“It’s so,” Hesmucet answered. “Now we have to figure out how to make the most of it-and how to keep the traitors from wrecking it before we can.”
“The more we press them, the likelier they are to break,” George observed. “If we can slip some unicorn-riders over to the far side of that stream and turn them loose, that might give Joseph something new to think about.”
“Well, so it might,” the commanding general allowed. He called for a runner, then told him, “Fetch Marble Bill here. If we’re going to talk about unicorn-riders, we might as well have their commander listening.”
He probably would have come up with that for himself, Doubting George thought. He’s a solid general. No matter how he tried to hide it, even from himself, not being in command hurt.
Brigadier William-more commonly Marble Bill, because of a pale complexion and a nearly expressionless face-was not a brilliant commander of unicorn-riders. The traitors had a couple of those: Jeb the Beauty, who served Duke Edward of Arlington so well in Parthenia, and grim Ned of the Forest here in the east. But Marble Bill was a competent commander of unicorn-riders. After some of the unfortunate officers who’d led southron unicorns into battle, competence was not to be despised.
Hesmucet said, “Doubting George here had himself a notion.” He didn’t try to take credit for it himself, as a lot of high-ranking officers might have done. After spelling it out for Marble Bill, he asked, “What do you think? Can we do it?”
“I don’t know for certain.” The brigadier’s voice gave away no more than his face did. After a moment, he went on, “Finding out might be worthwhile, though. I probably ought to take my riders across Snouts Stream by night, to keep the enemy from knowing they’re there till they start moving.”
Definitely competent, George thought. Hesmucet said, “I’ll have Major Alva lay down a confusion spell for you, if you like.”
To George’s surprise, Marble Bill shook his head. “No, thanks,” he said. “The traitors will be looking for magecraft, I expect. Even if they can’t pierce it, knowing it’s there will put them on the alert.”
Very definitely competent, Doubting George thought. He asked, “Can you move a couple of regiments over tonight?”
“Yes, sir,” was all Marble Bill said in reply to that. A lot of officers-both General Guildenstern and Fighting Joseph leaped into George’s mind-were given to boasting and bluster. Hearing one give a simple, matter-of-fact answer was refreshing. As if thinking of Fighting Joseph were enough to conjure him up, he strolled over and nodded casually to Hesmucet and George in turn.
“Then do it,” Hesmucet said with the air of a man coming to a decision. He turned to George and to Fighting Joseph. “I’ll want more soldiers from both of you to help build up the bridgehead.”
“You’ll have them,” George said, imitating Marble Bill’s brevity.
Fighting Joseph, by contrast, struck a pose. “My brave men are always at your service, sir, and at the service of the kingdom,” he declared.
He meant it. George was sure he meant it. As far as Fighting Joseph was concerned, he selflessly served Detina. As far as any outsider was concerned, Fighting Joseph worried first about himself, and grabbing more power and glory for himself, and about everything else afterwards… long afterwards. It seemed painfully obvious to everyone who served with him and tried to command him.
“I’m so glad to hear it,” Hesmucet replied now.
“Tell me what to do, and I shall do it.” Fighting Joseph struck another pose. George fought down a strong urge to retch.
“All right,” Hesmucet said. “This is what you’ll do, then-you’ll move in support of Lieutenant General George’s men and-”
“You want me to do what?” Fighting Joseph demanded indignantly. His ruddy face got ruddier, till it almost reached the high color of Roast-Beef William’s. “You want me to move in subordination to another wing commander?”
“Lieutenant General George has more men, and more men in the vicinity, than you do.” Hesmucet spoke in reasonable tones. “To me, that means he should be the one with the main responsibility and you the one with the secondary responsibility.”
Fighting Joseph rolled his eyes up to the heavens. “By the Thunderer’s shaggy beard, how many more such insults must I endure?”
“I don’t see that you’ve endured any,” George told him. “If our positions were reversed, I’d certainly subordinate myself to you.”
“No one understands me,” Fighting Joseph groaned, as if he were an avant-garde artist-or perhaps a six-year-old in a temper. He stormed away from his fellow generals. George wondered if spanking his backside would do any good. Unfortunately, he had his doubts.
General Hesmucet sighed. “He is brave,” he said, and he might have been reminding himself as well as the officers with him. “He is brave,” he repeated, “but he’s also gods-damned difficult. One of these days…” He kicked up some dirt with his right boot, as if kicking the obstreperous Joseph out of the army.
But, as Doubting George knew, Hesmucet couldn’t simply dismiss Fighting Joseph. Joseph’s seniority entitled him to high rank somewhere: if not here, then somewhere farther west. Hesmucet might not want him here, but King Avram didn’t want him anywhere closer to Georgetown. In that contest, Hesmucet was bound to lose.
The general commanding sighed again. “You gentlemen know what I want from you now. George, if Fighting Joseph positively disobeys my command, I want to hear about it.”
“Yes, sir,” George said. If Fighting Joseph gave Hesmucet enough spikes to crucify him, the general commanding would, no doubt, shed nary a tear. George himself wasn’t enamored of working alongside Fighting Joseph, and wouldn’t have been brokenhearted to see him go, either.
“Brigadier William,” Hesmucet said, and Marble Bill stiffened to attention. Hesmucet went on, “Remember, if we can get your unicorn-riders either through the traitors’ line at Snouts Stream or around the end of it, Joseph the Gamecock will have to pull back. That will give us Hiltonia, and Ephesus, too.”
Saluting, Marble Bill said, “You know I’ll do everything I can, sir.”
“Good.” Hesmucet nodded. “Up till now, from what the prisoners say, our friend Joseph the Gamecock has kept morale up in the Army of Franklin by making his retreats out to be strategy: he tells his men he’s luring us deeper and deeper into Peachtree to destroy us. If he loses Hiltonia, if there’s only the Hoocheecoochee River between us and Marthasville, that story will start wearing thin.”
“I understand what you want of me, sir,” Marble Bill said. Hesmucet looked to Doubting George, too, and doubtless would have looked to Fighting Joseph were he still there. Doubting George nodded.
“All right then,” Hesmucet said. “Dismissed.” He got back onto his unicorn and rode away.
George told Colonel Andy, “Draft orders to set our regiments in motion, as General Hesmucet requires.”
“Yes, sir,” his adjutant replied. “Ah, sir, is Fighting Joseph really going to support us?” He looked around to make sure no one but George was in earshot before adding, “My guess is, he’ll support us like a commercial traveler skipping out on a farmer’s daughter after he’s put a baby in her belly.”
“Heh,” George said. “Don’t I wish you were wrong?” A field-grade officer approached him. George nodded a greeting. “Hello, Colonel Nahath. What can I do for you today?” He had a warm regard for the regimental commander. Back in the desperate fighting by the River of Death, Nahath’s New Eboracers had fought back to back when the traitors tried a flank attack on Merkle’s Hill that came much too close to working.
“I have a question for you, Lieutenant General,” Nahath replied. “You have a name for being a fair man, so I’m particularly interested in what you have to say.”