Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

Beside the trunk was the pack the Khandarai raider had been carrying. Winter had brought it along in the hope there would be food and water inside, but the whole of the bulky thing was taken up with an odd sort of lantern. She’d resolved to turn it over to the captain, in case he saw something important in it that she did not. Although I imagine he has other concerns right now.

Bobby shifted again, muttering something inaudible. Her shirt had come loose, and Winter could see a line of pale skin that glittered like polished stone in the candlelight. Winter crawled over to the bedroll to tuck the shirt back in, then hesitated. Carefully, she pulled it up a few inches, exposing the wound that had threatened the girl’s life to begin with.

The marble patch was still there, still warm and soft to her hesitant touch but slick and stony to the eye. And, Winter thought, it was bigger. At least it looked bigger to her, in the uncertain light, though she had to admit that her memory of that first night was shaky.

We have to get some answers out of Feor. Was this change going to spread over Bobby’s body? What would happen when it reached her face? Winter glared at the sleeping form of the Khandarai girl. She must know.

There was a knock at the tent pole, and then a harsh, urgent whisper. “Lieutenant? It’s Graff.”

Hurriedly, Winter fixed Bobby’s uniform. Graff knew the truth of Bobby’s gender, but not of Winter’s, and she imagined that if he found her exploring under the girl’s shirt he’d reach an unfortunate conclusion. “Come in.”

He slipped through the flap, glanced down at Bobby, and looked instantly embarrassed. Winter rolled her eyes.

“Graff, if you act like that , everyone is going to know.”

“Yes, sir,” he said unhappily. “It’s just. . looking at her like that. .” He cleared his throat. “It’s hard to imagine I was ever fooled.”

Winter had thought the same thing. Asleep, there was a softness to Bobby’s features that belied her disguise. Still, I didn’t notice, either. She cleared her throat.

“What’s the problem?”

“Right. Sorry, sir, I didn’t want to wake you, but when I saw the light-”

“I was up. What’s going on?”

“It’s Folsom, sir,” Graff said. “He and his pickets are gone.”

“Gone? What pickets?”

“While you were asleep, sir, Lieutenant Warus asked for a detail to keep watch on the captain’s tent. Folsom took a few of the men who needed rest, since everyone else was out working on salvage. He was supposed to be getting off duty around now, so I went to check on him, and he’s not there.”

“The captain must have taken him somewhere.”

“The thing is, sir,” Graff said, “there was a guard detail on the tent, just not Folsom’s.”

“Then the captain dismissed him early. Have you looked around the camp?”

“Yessir. No sign of him, sir.”

“Odd.” Winter yawned. “I could ask the detail commander, I suppose. Did you know any of the new guards?”

“Not by sight, sir. They said they were Second Company.”

Winter froze. “Second Company?” That was Davis’ men. The captain would never use them to guard his tent.

“Yessir,” Graff said. “As far as I know, the captain and the senior sergeant don’t get along. It seemed odd to me, too, sir.”

“Maybe it’s punishment detail.” Winter got to her feet and started pulling her uniform coat on.

“Are you going to talk to Sergeant Davis, sir?”

“No point in that.” He’d only heap abuse on her. “I’ll go ask the captain if he’s sent Folsom somewhere.”

“I’ll come with you,” Graff said.

“No need. Stay here with Bobby. She’s had a hard day.” Winter paused, then looked over to the other corner. “Make sure Feor doesn’t go anywhere. I’ll be back soon.”

• • •

Captain d’Ivoire’s tent stood in a wide circle clear of other men and equipment, as though everyone was giving it a wide berth. Winter slowed as she approached, uncertain. Is the colonel in with him? She could see only one sentry, a shadowed figure waiting beside the tent flap.

As she got closer, Winter recognized Buck, one of her least favorite among Davis’ creatures. She felt her hackles rise. His whole posture was wrong for guard duty. He didn’t look like a sentry in the middle of a friendly camp-that is, stiff in the presence of officers and otherwise slouched and bored-but rather kept looking around as though he actually expected something to happen. He looked nervous. There was a certain weasel-like quality to Buck in any case, but it was more pronounced than usual.

She paused for a moment in the shadow of a pile of salvaged ration crates, waited until Buck was looking the other way, then sauntered up to the tent as confidently as she could manage. He didn’t turn back until she was only a few yards away, and his wild start was all the confirmation she needed that something was badly wrong. When he recognized her, he relaxed, and his pinched features melted into their habitual sneer.

“Hello, Saint.”

“Ranker,” Winter returned pointedly. “I need to see Captain d’Ivoire.”

“Captain d’Ivoire is busy.”

“This is urgent.”

Buck’s brow furrowed. “What he’s busy with is urgent, too. Come back in the morning.”

“If I could come back in the morning, it wouldn’t be urgent, would it?”

That level of reasoning was beyond the ugly man’s capacities. He fell back on a reliable standby. “I’m telling you to fuck off. Nobody goes in. Captain’s orders.”

“Buck!” a voice hissed from inside the tent.

“Shut up!” Buck said over his shoulder.

He turned back to admonish Winter again, but she was already walking away. She went as far as the crates, then ducked behind them, hoping that the darkness would have swallowed her. When she glanced out, she found that she needn’t have worried. Buck was deep in a whispered conversation with someone inside the tent. By his wild gestures, she could tell he wasn’t happy.

Now what? Folsom and the others couldn’t have just disappeared . If the captain was unavailable, she could go to the colonel, but-

A flare of light from the flap of the tent cut her thoughts short. Two more men emerged, silhouetted against the glow from a lamp. She recognized Lieutenant Warus, the captain’s adjutant, but half his face was covered by a massive, purpling bruise. He walked stiffly, hands behind his back, and when he stumbled briefly at the threshold Winter realized he was bound.

The third man was Will, another from Davis’ company. He looked as nervous as Buck. After a moment’s quiet conversation, the three started moving, heading for the outer edge of the encampment. Behind them, the tent was dark and empty.

By the fucking Beast. Any kind of ordinary explanation had just gone out the window. Winter flattened herself against the crates for a moment, in an agony of indecision, then abandoned the shadows and followed the trio.

Davis’ two men walked ahead of and behind the lieutenant, as though escorting a prisoner. Winter kept far enough back that she could plausibly deny she’d been following them, but for all their nerves the pair made poor lookouts, and they never even glanced in her direction.

At the edge of camp, Will stopped for a moment and lit a lamp, which he handed to Buck to lead the way. Winter hesitated as they left the last of the sleeping soldiers behind and headed out into the open Desol. It was foolhardy to go after them on her own, and she wished vainly that she’d taken Graff up on his offer to come with her. If she stopped now, though, she would lose them. She muttered a curse and followed.