Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

“But. .” Graff spread his hands, frowning under his beard. “Why? What’s the point?”

Fitz lowered his voice. “The colonel distributed new orders to the captains this afternoon. We continue the march east, into the Desol. My understanding is that Captain Roston objected, on the grounds that our supplies were insufficient.”

Winter remembered the columns of black smoke rising from burning carts, and the daylong labor of the salvage teams. She hadn’t thought about their situation in those terms. “Are they? Sufficient, I mean.”

“According to my estimates, we have roughly two days of water remaining, given fairly tight rationing. Food will last somewhat longer, assuming we harvest the corpses of the pack animals killed in the attack.”

“Two days?” Graff blinked. “With two days left we won’t make it back to Nahiseh even if we start now!”

“And the colonel wants to keep going?” Winter shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I admit that I do not understand his reasoning,” Fitz said. “However, it may be that the colonel possesses private information that makes the situation more clear to him.”

“Goddamn,” Graff said, and whistled through his teeth.

Winter nodded in silent agreement. She’d seen the wreckage and the slaughtered pack animals, but the smoke and confusion had made it hard to assess the extent of the damage. She’d been under the impression that the Desoltai attack had been largely unsuccessful, since most of the Colonials seemed to have fought their way out of the trap.

“It’s still no excuse for mutiny,” she said, trying to sound more decisive than she felt. “If we lose our discipline now, the Desoltai will slaughter us.”

“Of course not,” Graff said hastily. “I didn’t mean that it was. I just. . didn’t realize how bad things were.”

“The colonel must have a plan,” Bobby said.

“How many people know about the mutiny?” Winter asked Fitz.

“I’m not certain,” the lieutenant said. “It doesn’t seem to have become general knowledge in the camp. Davis’ men, obviously, and I suspect those of the Fourth Battalion Captain Roston considers reliable.”

“What about Captain Solwen and Captain Kaanos? If we go to them, could they put a stop to this?”

Fitz frowned. “It’s possible. But Captain Roston must know that he can’t proceed without at least their tacit approval.”

“Which means there’s no knowing whether he’s gotten to them already,” Graff said. “If we go running to them, they may just add us to the bag.”

“We have to do something ,” Bobby said.

Winter grimaced. All the instincts she’d developed in two years under Sergeant Davis were telling her to lie low, let it slip by, join up afterward with whatever side seemed to come out on top. To not make trouble , because it would only attract attention.

But that wasn’t an option, really. She had a responsibility now to the men of her company, and some of them had been taken prisoner or worse. More to the point, if we jump the wrong way here, we’re all going to die. Who seems more likely to find a way out-the colonel and Captain d’Ivoire, or Roston and Davis? Put that way, it didn’t seem like much of a choice at all.

“They haven’t told the camp yet,” she said. “They don’t want it to look like a mutiny. The Old Colonials might stand for that, but the recruits”-she glanced at Bobby-“I don’t think they’d go along. So they’re doing it on the quiet instead. Grab Captain d’Ivoire, the colonel, and anyone else who might cause trouble, then make some excuse in the morning and Captain Roston takes command.”

“I came to much the same conclusion,” Fitz said. “Which, in turn, suggests a course of action, if you’re willing.”

Graff nodded. “They’ve got Folsom, haven’t they?”

Bobby nodded as well. Her eyes were bright, almost feverish. Winter wondered if she’d entirely recovered from what had happened on the hill. Hell, she ought to be dead.

“You think we should break them out,” Winter said. “The colonel and Captain d’Ivoire, and hopefully Folsom and the others as well.”

The lieutenant agreed. “Captain Roston’s actions imply that he is not confident of his ability to persuade the men if the colonel is available to argue against him.”

“Right.” Winter frowned. “Assuming everyone is still alive.”

“Yes. I suspect that depends on the extent to which Sergeant Davis is in charge,” Fitz said.

“Goddamned Davis,” Winter muttered. “Why did it have to be Davis?” On some level, though, it had to be Davis. If there was something nefarious and unpleasant going on, it was virtually guaranteed that he would be mixed up in it.

“Do we know where they’re keeping the prisoners?” Graff said.

Fitz shook his head, but Winter smiled slowly.

“I bet I know who does,” she said. “Just give me a few minutes alone with him.”

• • •

The Fourth didn’t know, Winter decided. Not for certain, anyway. The encampment seemed on edge, and the number of men awake in spite of the hour and the exhaustion of the day showed that everyone knew something was about to happen. But she and Graff were able to walk about in their First Battalion uniforms without being challenged. They found a good vantage point, on the other side of a fire from Adrecht’s double-sized tent, and settled down to watch.

Her conversation with Buck had been disappointingly brief. He’d been left to stew while Winter and the others talked, and his bravado had been reduced to a hollow eggshell that cracked under the slightest pressure. Winter told herself that she hadn’t actually been looking forward to cutting pieces off him, but it certainly would have been satisfying to make him think she was going to. His eyes had been full of the terror of a bully who finds his position suddenly reversed.

Unfortunately, his knowledge had been limited. The prisoners were not in the Fourth Battalion camp, which made sense-keeping them secret among so many men would be impossible-but where they were, Buck couldn’t say. Most of the Second Company was still in its encampment, though, with Davis and a few other men staying close to Captain Roston. That led Fitz to propose a new plan. Winter hadn’t liked it, and still didn’t, but she’d been unable to come up with anything better.

Graff had chosen two dozen men from the Seventh that he thought they could rely on. Armed with muskets, knives, and bayonets, they were approaching Captain Roston’s tent from the other side, with Fitz at their head. A ripple of interest in the Fourth Battalion camp, like a ship’s wake, marked their path. By the time they reached the tents, Captain Roston had already emerged. From her vantage point, Winter could see him only in outline, lit from behind by lanterns.

Fitz, by contrast, was easily visible. In spite of the bruise on his face that had nearly closed his right eye, he wore his customary smile, and his salute was parade-ground crisp.

“Captain Roston!”

“Lieutenant,” Roston said. If he was surprised to see Fitz alive, it wasn’t evident from his voice. Winter wondered if killing the lieutenant had been his idea or something Davis had decided on his own initiative. “You seem to have injured yourself.”

“Just a bad fall, sir. Nothing to worry about,” Fitz said blithely. “I’ve just come from the colonel. He and Captain d’Ivoire request your presence for a council of war.”

Captain Roston paused fractionally too long. Winter smiled in the darkness. A hit.

“At this hour?” he said eventually.

“New information has come in, sir,” Fitz said. “Or so I understand. The colonel indicated it was urgent.”