by Robyn Bennis
Bernat hadn’t understood what his uncle was getting at, right up to the moment when he offered him command of a thousand fighting men or more. He looked at the floor and gathered his thoughts as the shock slowly wore off.
“Or, if that doesn’t suit you, perhaps we could see about adding some gratuity to your payment, instead. In light of the … additional services you’ve provided. Perhaps another hundred—”
Bernat shot him an angry look and very nearly growled at him.
And his uncle recoiled. “Let’s make it another two hundred. No, two hundred and fifty. That’ll set you up nicely for a while, won’t it, Bernie? And there’ll be no need to mention the finer details of any—”
“I don’t want the money,” Bernat said, cutting him off. “I want to stay aboard Mistral, and I want Captain Dupre commanding her.”
His uncle looked at him strangely. Gaston, who’d been diligently scratching away with his pen behind the desk, stopped and looked up.
“Bernie,” his uncle said, “why in hell would you want to go up in one of those things, with a real battle coming?”
Bernat was asking himself the same question, and had been from the moment he stepped off the ship. “I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted, “but I think it has something to do with the contrast between Vin and Garnian choices in footwear.” He tried in vain to remember how that thread of logic went, but everything he came up with seemed much less convincing than he remembered.
His uncle had by now recovered some of his composure. “Now see here, my boy, don’t think your little notes entitle you to this sort of insolence. The ground you’re standing on isn’t half as firm as you think.”
Bernat grinned. “Isn’t it?” he asked.
“It is not,” General Lord Hinkal said, loud enough to make Bernat flinch. “Whatever you may think, no one’s going to blame me for failing to foresee a second Vin attack on Arle, should some little weasel let that rumor out. No one could have known they’d attack again so soon.”
“Yet many did,” Bernat said, beginning to walk slowly back and forth in front of his uncle. “And those who didn’t will soon pretend differently. Indeed, people who until yesterday said that a second front was an impossibility, will tomorrow say it was inevitable and obvious to anyone with half a brain. And they’ll draw attention away from their own hypocrisy by mocking the failure of others. So I wonder, just how would that sordid little stew taste, if we seasoned it with the news that the vaunted General Lord Fieren Hinkal would have left Arle entirely defenseless, had he not been called back by a note from his foppish little nephew?” He stopped, turned on his heel, and looked straight at his uncle.
“If you think you can sink me, boy…”
Bernat laughed. “I handed you enough to sink Captain Dupre, Uncle, and I had less to work with, believe me.” He held up his hand just as Fieren was about to yell at him, and said, “On the other hand, if General Hinkal had displayed the foresight, the strategic vision, the military brilliance to anticipate the second attack on Arle? Well, I suppose he’d get some sort of medal or something. Whatever it is they usually give to legendary heroes.”
That checked his uncle, but he clearly still harbored reluctance. “Why this sudden affection for Dupre? What, are you giving it to her?”
Bernat reddened. “A gentleman would never say, were it true.”
This comment seemed to restore a large fraction of his uncle’s esteem for him. Fieren slapped Bernat on the shoulder so hard, he had to step to the side to keep his balance.
“So,” Bernat said, “will you order her back aboard her ship? And forget all this nonsense about the fever swamps?”
“Of course, Bernie,” Fieren said. “In fact, those are exactly the orders we were about to give her. Weren’t they, Gaston?”
At the desk, Gaston crumpled the paper he was writing on and dropped it into a waste bin. He took a clean sheet and began writing again. “They certainly were, sir.”
* * *
“I COULD HAVE sworn that man was going to take my ship away,” Josette said, as she read her orders on the museum steps. She looked to Bernat, who’d just delivered them. “I would have bet any amount.”
Bernat only shrugged and said, “People can surprise you. Perhaps under that brash exterior, there beats in General Lord Fieren Hinkal a tender heart.”
