yes,” she said in the end, “they are.”
“My parents died so long ago I don’t remember them,” Squid continued. “When did yours die?”
“My mother died about four years ago but my father …” Lynn looked away. “Do we have to talk about this?” Surely even Squid could sense this issue was a little too raw to probe.
“My uncle and aunt were good to take me in the way they did,” Squid said.
“I thought you hated the farm.”
“I don’t know,” said Squid. “I never said I hated it.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” Max said. “You could go back.”
“No, I can’t,” Squid said. “I got conscripted.”
For the first time since her father’s death, Lynn burst out laughing. “You got conscripted? You? Why on the Ancestors’ red earth did they do that?”
Squid agreed that he found it a little odd but he recounted the story of going to the market in Dust, his encounter with Lieutenant Walter and the wild metalworker, and how he had come to be here. By the end of the story Lynn’s laughter had abated and she was thinking once again about what she had overheard The Bear saying.
“You showed your uncle kindness when you didn’t have to,” Lynn said. “That’s important.”
Squid went through the motions of the sword drill. Step forward slash, step back parry. Lynn couldn’t help wondering how much longer they would be repeating this same tedious exercise. They seemed to have been doing it for hours.
“Why are you here?” Squid asked after a few moments of concentrating on his practice. He was improving, slowly. He didn’t seem worried when Lynn didn’t answer.
“All right, Scants,” called Sergeant Francis. “I’ve seen about as much as I can handle. Form up over here.”
Sergeant Francis proceeded to show them how to slide out from a locked parry and then sent them off to practice with a partner, one hundred times. Squid looked at Lynn and smiled a big goofy smile. It was all Lynn could do to keep in her sigh.
CHAPTER 20
The following morning the Scants formed up and were met by Lieutenant Walter. Around them the yard was a hive of activity. The trainee Diggers, referred to as Cadets, a somewhat nicer term than Scants, were in another part of the yard making dramatic noises as they struck at each other with wooden swords. Workmen and Apprentices hurried around like bees in a hive. Lynn couldn’t help but think that if the Apprentices were worker bees then that made herself and the other Scants the slimy larvae.
“When Diggers go to war,” Lieutenant Walter was saying, “it is the war they will be focused on. They are the sharp end of the spear. They are the fighting force that will crush the horde of ghouls. They are the ones who will be remembered. But this,” he gestured around him to the business of the yard, “is the shaft of the spear.”
It was only last night that Lynn had mumbled to herself that she didn’t see the point of Apprentices anyway. It was Squid who turned to her and said: “Apprentices are like dirt farmers.” When Lynn had asked him to explain what he meant Squid had gone on to say: “It’s like my uncle says, ‘The special farmers growin’ the food would be nothin’ if it weren’t for the dirt farmers.’ It’s the same with Apprentices and Workmen. They give the Diggers what they need to do the important job.” Lynn couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Squid was a strange boy, but she’d recently noticed that he was more often right than not.
“A dirty yard is the shaft of a Digger’s spear?” Tank said. “You mean they get made here?”
“No,” Walter said patiently, “I mean the Diggers may be the fighting force but every single person involved, down to the last worker, helps get them to the front line.”
Lieutenant Walter began walking toward an empty stable off to the side of the yard. He motioned for them to follo
w.
“This is everything a single Digger takes into battle.” Walter walked into the stable, where the floor was covered in hay and the air was thick with the pungent smell of uncleared manure.
“Unless deployed by bio-truck or dirigible, the Diggers would have a horse,” Walter continued. He gestured to the collection of equipment that either hung on, or lay resting against, the wall of the stable. “Plus all of this, and all of this equipment needs maintenance.”
And there was a lot of equipment: shining steel plate armor, cotton uniforms, boots—both leather and steel—gloves, a sheathed longsword, a mechanical rifle, saddlebags and several trunks. Walter pointed out each piece of equipment in turn, explaining its purpose and then passing it around the Scants.
