S. Turney - Interregnum

Quintillian scraped his chair back so that it faced into the room while the medic dumped his pack under one of the beds. He then sat on it and frowned. Quintillian coughed.

“Then why don’t you tell me?” he asked. “You know I’m going to find out anyway. Better to have the truth of it from his close companions than to misread something.”

Mercurias shook his head.

“No. It’s not my story to tell” he said firmly. “The only person who’ll be able to tell you it all is the captain, and he won’t do it unless he thinks you need or deserve to know. The only way you’re going to ever get any deeper with the captain is if you come clean with him completely. Tell him everything you know and all of your suspicions. Then he might feel remotely inclined to discuss some of this with you.”

Quintillian sighed.

“Are there actually people out there in the world who don’t want to kill him?” he asked.

The medic grinned.

“You met Tythias” he laughed. “ He doesn’t.”

“Ah but they have in the past, haven’t they” Quintillian replied. “You’re not always on the same side. The captain shot at him last year, I heard.”

Mercurias shook his head sympathetically.

“Don’t be daft boy” he said. “Kiva’s not the best archer in the world, I’ll admit, but even a blind man with the shakes would be able to hit Tythias from around eight feet. Tythias is old school; one of the better officers from before the fall. I remember him in a Prefect’s uniform. He fought alongside the Wolves in the days it all made sense. No one in the company would ever try to get rid of him. Athas dotes on him.”

He patted Quintillian on the shoulder.

“It’s the Lords that are the problem, begging the pardon of your humble Imperial blood. The Lords’ll tear the world apart for their own greed. It’s just there’s no alternative for us these days. The common soldiers who hail from the pre-downfall army are all comrades of old and a lot of them remember that.”

He leaned back and slumped onto the bed.

“Except in Velutio of course.”

The sun was starting to project some heat at last. It had floated, watery, above the horizon for perhaps an hour and the Grey Company had been on the road an hour before that, leaving Tythias and his unit slumbering in the inn. Last night Mercurias had collapsed into a heavy sleep early, leaving Quintillian to read his text. The rest of the company had barged noisily up the stairs some time after midnight, finding their rooms while Tythias’ men made their way to the bunk room at the end of the floor. Almost an hour after the unit had succumbed to sleep, Quintillian had closed his book and, pushing back the chair, stood to retire, when some sixth sense made him glance out of the window. The solitary figure of Kiva could be seen walking slowly around the yard behind the Inn. The Captain had spoken little when the unit arose this morning and remained quiet and detached all through the march.

Athas had taken charge of the unit today and had announced a breakfast halt a few minutes ago, once he’d spied a grassy hollow by the side of the road. The dip was comfortable, with a higher ridge around the edge scattered with crooked rocks that formed an excellent defensive line. The company sat around the dell digging deep into packs for their dried beef and pork rations and the bread and cheese purchased from ‘The Rapture’. Kiva, less companionable even than usual, sat on guard by a large rock near the road. Quintillian laid down his kit, taking great care to prop his new blade against a tree. Turning, he stretched his shoulders, wincing at the weight and discomfort of the metal plates and leather jerkin that chafed between his shoulder blades. Athas had taken him to collect his armour while it was still dark and had helped him in to the heavy plated tunic. He did feel more like a soldier now, but it would be a long time before he could wear the heavily armoured tunic with as much ease as the others. Throwing his arms out to his side, he wandered around the edge of the dell until he reached the captain, who spoke without even turning.

“Now’s not a good time, Septimus.”

Quintillian frowned. It would take a long time for him to get used to a different name. He’d assumed the pseudonym would vanish once the unit were alone again, but no one had called him by his real name this morning. He gritted his teeth. There was never a good time with this man. He continued to walk until he reached the rock, where he turned and faced the captain. Aware as always of the difference in the way he was treated compared with the easy familiarity between the others, he attempted to adopt a more relaxed and professional attitude in front of the older man. He leaned back against a tree trunk and pulled a piece of dried blood sausage from his pouch. He’d never have believed people would eat such a thing when he was on the island. The sausage was bitter and thick and cloying and Quintillian had to struggle not to gag, though he was proud of the way he was now managing to take these discomforts in his stride. He looked up at the captain as he swallowed the mouthful and fixed him with a steady look.

“Captain,” he began. “I don’t think you’ll ever find the time. Frankly, although I realise that everyone thinks I’m spoilt, I’m the one who’s trying to clear things here. I think you need to start to speak to me as an equal. The amount of money I paid for your company at least deserves that, doesn’t it?”

Kiva raised an eyebrow.

“You want me to treat you like an equal, hmm?” the older man replied. “I can treat you like an adult, true, but don’t try suggesting to me that we’re equals in any way. You and I have nothing in common, lad. I’m not saying that I’m a better man; In fact I damn well know I’m not, but we’re far from equal.”

There was a moment of silence and Kiva gestured with his palm.

“You wanted to speak to me?” the captain relented with a distant look in his eye. “Speak.”

Quintillian sighed. The captain may well be the most infuriating man he’d ever met. How could Caerdin manage to make him feel so small and petulant when he knew he was in the right? There was nothing for it now but to plunge in headfirst.

“Captain, are we safe enough from prying ears to talk? I don’t mean the unit, but we can move away from them too if you wish. I think you might want to.”

Kiva said nothing but shook his head and waited for Quintillian to continue.

“Hear me out, then” the boy continued, “and don’t fly into one of your off-hand dismissals without giving me the chance. Firstly, I feel it’s only fair to admit that I do know full well who I am. I know my family; my heritage; my uncle. No one’s ever told me and no one expects anything of me, but I’m not stupid and I am a great reader.”

The lad stopped for a moment and looked up at the captain again. Silence.

“Secondly,” he went on, “I’m well aware of who you are, and these other man around you, so there’s really no point in going on with this masquerade in front of me. There are too many glaring holes in your cover. I can’t believe any of those who served in the army all those years ago like Tythias did haven’t made the connection. Why do you persist in using your own first name? In keeping your Wolves canteens?”

He waited for a retort but once more, nothing came.

“And thirdly why, when you must have known about me, and I made it clear that I knew about you, wouldn’t you come clean with me? Why all this dance?”

This time he stood and waited, creating a silence for Kiva to fill. They sat for some time, staring at each other before the captain shifted on the rock, the discomfort of his position finally getting to him. Quintillian wasn’t sure whether he’d pushed the captain further than he should have. The man looked both angry and tired in equal quantities and his voice sounded weary when he spoke.