“No doubt he cries at the theater, and is kind to stray kittens as well.” She went down the steps and turned to him. “Thank you.”
Bernat, for once, seemed to be at a loss. After a long silence, he said, “Thanks may be premature, if they’re even deserved. I had the strangest impression, toward the end of my interview, that he means to kill us.”
She shook her head. “No, no. He’d never try to kill us.” She turned and began to walk down the street. “He’ll just order us to our deaths in tomorrow’s battle.”
“Oh,” Bernat said, following after her. “How uplifting.”
“You don’t have to come along, you know. There’s nothing obliging you to stay aboard Mistral.”
“I should think there is. Now more than ever.”
She turned her head away, so he wouldn’t see her smile. “You’re a good man, Bernat.”
He sighed. “No, but I get there in the end.”
They walked on. The city felt different, and not only because of the lengthening shadows as evening approached. The place had regained its vibrancy—if not in fact, then in her impression of it. It had sloughed off the character of an elaborate gallows that it had possessed when she was being escorted to her appointment with General Fieren. For, whatever tomorrow might bring, today she was captain of a king’s airship.
“Oh, blast!” she said, as the full implications sank in.
“What?” Bernat asked.
“I’ll have to deal with that bloody-minded quartermaster now. That would have fallen to Martel if I’d lost the ship.”
“My condolences.”
They made their way to the signal base, where they found the quartermaster’s office bustling. Staff officers were filling out paperwork on every flat surface, while yardsmen and crew were dashing in and out of the adjacent warehouse. Lieutenant Bowden was yelling at all of them from behind her desk.
By the door, Josette found Captain Emery of the Ibis. “Just got in,” he said. “It’s madness in here. Has it been as bad all day?”
“I couldn’t say. I’ve only just arrived from receiving my orders from General Fieren.”
Captain Emery was perplexed. “Why doesn’t he pass them down the chain of command, like he does for everyone else?”
Josette shrugged. “He’s a peculiar man. Likes to take meetings in front of paintings, you know.”
“Oh, one of those.” Emery scanned the ruckus. “Quite a scene, though, isn’t it?”
Josette sighed. “I have a hard enough time getting my stores when it isn’t like this. I’m down a bref gun, you know.”
“I noticed. How did you lose it, by the way?”
“Dismounted over Durum when some damn fool didn’t swab it out properly. Damn fine gun, too.” She finally noticed Bernat, who’d been trying to catch her eye. “Oh, Captain Emery, I suppose you haven’t been formally introduced to Lord Bernat.”
“A pleasure,” Emery said, bowing to Bernat. “Of course, you know, I’ve heard something of your warning of the Vin invasion, but I wonder if I may ask—what is your position aboard Mistral?”
Josette spoke before Bernat could. “Ship’s spy.”
Emery was brought up short. “Oh, uh, a pleasure,” he repeated.
Bernat bowed and said with a smile, “Your servant.”
“I don’t suppose you know how many airships the Vins will have tomorrow?” Emery asked, not seeming to understand just who Bernat was spying for. When Bernat only returned a mysterious expression and a shrug, Emery looked back at Josette. “How does one merit one’s own spy aboard ship?”
“You have to be on the general’s good side,” she said.
A lull in the bustle provided an opportunity to confront the quartermaster. “I see an opening,” Josette said. “I’m going in.”
“Godspeed,” Captain Emery said.
Josette went straight for the quartermaster’s desk, steeling herself as if for a charge into cannon fire. She would get her new bref gun no matter the resistance. No excuse or bureaucratic tangle would deter her. She was going to plant herself in this office and not leave until her ship had what it required. She stepped to the desk, fixed Lieutenant Bowden with a stare that could melt iron, and said, “Mistral needs a replacement bref gun, and I’ll not take any of your usual piffle about it.”
The quartermaster looked up from her paperwork with strangely wide eyes. “Oh, thank God,” she said, relief showing on her face. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to take two of them?”
