Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

Silently, Marcus proffered the bottle. Val gave it an evaluative look, then sighed and refilled both cups. He looked suspiciously into the depths of his drink.

“What are the green bits?” he said.

“Herbs,” Marcus said. “What kind of talk?”

“Commonsense talk,” Val said. “Which is what worries me. Talk like, we should have shipped out from Fort Valor. Talk that there’s thirty thousand screaming savages who like to cook and eat anybody with pale skin, and that if they want Khandar so badly they’re welcome to the damned place. Talk that maybe it would be best to take a quick hike to the rear, ’cause there’s no sense getting killed just so some damned count can play soldier. It’s going to be a run for the boats in the end, so why not get a head start?”

Marcus frowned, looked at his cup, and set it carefully aside. “You think anybody’s serious?” The Colonials were famous grumblers-it was practically the regimental sport-but. .

“Not yet,” Val said. “But it’s days before we get to the city, even at this pace. The recruits seem to be game, but I’m not sure how long that’ll last. They’re awfully green. Did you know that most of them didn’t finish their time in depot? Some of them didn’t have any . I talked to a whole company today who said they’d marched straight from the recruiting station to the ships.”

That was disturbing, too, partly because it reminded Marcus how little time he’d spent with his own men. Janus seemed determined to make him into a kind of aide-de-camp, and had been monopolizing his time.

“They’ll toughen up quickly,” he said aloud. “Khandar has that effect on people. It certainly did on me.”

“Tough is one thing,” Val said. “It doesn’t do much good if they don’t know how to handle their muskets or form a line.”

Marcus sighed. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Val looked perplexed. “Talk to him, of course.”

“Talk?” It took Marcus a moment to get that. “To the colonel?”

“He spends more time with you than anyone in the regiment,” Val said. “I don’t think he’s given me more than the time of day. So it’s on you to tell him what we need. I don’t understand what the goddamned hurry is, but we need to cut down the marches and get these men drilling. Even a few days could make a big difference.”

“Easy enough to say,” Marcus said. “I don’t think he’ll listen to me.”

“If he doesn’t, we’re all in the shit,” Val said. “Half the supply train is still trying to catch up, and this ‘road’ is a joke. If we do another few days like this, we’ll be on short rations, and if you think the men are grumbling now. . ”

Fitz reappeared, bearing two bowls of the ubiquitous dump-everything- in-a-pot-and-boil-it meal known affectionately as “army soup.” Marcus glared at it, but Val took the proffered spoon and dug in with a will.

“I’ll try,” Marcus said. “That’s all I can promise.”

Val shrugged, too busy eating to reply.

• • •

Standing outside Janus’ tent, as torches and fires flared throughout the camp and the reds of the sunset gave way to darkness, Marcus realized he had no idea how to begin.

There was certainly no procedure for it in army etiquette. Captains didn’t offer unsolicited advice to colonels, much less issue warnings or present demands. They might occasionally give their opinion, when asked, but directions started from the top and flowed downward. That was the point of the chain of command, after all. A colonel was supposed to know what he was doing.

All the relief that he’d felt when Janus had taken command had vanished. Marcus stood, one hand raised to knock at the tent pole, and dithered.

How would Fitz do it? The lieutenant never openly contradicted his captain, but he had his ways of making it known when he thought Marcus was making a bad decision. A glance, a cough, a “Yes, sir ” with just the right tone of voice-the meaning always came across as clearly as if he’d shouted. But he, Marcus, wasn’t Fitz; he didn’t have the boy’s carefully calibrated manners. Or half his brains, for that matter. Besides, he and Janus had been together for only a day or so. It had taken Marcus years to learn the ins and outs of Fitz’s little hints.

He had still not reached a decision when the tent flap opened and Augustin emerged. The old servant bowed ever so slightly and cleared his throat.

“His lordship instructs me to say that if you’re only going to stand there, you might as well come inside,” he said, with a touch more dryness than was really necessary. Marcus instinctively bristled, but fought the reaction down.

“Thank you,” he said, with as frosty a tone as he could manage. “I shall.”

He followed the manservant through the tent flap. From Augustin’s manner, Marcus half expected that the man had worked some magic to transform the standard army-issue tent into a feudal palace, complete with ancient oil paintings and suits of medieval armor.

Instead, he found a tent much like his own, if somewhat neater and better organized. A simple bedroll was still stowed in one corner, a set of trunks in another. The colonel sat on a cushion in front of a wide wooden table, divided into quarters and cunningly hinged so it could be stowed away for transport. Beside him sat another trunk, this one full of books. Marcus couldn’t read the titles in the dim light, but they all had the same dark green leather binding, and fit as neatly inside the little case as if it had been designed for them. It probably had, Marcus reflected. Janus had certainly come prepared to his army career.

“Captain,” he said, looking up from a stack of loose pages. “Have a seat. I assume this is not a social call?”

“No, sir.” Marcus debated remaining on his feet, but decided there was nothing to be gained from it. He took the cushion opposite Janus. “I wondered if I might have a word.”

“Of course.” Janus slid the papers aside and steepled his fingers. “What’s on your mind?”

Marcus glanced uncomfortably at Augustin, who had discreetly faded into the background. Janus looked up at the manservant.

“Augustin, would you be so good as to make the captain a cup of tea?” he said.

With another sour look at Marcus, Augustin bowed and ghosted out.

“You really must learn to ignore him,” Janus said. “I assure you that his discretion is impeccable. But, if it makes you more comfortable. .” He spread his hands.

“Thank you, sir.” Marcus cleared his throat. “I-that is-I’m not sure how to begin.”

“You have some advice for me,” Janus said.

Marcus blinked. “How did you know that?”

“You’d hardly dither so over a report or some minor matter, would you?” Janus gave a disarming smile, gray eyes shining in the lamplight. “I did ask for your assistance, Captain. So long as we’re in private, you may always consider yourself at liberty to speak your mind. I can’t promise I will always follow your counsel, but I’ll certainly listen.”

“Thank you, sir.” He took a deep breath. “Then I respectfully suggest that the marches be shortened, and that we institute some sort of regimental drill.”

There was a moment of silence. Janus, leaning back, cocked his head as though considering the matter from a new angle. Finally he said, “And why do you say that?”

“Fifteen miles a day. .” Marcus paused. “It’s not that the men aren’t capable, sir, but the wagons won’t make it. Our supplies-”

Janus waved a hand. “There’ll be time for the supply train to catch up, never fear. It’s more important that the troops accustom themselves to hard marching. Soon enough we’ll have need of it.”