“What do you expect me to do?” Hesmucet replied. “I’ll send Marble Bill out to keep Spinner’s riders off our glideway line.”
It was indeed the obvious answer. John the Lister pointed out what George hesitated to: “Bill’s not the best commander of unicorns ever born.”
“No, but neither is Spinner, so it evens out,” Hesmucet said.
“A point,” Doubting George said after a little thought. “Sure enough, that is a point. The bland fighting the bland, you might say.”
“You might,” Hesmucet said with a groan. “As for me, I feel the same way about such things as Brigadier Oliver feels about taking the name of the gods in vain.”
“Sir,” Oliver said, “you don’t have a religious duty to punish those who make foolish jokes.”
“No, eh?” Hesmucet rumbled. “Well, gods… bless it, I ought to have such a duty. Every righteous man ought to have such a duty.” He glowered at George. “Don’t you agree, Lieutenant General?”
“Well, sir, actually, I am more inclined toward mercy,” George replied. “My notion is, the gods make note of everything they say. I expect they can deal with these matters in their own good time.”
“Hmm.” Hesmucet gave him a severe look. “Why do I suspect you’re saying that because you’re the culprit here?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea, sir,” Doubting George replied-blandly. “I assure you, I’d do the same for anyone else.”
“Of course you assure me of that,” Hesmucet said. “You assure me of all manner of nonsensical things and gods-damned lies.”
He sounded so pugnacious, Brigadier Oliver spoke up again: “Sir, you would be well-advised to show mercy to those who disagree with you, not to revile them.”
“No.” Where Hesmucet had sounded fierce while teasing George, now he really was. George could tell the difference. Hesmucet pointed north toward Marthasville, saying, “What I aim to do with those who disagree with me-and who disagree with King Avram, gods bless him-is whip them right out of their boots.” He walked over and set a hand on Doubting George’s shoulder. “And that’s why I put up with this son of a bitch in spite of his foolishness. Put him in the field against the traitors and he’s a tiger. Next to that, nothing else matters, not even a little bit.”
Oliver bowed. He was a fussily precise man, as stern with himself as he was with everyone else. “Very well, sir,” he said. “On that, I cannot presume to disagree with you.” Turning, he bowed to George as well. “This, I must say, I find strange, for in our days at Annasville I reckoned the distinguished general likelier to fight on the other side than on ours.”
George had reckoned Oliver an officious prig. He hadn’t been shy about letting the world know what he reckoned, either. He said, “Brigadier, we still disagree about what ought to happen to the serfs in this kingdom. But we agree wholeheartedly that Detina is a kingdom, not two or three or six kingdoms, and that outweighs the rest.”
“Indeed it does,” Oliver said. “Indeed it does. I rejoice that the gods have put a sufficiency of truth into your heart, sir, even if not its very fullest measure, the measure that would make you recognize all of mankind, regardless of outer seeming, as your brethren.”
He still preaches too gods-damned much, Doubting George thought. But he’s a pretty fair soldier himself, even so. Aloud, he said, “I don’t want to recognize all of mankind as my brethren. If I did, I’d miss watching pretty girls, and that would be a shame.”
Hesmucet chuckled. John the Lister laughed out loud. Oliver clicked his tongue between his teeth and looked pained. Oh, dear, George thought. He doesn’t approve of watching pretty girls, either. Well, too bad for him.
Perhaps finding it a good time to change the subject, John the Lister asked General Hesmucet, “Sir, do I understand correctly that we don’t intend to try storming Marthasville?”
“Not right now, anyhow,” the commanding general answered. “We might take it-I think we would take it, but I also think a direct assault would be expensive, and the mourning boxes in the papers down south are long enough already. Let’s see how Bell likes having the place torn down around his ears without his being able to do anything about it.”
“Let’s see how he likes that after false King Geoffrey charged him to hold the town, too,” Doubting George added.
“That did cross my mind, yes,” Hesmucet said. “I wouldn’t want to have dear Geoffrey screaming at me right now. But then you, Lieutenant General, would know more about such things than I do, wouldn’t you?”
“Not much, sir,” George replied. “I knew I would serve a united Detina as soon as Palmetto Province pulled out. Geoffrey confiscated my lands as soon as Parthenia went with it and I declined to join him. To the seven hells with him, but only from a distance. It’s been years since I last saw him face to face.”
“May the next time we see him be when he meets the headsman.” Hesmucet took a flask from his belt, yanked out the cork, raised the flask high, and drank. That done, he loudly smacked his lips and passed it to Doubting George.
General Guildenstern had been in the habit of carrying a flask on his belt, too. He’d also been in the habit of getting drunk from it. Bart, now, Bart had sternly stayed dry, for he’d been known to wet himself to the drowning point. George had seen Hesmucet drink, but he’d never seen him anywhere close to drunk. He drank, too, in the same mostly moderate way. He took the flask and swigged sweet fire. “Ahh!” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Peachtree Province peach brandy. What could be better?”
“Thank you kindly, sir,” John the Lister said when George offered him the flask. He took a pull and gave it to Brigadier Oliver.
The one-armed man shook his head. “No, thank you. I have never drunk spirituous liquors. I do not believe it to be virtuous.”
“Why not?” Doubting George asked, genuinely curious. “I can see not drinking on account of you don’t want to get drunk, but why not enjoy it if you’re a man who can hold it?”
“We are enough like beasts as things stand, sir,” Oliver said. “Such drink only brings us closer to them.”
“I’m not worried about getting close to the beasts,” George said. “What I want to do is get close to Marthasville.” He, Hesmucet, and John the Lister all laughed and all swigged again. Brigadier Oliver also laughed, politely, but stuck to water.
Smoke was a stench in Lieutenant General Bell’s nostrils. Every firepot that burst and spread new flames in the streets of Marthasville seemed a personal reproach. He went through even more laudanum than he would have on account of his wounds. It didn’t do much to blur his sense of guilt, but it did do something.
“Sir?” Major Zibeon said, and then again, louder: “Sir!”
“Eh?” Bell came out of the laudanum haze. “What is it, Major?”
“Sir, there’s a delegation of citizens who’d like to speak to you for a few minutes waiting outside,” his aide-de-camp replied.
“Citizens?” Bell echoed irritably. “What in the hells do a pack of citizens know? Not bloody much, that’s what.” Zibeon didn’t say anything. He only waited. Bell scowled. “What do they want? Do they want me to surrender to that bastard of a Hesmucet? I won’t do it. What would King Geoffrey do to me if I did?”
Geoffrey was much less happy with him now than on naming him commander of the Army of Franklin. Gods damn it, I did what he wanted, Bell thought petulantly. I went out there and I fought. I did all I could. I almost won. Joseph the Gamecock couldn’t have done any better. I’m sure of that. Nearly sure.
Zibeon shook his head. “No, they don’t want surrender. But they are looking for some sort of relief, any sort of relief, from the infernal bombardment the southrons are making us take.”
“What would they have me do?” Bell demanded.