Josette was loaded and ready to return a volley of resolve and defiance, so this instant acquiescence caught her unawares. At first, she thought it must be a new gambit, meant to throw her off balance. When the quartermaster’s steady, pleading eyes finally convinced her that it wasn’t, she said, “Where the hell would I put a third bref gun?”
“I don’t know,” Bowden said. “Perhaps you could point it out the back?”
“Point it out the back?” Josette peered at her, incredulous. “What the hell is going on here?”
The quartermaster let out a tired sigh. “We’ve been ordered to move all our stocks and stores, to keep them from falling into enemy hands. But by the very same order, we had to hand all our carts and carriages over to the goddamn infantry, may the villains rot in hell. They took them when they marched out this morning, with every able-bodied whore in the city following. Can you believe it?”
“Quite,” Josette said. “Be that as it may, Mistral can accommodate only two bref guns in total, but we have suffered considerable damage and expended many of our stores. I’ll be quite happy to relieve you of the best of your cordage, planks, fabric, and powder.”
“How much?”
“We are, as always, severely limited by weight, but we can top off our standard allotment.”
The quartermaster looked down at her ledgers, forlorn and desperate.
Josette sighed. “If it’ll help, I’ll replace some of my sand ballast with any compact, easily handled stores you might have, with the understanding that we’ll drop them over the side like any other disposable ballast should the situation call for it. In fact, I’ve been saying for years that we ought to do that, but who the hell ever listens?”
Lieutenant Bowden’s eyes began to swim. “Oh, bless you. Bless you, Captain!”
* * *
“YOU DON’T SEEM very happy about this,” Bernat said, as they accompanied the yardsmen dragging a fine new bref gun on a fine new gun carriage.
“Of course not,” Josette said. “That was the most surreal and disturbing experience of my entire life. Makes me wonder if I haven’t, in fact, been shipped to Utarma, and I’m lying in a hallucinatory fever even now.”
“If that is so,” Bernat said, “then you should enjoy it as long as it lasts, as it’s likely to be your final opportunity.” They passed into the shed, where Captain Emery’s ship—Ibis, he thought—was tied up next to Mistral.
Martel met them halfway to the shed door. “All repairs are complete,” he said. “We only need to top off the ship’s stores. Ah, but I see you’ve already taken care of that.”
More yardsmen were filing in with spools of rope, lumber, or small barrels on their shoulders.
When Martel saw the quality and quantity of the stores coming aboard, he whistled. “How did you manage this, Captain?”
Josette’s expression didn’t change. “I took a firm line, and wouldn’t budge an inch until she finally gave in.”
Bernat had no intention of contradicting her, though he was so amused that he couldn’t contain a grin, even when she shot a nasty look at him. “Why don’t we all go out to dinner at Oceane’s, to celebrate your unlikely victory?” he asked. “My treat, of course.”
“Thank you, but no,” Josette said. “I’ll have my dinner out of the ship’s stores.”
Martel, on the other hand, was quite interested. “Are you sure, Captain? This may be our last chance to enjoy their cuisine before they’re forced to go to an all-dumpling menu.”
“Yes, do come along,” Bernat said. “Your ship is practically ready, your orders are in hand, and you’ve defeated the quartermaster with your firm resolve—as any witness would surely testify to under oath. What’s the harm in taking an hour off to eat something that hasn’t been pickling in a barrel for who knows how long?”
Bernat wasn’t sure whether it was the force of his logic or the veiled threat that did it, but Josette relented. “Very well,” she said. “But if I return to find the yardsmen haven’t seated our new bref gun properly, I’m holding you responsible.”
“On my own head be it,” Bernat said.
So they fetched up Kember and headed off, but arrived at Oceane’s to find the owner locking the place up.
“You can’t possibly be closed,” Bernat said. “It’s not even dark yet.”
