Harry Turtledove - Sentry Peak

“I’m sure you would, sir,” the officer said, his nod as false as his smile. “And as soon as your army transfers from these carpets to those waiting to take them to Marthasville, so you shall.”

“As soon as my army does what ?” James dug a finger into his ear, as if wondering whether he’d heard correctly.

“As soon as it transfers, sir,” the other officer said again. No, James’ ears hadn’t betrayed him.

That didn’t mean he understood what the other fellow was saying, or why he was saying it. “What’s wrong with the carpets we’re on?” he asked. “We’ve come this far on ’em. I don’t see much point in changing for the couple of hundred miles from here to Marthasville.”

“There is a point, I’m afraid,” the officer said. “You’ve come this far on the Northern Glideway. The route east is over the Peachtree Glideway.” Earl James’ bushy eyebrows rose. The other officer, a captain supercilious enough to be a general, condescended to explain: “They use different sorcerous systems, sir. A carpet that will travel with ease on the one will not, cannot, move a finger’s breadth on the other.”

As northern noblemen went, James of Broadpath had a mild temper. But he felt that temper fraying now. “What idiot made that arrangement?” he growled, wondering how much time this unexpected difficulty would cost him. However much it was, he couldn’t afford it.

“It isn’t like that, General,” the local captain insisted. “By the Thunderer’s prick, sir, it isn’t.” For once, he seemed sincere. “The fellows who made the Northern Glideway had the low bid for that stretch of the route, and the fellows who created the Peachtree Glideway came in with the low bid there. The two outfits worked with different sets of mages who favored different sets of sorcery. Simple as that.”

“Simple?” Earl James turned the word into a curse. “If things were simple, I wouldn’t have to change glideways here. They all ought to run on the same system.”

“They don’t even bother with that down in the south, sir.” The officer’s shrug said that, if even the gold-grubbing merchants of the southern provinces who backed King Avram couldn’t see the point to standardizing glideways, it wasn’t worth doing.

James thought otherwise. “If they all ran on the same system, Captain, I wouldn’t have to move my men off these carpets and onto the new ones. That sounds mighty fine to me.”

“Nothing to be done about it,” the local fellow said with another shrug. “Do I hear rightly that your men’ll be heading south from Marthasville?”

“What if you do?” James asked suspiciously. This fellow was without a doubt a son of a bitch, but that probably didn’t make him a southron spy. Probably.

“Well, your Excellency, if you’ll be going by way of the Northern Provinces and Western Ocean Glideway, you’ll have to change again once you get into Marthasville,” the captain said.

“ What?” James of Broadpath’s bellow made heads whip toward him all over the glideway port. Curses cascaded from him.

“It can’t be helped, your Excellency,” the other officer said. That was bound to be true, but did nothing to improve James’ temper.

When he gave the necessary orders, his subordinates cursed as loudly and foully as he had. Brigadier Bell said, “We’ve come round three sides of a square, seems like. We might have done better just to march it.”

Reluctantly, Earl James shook his head. “No, I didn’t think so,” he replied. “Say what you will about glideways, but they’re faster, a lot faster, than shank’s mare.”

“I suppose so,” Bell agreed. “But I hate even to seem as if I’m moving away from the enemy when what I really want to do is close with him.” His right hand folded into a fist. His left hand twitched, as if it wanted to make a fist, too. But, hanging on the end of his ruined arm, it was all but useless.

“You’ll have your chance,” James assured him. The eager smile Bell gave in answer briefly banished the eternal pain from his face.

But when James’ army, having disembarked from the carpets that had brought them to Julia, made its way over to the far side of the glideway port and the carpets that were to take them on to Marthasville, the general wondered if he’d spoken too soon. Not nearly enough carpets waited on the Peachtree Glideway’s route toward Marthasville. “Where are the rest of them?” James demanded of the local captain. “I can’t fit my force onto what you’ve got here.”

“This is just about all the gliding stock on the Peachtree line, sir,” that worthy said. “We’ve got so many men fighting, we’re hard pressed to do anything else.”

“How am I supposed to fight if I can’t get to the battlefield?” James demanded.

“Oh, you will, sir-eventually,” the captain said. “How much difference does it make whether you fight tomorrow or the next day, though?”

“My friend” -James freighted the word with heavy irony- “it might make all the difference in the world.”

“It might,” the other officer said. “On the other hand, it might not mean anything at all. More often than not, it won’t.”

James was tempted, mightily tempted, to argue that with him. The only reason he desisted was the pointlessness of it. “What do you expect me to do, then?” he asked. “Take half my army to Marthasville, send the carpets back, and wait for the other half to catch up?”

“Sir, the only other choice you have is leaving all your army here in Julia,” the local officer told him. “If you want to do that, I don’t see how I can stop you, but I don’t suppose you’ll make Count Thraxton very happy.”

That, unfortunately, held altogether too much truth. James heaved a long, heartfelt sigh. “I don’t think I’ll make him happy letting him know I’m going to be late, either. But, as you say, I haven’t got much choice.” He raised his voice: “Brigadier Bell!”

“Sir!” The division commander hurried up to him.

“Brigadier, you are in charge of that part of the force which is compelled to remain behind in Julia until we free up carpets to bring it on to Marthasville,” James of Broadpath told him. “Bring on the rest of the men as fast as ever you can. We’ll wait in Marthasville-or, possibly, we won’t. If Thraxton orders us forward, we’ll go on as fast as we can. Scryers will keep you informed.”

Bell saluted. “I understand, sir.”

“Good.” Earl James nodded approval. “And, because this delay is in no way our fault, the men need not suffer for it. Feel free to let them forage on the countryside hereabouts while they’re waiting for the carpets to return.”

At last, he succeeded in piercing the local captain’s sangfroid. “What?” the fellow yelped. “You can’t do that! They can’t do that!”

“Oh, yes, we can.” Brigadier Bell sounded as if he was looking forward to it. His good hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. “Just try and stop us.”

The captain didn’t try to stop him. The captain couldn’t try to stop him, not when even the force Bell had left far outnumbered the tiny garrison in Julia. Earl James of Broadpath was something less than astonished when several more glideway carpets from the Peachtree line slid silently into the local port. There still weren’t enough for him to take his whole army on to Marthasville at once, but the fraction left behind shrank from half to about a quarter.

At James’ command, a scryer sent word to Count Thraxton that he would be delayed. A few minutes later, the fellow came back with Thraxton’s answer: “His Grace, sir, is more than a little unhappy.”

“You may tell him I’m more than a little unhappy myself,” James said. “If he’s such a mighty mage, he’s welcome to conjure the army and me from Julia here all the way to Fa Layette.” He held up a warning hand before the scryer could hurry away. “You don’t need to tell him that.”