“Feel how heavy this is,” he would say of a piece of armor, or “Note the shape of these riding boots,” or “See the difference between the heavy plate greaves and the lightly armored greaves.”
Once the Scants had finished handling the equipment—they were especially impressed by the longsword, which they could barely lift—Lieutenant Walter addressed them again. “This is the minimum amount of equipment a single Digger would take into battle. Who can guess how much the armor alone would weigh?”
There was silence.
“Anyone?” Lieutenant Walter prompted. “Max?”
Lynn had no clue how much the armor would weigh. She had never been good with numbers. Her mind remained a blank void, unable, despite the attention of everyone around her, to muster even a number that might be remotely close.
“Ninety-seven pounds,” Squid said.
“That’s right,” Walter said, clearly taken aback. “How did you know that?”
Lynn was inclined to agree; how did he know that? He was such a strange boy.
Darius turned to look back at Squid and sneered, “Ninety-seven pounds, neeeergh.”
Walter looked at Darius without a change in expression. Darius stood up straight and swallowed.
“If this is one Digger’s equipment, imagine what is required to get an army of two thousand into battle,” Lieutenant Walter continued.
“Like, I don’t know, a billion Apprentices,” said Tank.
Walter’s eyebrows rose in exaggerated surprise. “A billion?”
“Actually,” Squid said, “it’s more like six thousand eight hundred men, four and a half thousand horses and a thousand wagons.”
“Um, well, yes, something like that,” Lieutenant Walter said, trying to hide his surprise. “Much of an Apprentice’s responsibility is logistics. You will be required to focus on traveling to the battlefield; bringing the Digger food and drink; knowing when to rest the horse and how many days’ march you have in front of you. It can be a demanding job. If a Digger has traveled ninety miles and the battlefield lies a further ninety miles away, in how many days will the Digger reach the battlefield if he knows that water is scarce and the horse will require changing at a place twenty miles away? These are the sorts of questions you will—”
“Thirteen and a half days,” Squid said.
“Well, yes,” Lieutenant Walter said, “that sounds about right, but ah … that was only meant as an example.” Lieutenant Walter paused and surveyed the Scants, most of whom were staring at Squid.
“Moving an army around is a complicated task and you all have an important role to play. It looks like you would all do well to learn from Squid.”
Lynn saw Darius staring at them. It seemed Darius was not at all impressed with the way Lieutenant Walter had publicly praised Squid, particularly because it insinuated Squid was better at something than he was. Lynn couldn’t manage to contain the slight smile that crept across her lips. She was quite sure Darius had noticed, and Lynn did her best to look away, but she could feel the baking glare on the back of her head.
“All right,” Lieutenant Walter said, “take a five-minute break, you lot. Next we are going to learn some more about horses, if Sergeant Wallace ever arrives.”
As the Scants began milling about, Lynn turned to Squid.
“How did you know all that?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Squid said. “I’ve always been good with things like that. I can try and teach you, if you want.”
“You’d do that?” Lynn said.
Squid’s small face exploded into a wide-arching smile. “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”
CHAPTER 21
Over the next week Squid and Lynn spent much of their time together and although Lynn would never admit it, they were becoming the closest thing to friends that either of them had ever had. Lynn continued to help Squid during sword practice and had even stolen two of the wooden swords from the training yards so they could practice in their own time. In return, Squid helped Lynn learn the other elements of being an Apprentice, particularly those that involved planning ahead or fixing things. Admittedly Lynn seemed to gain a handle on how to decide on the amount of food needed for a journey or the best place to rivet replacement plates onto armor quicker than Squid learned to handle a sword, but he too was improving, slowly.
During that time Squid and Lynn had an unspoken agreement to avoid Darius Canum. Luckily this didn’t prove too difficult because although their physical wounds had healed, Glenden, Tank and Rusty were still well aware of the battering Lynn had given their egos. It had taken a week of Darius’s most solid leadership skills, notably manipulation, bullying and ultimately physical torture, to turn them around. Although Squid and Lynn didn’t know it, he had finally convinced them that retaliation was called for.
