“We believe in GarSuleth the sky god, weaver of the world, and in his brother, Skarra,” said Napoo, reciting in the manner of a credo.
Everson could see the Padre’s eyes narrow in the face of this new heresy but of Jeffries’ countenance, he could make nothing.
“You do not know of them?” said Napoo uncertainly. “But all Urmen worship them, the Ones decreed it…”
Everson shook his head and shrugged.
“The Ones. The Children of GarSuleth,” said Napoo impatiently. “Whose land this is? How can you not know? This place borders Khungarrii territory. They killed many of my clan, so we stay away. You should too.”
“Khungarrii?” queried Jeffries.
“The Khungarrii of the Ones, aye.”
“When we first met you spoke of Free Urmen. I take it there are those who are not free?” asked Everson.
“They serve the Ones.”
As Napoo continued to talk it seemed to Everson that, here on this world, Man had never risen to his full potential. Here, the majority were indentured servants to a race greater than they. Those Urmen that chose freedom rather than serve the Ones grubbed a meagre subsistence, living among the unforgiving fields and beasts of this god-forsaken world. That Man should be so humbled was an anathema to him and, for a moment, he felt the same hot fury that he had once felt toward the Bosche.
THAT EVENING, COOKS prepared the foods as best they could. The men built and lit fires and gathered round them, some digging out such treasures as harmonicas or penny whistles. Mercy even managed to find a battered wind-up gramophone and a surviving record. The strains of old songs and laughter rose with the smoke from the myriad campfires towards the unknown stars above.
Edith Bell, Nellie Abbott and Sister Fenton sat apart on empty grenade boxes nibbling tentatively at skewered alien meat.
“So why did you become a VAD, Edith?” asked Nellie Abbott.
Edith was silent for a moment as if considering something before deciding to speak. “I was running away, I suppose.”
“From what?”
“The past.”
“Well they say it always catches up with you.”
“That’s why I thought the Front would be the best place to confront it.”
“The Front? You deliberately came to the Front?”
“To face it head on, to punish myself for surviving,” said Edith, shaking her head. “Oh, I don’t know anymore. I don’t care. Seeing all this suffering — at least here, this time I can do something. I can make a difference, can’t I? You see I know we’re all going to die, it’s just that on the Front you have a better idea of when.”
“What could be so awful that you think you’re punishing yourself by serving here?” asked Fenton.
“It was two years ago,” she said in a hushed voice, half hoping that they wouldn’t hear her and she could pretend she hadn’t said anything and not have to go through with it.
“What was two years ago, the start of the War?”
“No, it was before that.”
Fenton and Abbott exchanged questioning glances, each shrugging. They waited. Nelly took Edith’s hands in hers and gave them a small, warm squeeze then held them lightly.
“The Lamb—” she could barely get the words out. She stopped, smiled apologetically and cleared her throat. “The Lambton Grange Murders.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Nellie. “Oh you poor thing. Were — were you there? That was an evil thing what happened there. Our Bertie read it to us from the papers, he missed out the worst bits to spare us, silly sod. But I read the paper myself, later. Horrid, simply horrid.”
“No, that’s the thing, you see,” said Edith. “I was supposed to be there.”
“What do you mean?” asked Fenton.
“I knew the girls that were murdered, Elspeth Cholmondley and Cissy Pentworth. We were a bit of gang. We met him, at a party a month earlier.”
“Dwyer the Debutante Killer? Strewth!”
“Yes. I believe that’s what some of the more sensationalist newspapers called him. He seemed so charming. Of course, we knew he had a bit of a reputation. That was what poor Cissy found so alluring. He invited us out to his place for the weekend. Only I couldn’t go at the last minute. Great Aunt Lil decided to come up from Brighton.”
“That was some luck.”
“But I let them go alone, don’t you see? I should have been with them,” she said, sobs welling up. “It should have been me, too.”
Edith saw Lance Corporal Sandford approach them tentatively, hobbling along inexpertly on a crutch, a pal by his side, and hastily wiped her eyes, cursing herself for weakening and sharing her private burden. She pasted a smile on her face for Nellie’s sake. “I’m all right,” she said. “Really.”
While the Corporal and his mate stood talking to them, Edith could sense Nellie’s awkwardness. Spotting the tank mechanic in his overalls, Nellie made her excuses, got up and slipped away, trying to catch his eye.
SAT ROUND THEIR own campfire, Atkins noticed Porgy stealing glances towards the nurses as the corporal sat down next to Edith, his injured leg out straight as he put an arm around her shoulder. Next to her, Sister Fenton wriggled away from his pal, rebuffing the NCO’s advances. He tried again to put his arm around her shoulders, but she stood up. He couldn’t hear what she was saying but he was obviously getting a bollocking. Fenton wrapped her cape around herself and stalked off in the direction of the casualty tents. Porgy had just decided to go and cut in when he saw Edith rise and help her suitor to his feet.
“Bad luck old chap,” said Atkins sympathetically. “Perhaps if you’d got yourself more of a Blighty one.”
“Fat lot of good a Blighty One does here!” he spat, glancing pointedly up towards the brightest star in the sky.
They watched as Edith helped Sandford walk along with his crutch. The pair passed beyond the light of one fire only to be silhouetted against another and met by encouraging whoops and catcalls as they passed the men gathered round it.
“Come on, Porgy. Face it. You lost out. Best man and all that, eh? Come and sit down,” said Atkins.
“If he hurts her…,” he muttered, tearing viciously with his teeth at the chunk of meat in his hands.
“My god,” said Atkins, the truth dawning on him. “This isn’t just about your deck of cards is it? You’re actually serious about this one, aren’t you?” The helpless look in Porgy’s eyes said it all. “Look, he’s crippled. What’s he going to do, stand on her foot with his crutch? Come back to the campfire.”
Atkins guided a reluctant Porgy back to where the rest of their section sat. After a while Half Pint turned the conversation to the thing that was on all their minds.
“What if we never get back? We’re marooned here, I tell you. This,” he said with a sweep of his arm, “is it and we’d better make the most of it.”
“No, I don’t believe that, I can’t believe that,” said Porgy. “Whatever brought us here might send us back just as quickly; the officers must think so too, why else do you think they’ve kept us on this stinking pile of mud?”
“Hope?” said Gazette. “But I don’t think we can depend on miracles. If there’s a way back I reckon we’re going to have to find it ourselves.”
“And what if there isn’t a way back?” challenged Half Pint.
“We got here didn’t we?” said Mercy angrily.
“Someone must be responsible. I say we find them and make them send us back,” said Ketch.
“If there is someone, why did they bring us, what are we here for?” asked Gutsy.
“Do you really want to go back to the Somme?” said Half Pint.
“No,” said Pot Shot. “I want to go back to my family.”