Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

“You must have eyes like a cat, Miss Alhundt.”

“Good night vision is essential in my line of work.” She materialized out of the darkness.

“For peeking in people’s windows?”

“For poking through dusty old shelves,” she said, toying with her glasses. She pushed them up her nose and looked down at him through the lenses. “You wouldn’t believe the mess back at the Ministry vaults. There are some rooms where we don’t dare risk open flames.”

“Couldn’t have that. You might set fire to everyone’s secrets.”

“Secrets are not really my business, Captain. There’s so much to know that isn’t hidden at all.”

“Fair enough,” Marcus said.

“What about you?” she said. “Are you out spying on your subordinates? Or is this a surprise inspection?”

“Just checking over the arrangements,” Marcus said.

“Very diligent of you,” Miss Alhundt said. “I understand we also have you to thank for that. . exercise this afternoon.”

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. “What about it?”

“Did you intend to embarrass Colonel Vhalnich? Or merely to delay his progress?”

“Neither. It was a-a demonstration. I wanted to make a point.”

“The point that the Colonials are woefully unprepared.”

That was it precisely, of course, but he didn’t want to say so. Marcus shook his head in silence.

“Do you mind if I ask why?” Miss Alhundt said.

“I’m not sure why you’re so interested.”

She cocked her head, one finger touching the bridge of her glasses. Beneath the spectacles, the severe hairstyle, and the mannish clothes, he guessed she was actually quite pretty.

“Because I’m curious about you, Captain,” she said finally. “You are something of an enigma.”

“I don’t see why that should be. I’m just a soldier.”

“A soldier who honestly volunteered to serve in Khandar. An officer . That makes you one of exactly two.”

Marcus snorted. “Really? Who’s the other fool?”

“Colonel Vhalnich, of course.”

“But-” Marcus bit back his response. Jen smiled.

“He’s talked to you about me, then,” she said. “It’s all right. I won’t insult you by asking to tell me what he said. I’m going to guess it was something like, ‘She’s here because that villain Orlanko is up to something.’”

“ Is that why you’re here?”

“After a fashion.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “The colonel has a reputation for eccentricity. He also has powerful friends at court. They worked hard to get him this assignment.”

Janus hadn’t mentioned that . Marcus considered for a moment. “Why?”

“His Grace would very much like to know.” She tapped her nose. “Therefore, here I am.”

“I see.”

She cocked her head. “I don’t suppose you have any light to shed on the subject?”

Marcus stiffened. “I don’t.”

“I thought not.” She straightened up. “Just remember, Captain, that when all is said and done, we’re all on the same side here. I want to serve the king and Vordan just as much as you or the colonel.”

“I’m sure you do,” Marcus said. “And right now, the best way I can serve is to get some sleep. I understand that the colonel wants us to start drilling after the march tomorrow.”

“Of course, Captain. Don’t let me keep you from your bed.”

• • •

“Adrecht!” Marcus called, knocking at the tent post. “Get up!”

If the soldiers of the Fourth Battalion found anything unusual in the sight of the senior captain storming down to their commander’s tent before dawn, they didn’t say anything about it. The sky was lightening in the east, and in the First Battalion camp the men would already be up and about, breaking down their gear and getting it stowed on wagons in preparation for the day’s march. As rearguard, the Fourth Battalion had a bit more time to wait, though in Marcus’ opinion the extra sleep didn’t make up for having to eat the dust of the whole column all day.

Adrecht’s tent was not the usual faded blue army issue, peaked in the center and barely tall enough for Marcus to stand erect. It was silk, to start with, and much larger, with four foundation posts, while the army tents had only two. Once, it had been elaborately decorated with frilled hangings, ropes of colorful cloth, and colored-glass lanterns that threw fanciful patterns against the fabric-years in Ashe-Katarion had given Adrecht time to exercise his talent for acquiring the trappings of luxury. Now all of that was gone, the fine fabrics either packed in trunks or abandoned in haste on the retreat to Fort Valor.

And a good thing, too. If they’d had to set up Adrecht’s whole palace every night, they would never have outrun the Redeemers, however halfhearted the pursuit had been. Marcus knocked again, hard enough to sting his knuckles. “Adrecht!”

“Marcus?” The voice sounded muffled, and not just from the thin silk walls. “’S that you?”

“I’m coming in,” Marcus announced, and slipped past the tent flap. The broad interior was unlit, and the weak morning light did little to relieve the gloom. Marcus blinked until his eyes adjusted, then spotted a lantern hanging from one of the tent poles. He rummaged in his pockets until he produced a match, then lit the lamp and hung it up again. Its swinging sent the shadows to arcing wildly.

Adrecht groaned and held up one hand to block out the light. “Good God,” he said, raising his head from the silk cushion where it rested. “What do you think you’re doing? It’s much too late for this kind of nonsense.”

“It’s early, not late,” Marcus said. There was another lamp on the other side of the tent, and he lit it as well.

“When did you turn so pedantic?” Adrecht groped with one hand until he came up with a heavy gold pocket watch, which he clicked open. “See? It’s two in the morning. What kind of time is that to be waking me up?”

“It’s dawn,” Marcus said.

“Is it?” Adrecht blinked at him. “You’re sure?”

“Most of us can tell by looking.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” He shook the gold watch, then snapped the cover shut. “My watch has stopped. I thought I was just drunk.”

“You were drunk.”

That was a guess, Marcus had to admit, but an educated one. By the light of the lamps he could see that there were several empty bottles strewn across the rug-covered floor of the tent. A trunk in one corner held three rows of cotton-padded compartments, suitable for transporting fine liquors. More than half the slots were empty. Another pair of trunks, tumbled haphazardly between the tent poles, spilled a mess of clothes, books, and papers that looked as though it had been thoroughly rummaged.

There was little else, not even a bedroll. Adrecht had gotten rid of the uncomfortable army-issue camp furniture at the first opportunity, replacing it with fine hand-carved pieces purchased in Ashe-Katarion. Marcus had forced him to leave it all behind when they’d fled, lest some gilt-encrusted armoire take up wagon space needed for food. That argument had led to a week of strained relations.

“It’s really dawn?” Adrecht said again, looking up with eyes filmed by a gathering hangover.

“Yes,” Marcus snapped. “Get up.”

With some effort, Adrecht managed to lever himself into a sitting position, legs crossed in front of him. His fine white linen trousers were stained purple where he’d spilled something across them. He looked down mournfully at the splotch, then up at Marcus.

“I need a drink,” he proclaimed. “You want a drink?”

“Water,” Marcus said. “Do you have any water around here?”