The old man looked up from his padlock and tipped his head to Bernat. “Our chefs are all in the militia,” he said. “So naturally, most of them have run for the countryside, and the ones that got caught marched with the army.”
Martel put his hand on his chest. “My heart glows with pride at the thought of our brave fighting militiamen,” he said. “Doesn’t your heart glow with pride, Ensign?”
Kember considered the matter carefully and said in her still-hoarse voice, “If you say so, sir.”
“Oh well, back to the ship then,” Josette said. “If we hurry, we’ll be just in time to supervise them balancing out the guns.”
“No, no, that won’t do,” Bernat said. “I promised dinner and I intend to deliver. In fact, I know just the place. Nobody in the militia there at all.” In fact, he knew of no such place, but he certainly couldn’t return to the ship—the rations were terrible and his wine had run out. And there had to be a tavern open somewhere in the city. He led the party through the streets, seeking out his usual haunts, finding them all closed, but walking past as if they were only on the way.
“I do believe he has no idea where he’s going,” Josette said, after they’d made their fourth consecutive right turn.
“I know exactly where I am, dear captain. The hospital is just ahead, and beyond it lies … well, I think I’ll just leave it as a surprise.”
“Because he has no idea where he’s going.”
“Vicious slander.”
As they passed in front of the hospital, a wiry-haired little dog came out of the alley ahead and crossed the street in front of them. They all stopped to watch, not because the dog was in any way exceptional, but because it was dragging a decomposing human arm over the cobblestones. The arm was severed just below the elbow, where the rotten flesh had already been gnawed on.
After the dog and its baggage had disappeared into the alley opposite, nearly a full minute of silence passed while the party looked variously ahead or into the darkness of the alley. Finally, Josette said, “I do believe the Tellurians would call that an omen.”
“Good or bad?” Bernat asked, drawing the scornful eyes of the rest of the party.
“Dogs must have dug up the pit where the amputated limbs from the last battle were buried,” Martel said. “The whole city will be strewn with finger and foot bones by morning.”
“Pray tell me this was not your destination for dinner,” Josette said.
Bernat smiled. “No, it lies farther ahead.”
“Do lead on, then.”
Bernat had by now run out of establishments that were known to him, and only hoped to happen across someplace before the officers lost faith. They were on the brink of mutiny when he spotted a taproom with a lamp burning in the window. “Here we
are. One of my favorite places to enjoy dinner.” He could only hope they served food.
Josette looked it over. The placard was blackened by soot from the manufactories, the name unreadable. “By what name is it called?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“What is this establishment called?”
Bernat smiled as he held the door open. “Let us never trouble ourselves with such trivial details.”
“Come on, Captain,” Martel said. “Should prove interesting, in any event.”
She shook her head, but entered anyway.
The inside was so gloomy that Bernat could hardly see, even after his eyes adjusted to the dark. The oil lamp in the window was the only light in the place. “Hello?” he asked the shadows. “Are you open for dinner?”
“Eh?” a ragged voice came back. “You lot from the army?”
Before the others could warn him against it, Bernat said cheerfully, “Why yes, we are.”
“Then get the hell out!” the voice said. A man limped out of the gloom and stared balefully at them. “Goddamn army. Your friends have already been through, ate and drank half my stock on credit, and ran out on me. When I sent someone to find them, they’d already marched. And food costing me what it does now.”
Bernat continued to smile. “You’re mistaken about us, my good fellow. We can pay.”
The man snorted and spat on his own floor, near Bernat’s feet.
“Oh come now,” Bernat said. “We mean to spill blood for your protection on the morn. The least you could do is offer us a pot of ale and a warm meal.”
“Ha!” the man said. “Don’t you try and play on my sympathies. I was in the army, lad, back in the day when we won our damn battles. I was even wounded a time or two, but you don’t see me begging and stealing my meals.”
“But we aren’t begging,” Bernat began, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
“Come on,” Josette said. “We’ll just have to take our dinner aboard ship.”
