Мерседес Лэки - Passages

“Follow me, recruit,” was all Lidreth said, dismissing Hadrick by the simple means of ignoring him. “Bring your kit.”

Kero quickly loaded herself up with everything that didn’t belong with Hellsbane and followed as Lidreth led the way out of the stable, into the barracks, and up a set of stairs to the right.

“Women’s quarters,” she said, opening the door into a room full of cots with chests at the feet and heads, and pegs on the walls that sported a variety of heavy garments. “We catch a man in here, he leaves singing soprano. If you’ve got canoodling to do, do it in the village, or get permission to use one of the two rooms off the commons for it. The rest of us need our sleep.”

“Yessir,” Kero said, as she was directed to an empty cot, one already made up with a couple of thick blankets and a pillow.

“Weapons in the chest at the head of your cot. We have practice weapons to use for drilling. One knife no longer than your hand on your belt. Draw it on a fellow merc, and you’d better have a good reason. Everything else in the chest at the foot of your cot. There’s a lock with a key in it. If you need more bedding, say so; you won’t be impressing any of us if you’re keeping us awake at night with your teeth chattering. Jakes are through that door,” she pointed to the far left corner. “We take it in turns to clean ’em twice a day. I’ll put your name on the rotation. There’s a steam bath next to the kitchen. Take one not less than once a week, and we’d all take it kindly if you did it more often than that, preferably after drill or just before lights out. It holds ten, and it’s generally full from noon to lights out, and under no circumstances should you ever use it to get frisky. We take it in rotation with the men to clean it every morning. The men have it for the next month, so don’t worry about that for now.”

As she spoke, Kero was stowing her things: weapons in the designated chest (and she thought she sensed a faint grumble from Need as the lid closed down over the sword), everything else in the other chest, key on the leather thong around her neck that held a Shin’a’in talisman, and her bedroll added to the bed.

“Meals at the bugle call. We have a kitchen staff, so there’s not much kitchen-patrol duty. Strongest drink allowed in quarters is mild ale. You want anything different, you go to the tavern.”

Kero took up a semirelaxed stance—not at attention but not “casual” either. Lidreth gave her a once-over, probably assessing her from her clothing, now that her coat was hung up on the wall.

Kero was pretty sure she was going to fit in just fine; her boots were good but not too good, her woolen trews, leather tunic, and thick, knitted shirt were neither too old and mended nor too new and unworn. The trews had the proper leather patches inside the thighs that anyone who spent a long time in the saddle would have, and those patches showed the right amount of wear. The only thing about her that was “odd” would be the Shin’a’in talisman that marked her as a member (or at least an ally) of Tale’sedrin Clan, which, technically, she was, since White Winds Mage Kethry was her blood grandmother and Tarma shena Tale’sedrin her grandmother by adoption. And she very much doubted anyone here would recognize that little token, with its stylized vorcel-hawk.

The point was, Lidreth was not going to see someone who didn’t fit the mold of “capable fighter looking to go up in the world by joining a merc company.” And Lidreth’s next statement, or rather question, matched that. “Got your Guild membership?”

Membership in the Mercenary Guild took a one-time fee and a cursory sort of background check. That is, they’d hold you for a couple of days in the Guild Hall to make sure you weren’t a habitual drunk or a drug addict, and they’d make sure you didn’t have any debts chasing you. The fee alone usually was enough to sort most of the wheat from the chaff.

What that fee got you was the right to get hired through the Guild—which meant better jobs—and a chance that the better merc companies would take you.

Kero nodded and showed the little tattoo on the back of her wrist. Oh, you could have that faked, of course, but if it was found out (and it would be) the pain of getting it removed with prejudice and without painkillers wasn’t worth it.

Lidreth nodded. “Got any questions?”

Kero shook her head.

“Not even about the food?” Lidreth grinned.

“You’ve got a cook and staff,” Kero pointed out. “They can get fired if they mess up too often. Not a lot of other jobs out here, so that’s incentive not to burn the food.”

Lidreth clapped her on the back. Hard. “I like you,” the merc proclaimed. “So I’m gonna warn you. You’re the only new recruit, so you’re gonna get the scut work, like cleaning the common room. If one of us says you’re to do something, as long as you don’t have other orders, you do it. That’s just how it is. You dropped Hadrick, so you can bet he’ll pile his share on you. That’s how it is too. It’ll keep up till Captain or Training Sergeant Drall says stop. ”

Great. Kero resigned herself to days of drudgery until her fellow Skybolts got tired of teasing the new recruit. Look at it as exercise, she told herself. It can’t keep up forever.

A fortnight later, she was reconsidering that thought. And, indeed, reconsidering the idea of staying with the Skybolts at all. She found herself in a constant battle with her temper except when she was in the women’s barrack room or on the drill field; as a consequence, she was spending as much time as she could in drilling.

Not that most of them were bad— most of them weren’t; they’d send her off on random errands for no good reason, and often for no purpose, but it was good-natured and not all that frequent. Certainly no more than once or twice every couple of days.

But Hadrick! The man seemed determined to make her life a pure misery. And the worst of it was, he was so clever about it that none of the others ever caught him at it. Say she’d been set to sweep the common room; whoever’s turn it was to do it would remind her that for now, she was the Skybolts’ dogsbody and would set her to it. And that was all well and good, but the moment she’d put the broom away, she’d come back to a right mess, and no one around except Hadrick, lounging in a corner and smirking. And it was all to do over again, and not just once, mind, but as many times as it took before someone else came in and put a stop to his fun. He’d “accidentally” bump into her at meals with the intent of spilling her food or putting her face into it. She’d go to saddle up Hellsbane for a drill or exercise to discover the reins had been tied into intricate knots; she’d taken to going out to the stable early just to have the time to get whatever mischief had been done undone before there was an inspection or drill.

Then there were the pranks she was sure were him but couldn’t catch him at—like finding her ale had been salted or her tea had been interfered with. Fortunately her grandmother had taught her how to tell by taste when things were in her food or drinks that had no right to be there, so whatever the latter had been intended to accomplish had been thwarted. But her temper, never all that certain, was fraying fast.

Tonight that temper was close to breaking after finding her ale salted again, and although it was nowhere near as warm and comfortable as the common room, she retreated to the women’s barracks to oil her leathers and brood.

This nonsense was exhausting. She’d never worked so hard in her life. She’d never had to control her temper so much; fighting in barracks was forbidden, and much as she wanted to beat the goddess-loving crap out of Hadrick and wipe that smug smirk off his face with the floor, she knew what that would get her. A stay in the brig—