Lynn was walking with Squid to the barracks after dinner when that retaliation occurred. They were making their way through the twisting back corridors of the Rock, corridors that were barely lit by the sparse gas torches on the walls. Lynn knew Squid didn’t like this route and to be honest neither did she, not that she would let on. Just yesterday Squid had moaned about how anything could be hiding in the shadows of the corners and doorways.
This thought had just crossed Lynn’s mind when she and Squid rounded a corner and were pounced on. Darius and Rusty stepped out of the darkness first. They stood in front of Squid and Lynn, two wooden training swords in their hands. For what seemed an excessively long time the only sound in the whole world was the clapping of the wooden sword against Darius’s palm.
“You two embarrassed me,” Darius said to them.
“What are you talking about, Darius, you low life?” Lynn asked.
“Your little stunt in the training yard cost me a lot of respect. I’m a Canum, and Canums get respect.”
“Why? For digging up what’s already lying all over the ground?” Lynn said, then added, “No offense, Squid.”
Squid shook his head, indicating that although he was in a state of shock and couldn’t speak he had taken no offense. Lynn could see Squid gripping the key that hung around his neck in a vice-like fist. She’d noticed that he always did that when he was afraid. For a fleeting moment Lynn wondered what the key was for, but now was certainly not the time to ask.
“Dirt farming keeps the Territory alive,” Darius said.
Lynn looked at Squid. “Is there a book somewhere that spells out what dirt farmers are supposed to say?”
Darius’s face warmed to an angry magenta. “Don’t try and be smart, Max,” he said. “You’re about to be embarrassed.”
“Your goons are the ones who should be embarrassed,” said Lynn. “Speaking of which, where are the other two members of your idiot guard?”
Just as the words left Lynn’s mouth Glenden and Tank stepped from the darkness behind them. Lynn knew they were attempting to block the only escape route, and they were doing it quite well. Glenden and Tank were not the sharpest tools in the shed; Darius had obviously planned this. Darius’s two henchmen stepped forward and simultaneously struck Lynn and Squid on the backs of the knees with their wooden swords. Lynn felt her legs buckle beneath her and she and Squid both collapsed into a heap like empty hessian bags.
“You won’t disrespect me again,” said Darius as he struck Lynn around the side of the head with the edge of the sword. Lynn hit the floor even before the caustic sting exploded across her face. Her cheekbone must have been shattered. She felt like a puddle of water spreading out on the cold stones, and wished she could soak down into them. She wondered for a moment if Squid was okay, but her thoughts evaporated when she received a quick kick in the back from Tank’s chubby leg. She rolled over and saw that Squid had pulled himself into a ball, hugging his knees and doing his best to protect his face as he was kicked again and again by Glenden.
Lynn cried out. It wasn’t a cry of pain but a deep, guttural roar, a sound she never knew she could make. She was on her feet before she knew it, battering Tank aside with a forearm to the nose and lunging wildly at Darius. Darius lifted his arm to protect his face. The outburst had shocked him enough that he had dropped his sword. Lynn instantly had it in her hand and swung it at Darius. The blow glanced off Darius’s face as the boy desperately leaned backward. It was only then that the berserk rage that filled her mind began to clear. Tank, Glenden and Rusty were coming for her. They attacked as one group but luckily they were in no way organized. Lynn flailed like a dancer as she desperately defended against her three attackers. Where their blows were rushed and loose Lynn was balanced, her strikes practiced and tight. Darius whimpered and backed away, the look on his face indicating that he thought this fight a little too evenly matched for his liking.
“Squid!” Lynn shouted above the wooden thuds of the meeting swords. She could see Squid beginning to regain some composure. He was clearly in pain, his body limp as he raised himself from the cold floor, trails of sticky blood running from his newly re-broken nose. He might at least be able to draw away some of their attention, thought Lynn, enough to give her a chance to get the upper hand. But as Squid got to his feet, cradling his stomach with one hand, he began to hobble down the corridor away from the fight.
A Town Called Dust: The Territory 1 Page 12
