Harry Turtledove - Sentry Peak

At supper a couple of days after King Avram’s army paraded into Rising Rock, Doubting George did ask General Guildenstern when he intended going after Count Thraxton. “The sooner the better, sir,” George added, “if you care for what I think.”

By Guildenstern’s expression, he didn’t care a fig-not even a moldy fig-for what his second-in-command thought. But he did his best to make light of his feelings, waving his hand and speaking in airy tones: “I don’t think we need to worry about Thraxton for a while now. By the way he scuttled out of here with his tail between his legs, he’s skedaddled down to Stamboul, and that’s if he hasn’t gone all the way to Marthasville. We’ll settle him in due course, never you fear.” He lifted a glass of amber spirits to his lips and gulped down half of what it held.

“If he’s skedaddling, we ought to push him,” George said stubbornly.

“And we will.” General Guildenstern finished the spirits and waved for a refill. A blond maidservant- not a serf any more , Doubting George reminded himself-hurried up with a corked jug and poured more of the potent stuff into the glass. Guildenstern’s eyes followed her as she swayed away. Doubting George sighed. He’s more interested in what’s between her legs than in the tail he thinks Thraxton has between his . But Guildenstern did bring himself back to the matter at hand: “In a few days, we will.”

“Why wait, sir?” George asked. He’d already seen more than one victory count for less than it should have because the general in charge of Avram’s army failed to push hard after winning the initial battle. And he doubted his superior’s sincerity here. “If we’ve got the traitors in trouble, shouldn’t we do everything we can to keep them there?”

General Guildenstern looked down his long, pointed nose at George. “Eager, aren’t you?” By the way he said it, he didn’t mean it as a compliment.

But George didn’t care how he meant it. “Yes, sir,” he answered. “If we’ve got ’em down, we ought to kick ’em.”

Instead of answering right away, Guildenstern took another swig of spirits. “Ahh,” he said, and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his gray tunic. “That’s the real stuff.” George could only nod; Franklin was famous for the spirits it distilled. After yet another gulp, something kindled in Guildenstern’s eyes. It didn’t look like something pleasant. George hoped he was wrong, but-again-he doubted it. His superior said, “So you really want to go after Thraxton the Braggart, do you?”

“Yes, sir!” Lieutenant General George didn’t hesitate, no matter what the gleam in General Guildenstern’s eye meant. “If we chase him, we’ll catch him, and if we catch him, we’ll lick him.”

“Here’s what I’ll do, then,” Guildenstern said. George leaned forward. He was sure he wouldn’t get everything he wanted. For him to have got everything he wanted, General Guildenstern would have had to set the army in motion day before yesterday, or even the day before that. Guildenstern breathed spirituous fumes into his face, fumes potent enough to make him marvel that the commanding general’s breath didn’t catch fire when it passed over the flame of the rock-oil lamp on the table. “I’ll give you half the army, and you go after Thraxton with it the best way you know how. I’ll follow behind with the rest.”

“Half our army is smaller than the whole of his,” George said slowly. “Not a lot smaller, mind you, but it is.”

“So what?” General Guildenstern answered, airily once more-or perhaps the spirits were starting to have their way with him. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times: my guess is that he’s hightailing it for Stamboul.”

“I’m still not sure you’re right about that, sir,” Doubting George said, in lieu of some stronger and less politic expression of disagreement.

“So what?” Guildenstern repeated. That struck George as a cavalier attitude even for a cavalier. But then the commanding general went on, “Suppose I am wrong. Suppose Thraxton the Braggart’s lurking in the undergrowth just outside of town here. Suppose he hits you when you come after him.”

“I am supposing all that, sir,” George replied. “I don’t suppose I like any of it very much.”

“By the gods, why not?” Guildenstern said. “You said it yourself: half our army isn’t much smaller than all of his. Suppose he does attack you. Don’t you think you can keep him in play till I come up with the rest of our troopers? Don’t you think we can smash him between us, the way you’d smash a hickory nut between two stones?”

Now Lieutenant General George was the one who said, “Ahh.” He took a pull at his own glass of spirits. Maybe Guildenstern wasn’t the best general in the world (as long as Duke Edward of Arlington kept breathing, Guildenstern surely wasn’t the best general in the world). But he wasn’t the worst, either. The move that flanked Thraxton the Braggart out of Rising Rock had been his idea. And this ploy here… It puts me in danger , Doubting George thought, but it gives me the chance to show what I can do, too… if Thraxton really is hanging around not far north of here . George nodded. “That just might do the job, sir.”

“I think so myself,” Guildenstern said complacently. “How soon can you have your half of the army ready to move?”

“Sir, I can put them on the road tomorrow at sunrise,” George answered. “I know you’ll be ready to follow close on my heels.”

He knew nothing of the sort. And, just as he’d expected, the commanding general looked appalled. “That strikes me as too precipitate,” Guildenstern said. “The army should have at least two or three days more to recover itself before plunging on.”

“We’ve already had all the time we need, sir,” Lieutenant General George said. “Why, just today I had a delegation of soldiers asking me why we weren’t already up and doing.” That was fiction of the purest ray serene. George didn’t care. If it got General Guildenstern moving, he was of the opinion that it benefited King Avram and the whole Kingdom of Detina.

“Insolent rogues!” Guildenstern rumbled. “I hope you gave ’em what they deserved.” If he wanted to be up and doing, it was more likely in a bedchamber than anywhere else.

“Why, yes, sir,” Doubting George said. “I gave ’em each two silver crowns from my own pocket, for being true Detinan patriots.”

What General Guildenstern gave him was a harassed look. Guildenstern might have outmaneuvered Thraxton around Rising Rock, but George had just outmaneuvered the commanding general here. “Very well,” Guildenstern said. “If you set out tomorrow, you may rest assured I’ll follow the day after.”

“Thank you, sir,” Doubting George said. “I knew I could rely on you. I knew the kingdom could rely on you.”

He knew nothing of the sort. What he did know was what a devilish liar he’d turned into. He hoped the Thunderer would have mercy on him. It’s not for my own advantage , he thought apologetically. It’s for Detina . No lightning bolt crashed through the roof and smote him where he sat. He chose to believe that meant the god knew he was telling the truth.

“Yes, we must save the kingdom,” Guildenstern said, as if the idea had just occurred to him. He got to his feet. “And, if I’m going to be marching out of Rising Rock day after tomorrow, I have some urgent business I’d best attend to now.” He bowed to Doubting George and departed.

George suspected the urgent business resided in the commanding general’s pantaloons and nowhere else but. He shrugged as he rose, too. Even in his jaundiced opinion, Guildenstern wasn’t the worst general around. Now that George had succeeded in reminding him of his duty, he would probably do it well enough.