Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

“What is it, then?”

“I’ll go through it in a moment.” Janus turned away at the rustle of canvas. Lieutenant Ihernglass emerged from the tent, leaning heavily on the large form of Corporal Folsom, with a few rankers following hesitantly behind. They stopped short at the sight of the colonel.

“No need to salute a fellow captive,” Janus said, as Folsom searched for some way to prop up Ihernglass so he could come to attention. “Lieutenant, I wonder if I might ask you one question before letting you go to a well-deserved rest.”

“Yessir,” Ihernglass managed, through puffy lips.

“You told me that you returned to camp after a skirmish with a small group of Desoltai. Among them, was there one bearing an unusually large pack?”

The lieutenant nodded.

“Excellent. If you could indicate where the encounter occurred, Captain d’Ivoire will detail some men to retrieve it.”

“Don’t need to,” Ihernglass said. “I brought it back with me. We thought there might be food inside, but it was just some. .” He waved his free hand. “A lantern, or something.”

“Indeed.” Janus’ smile came and went in an instant. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a look.”

• • •

The sun was well up by the time they returned to the tents and retrieved the mysterious box, and the encampment was buzzing like an overturned hive. No one knew what was happening, but there was a gradual current of men toward the clear space between the camps of the four battalions, where something interesting was evidently going on. While Janus fiddled with his acquisition, Marcus scraped up two dozen men from the Old Colonials of the First Battalion, made sure they were armed, and brought them back to the colonel to serve as an escort. Whatever Adrecht tried, Marcus didn’t intend to be taken so easily again.

That done, their little party headed toward the focus of all the attention. A wide ring of soldiers, craning their necks and standing on their toes to try to get a glimpse, surrounded a small cleared space. Marcus’ men had to push their way through at first. Once the men caught sight of Marcus and the colonel, however, the path opened of its own accord, and the beehive roar of thousands of men whispering spread through the crowd like flames leaping across dry tinder.

At the center of the mob were two rings of soldiers, both wearing First Battalion markings. One group, huddled into a tight mass, belonged to Lieutenant Ihernglass’ Seventh Company. Around them, muskets at the ready with fixed bayonets, was a circle of men from Davis’ Second.

Outside the circle, another kind of standoff was in progress. Adrecht, backed up by a dozen Fourth Battalion soldiers, stood across from Fitz and a pair of corporals from the Seventh Company. Hovering to one side were Mor and Val, the former looking ready to explode and the latter huddled miserably with his arms crossed over his chest.

Everyone looked up as Marcus and Janus passed through the crowd of soldiers. Marcus kept his eyes on Adrecht. A spasm of doubt and fear crossed his face, but he mastered himself almost immediately. Val’s eyes lit up at the sight of them, and Marcus caught a knowing glance from Fitz. The lieutenant’s face was nearly as badly bruised as Ihernglass’ had been.

Janus stepped forward to face Adrecht and waited. Little by little, the susurrus of whispers and conversation died away, as every man in the vast crowd strained to hear. The Fourth Battalion men behind Adrecht shuffled uncertainly, but Adrecht himself stepped forward, came to attention, and saluted stiffly.

“Captain Roston,” Janus said.

“Colonel Vhalnich,” Adrecht said. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“No, I imagine not.” Janus looked around. “I must ask these men to stand down at once.”

Adrecht glanced over his shoulder. “Lieutenant Gibbons?”

One of the Fourth Battalion men saluted. “Sir!”

“Please place Colonel Vhalnich under arrest.”

Gibbons swallowed hard. “Yessir!”

Marcus stepped beside Janus, his own men coming up to stand beside him. Adrecht’s men spread out to face them, hands on their weapons. Marcus’ hands were clenched so tight that his nails dug painfully into his palms.

If it comes to a fight, this is going to be a riot. Adrecht’s people looked nervous, as did the Second Company men. If any one of them fires a shot. .

Janus held up a hand, his voice rising to ring out over the crowd. “Am I permitted to know the charges against me?”

“Being a goddamned lunatic,” Mor said. He caught Marcus’ eye, winced, and looked away.

“Captain Kaanos is broadly correct,” Adrecht said. “Your latest orders indicate your mental unfitness for command.”

“Which orders, specifically?”

Adrecht hesitated. Janus’ expression was as blank as always, but there was something in his voice. An edge of confidence, the voice of a cardplayer who knows that he holds the last trump.

“Last night, I received an order under your seal to prepare for a march to the northeast,” Adrecht said. He looked away from Janus, addressing the crowd. “Given the Desoltai raid and our lack of supplies, further pursuit of the enemy is clearly a serious danger to this regiment. If we don’t turn back now, none of us will make it out of the Desol.”

There was muttered assent from the assembled soldiers. Those close enough to catch sight of Janus didn’t dare voice their opinion openly, but those farther back were less reticent. The words were unintelligible, but their shouts and grumbles conveyed their meaning.

Adrecht seemed to take heart from this backing. “I conveyed my doubts to Captain d’Ivoire, who indicated that he had discussed them with you, to no result. With all other options exhausted, duty to the men under my command forces me reluctantly to take steps to ensure the best chance of our survival.”

“It’s not relevant, I suppose, that the success of the Desoltai raid was primarily your responsibility?”

Adrecht swayed slightly, as if he’d been slapped. His hand came up and clutched at the stump of his arm.

“No,” he said. “Whether true or not, I hardly see the bearing on the current situation.”

Janus was silent for a long moment. Bit by bit, the noise of the crowd rose, and shouts and jeers started to come from those safely in the rear. Marcus looked again at Mor and Val, but neither would meet his eyes.

“As you say,” Janus began, “our supply situation is critical. Under the circumstances, I thought we ought to make for the nearest source of water.”

“The nearest source of water is on the coast,” Adrecht snapped. “And we’ll be hard-pressed to make it even that far.”

“To the contrary. There is an oasis only a day’s march to the northeast.”

Janus spoke quietly, but the men in the front ranks who heard him repeated what he’d said to their neighbors. Shouts and jeers cut off abruptly as his words spread through the crowd, like a ripple across the surface of a pond. Absolute silence replaced them, the entire regiment holding its collective breath.

“You don’t know that,” Adrecht said. “How could you?”

“The Desoltai must draw their supplies from somewhere,” Janus said. “They can’t survive on sand any more than we can.”

“Everyone knows they have hidden bases,” Adrecht admitted. “But they are hidden . Marching into the desert in the hopes of finding one is still a death sentence.”

“Fortunately, I know the precise location of this particular base. The fact that it presents an opportunity to destroy the Desoltai force along the way is an additional incentive.”

“So you claim,” Adrecht said. He sounded rattled. “How could you possibly know for certain?”