A few people stared from the doorways as Percy and his ragtag band passed. This was a rough part of the city and any one of the soldiers alone might have been in danger. But the seven together were a tough-looking and battle-hardened bunch, lean as a pack of wolves. Heavy revolvers hung in holsters at their sides, the iron and leather looking worn as a workman's well-used tools.
Five of the men wore threadbare cavalry uniforms, the gray fabric stained with sweat, dirt and blood. Percy's uniform had the golden "chicken guts" braiding of an officer reaching above the elbows of his uniform coat while another man, Silas Cater, wore the less ornate insignia of a lieutenant.
In addition to Lieutenant Cater and Hazlett, there was a tall, whip-thin man named Douglas Pettibone who wore the double stripes of a corporal. John Cook was also a corporal. Private Johnny Benjamin, who was hardly more than a boy, was on furlough after being released from the hospital. Although he wasn't part of their old regiment, some of the other men had taken the boy under wing.
The seventh man in the group wore no weapon or uniform. He was Percy's servant, a huge black man named Hudson. At six feet, four inches tall, he was the biggest member of the group, powerfully built, and his dark, African face answered the stares from the doorways with an open defiance that made even these unsavory Richmond residents look away.
Hazlett came to a stop and nodded at a ramshackle dwelling a few doors ahead. "This is the place."
Percy made a disapproving noise. "You would think Forbes could have done better," he said.
"He was drunk, sir," explained Corporal Pettibone, who also had been with Forbes the night he disappeared.
"When isn't he drunk?" Percy pointed out.
As a soldier, Willie Forbes functioned well enough even when he was awash with liquor, and he always managed to get away with things that a sober man couldn't. Only this time he'd gone on a binge in Richmond's seedier streets, which were not kind to drunken soldiers. So his comrades had gone to rescue him, or what was left of Forbes after a two-day drunk with rotgut whiskey and a cheap whore.
Percy took charge. He felt responsible. The five cavalrymen were on furlough from the regiment and had come to Richmond to visit their colonel just out of the hospital — and to have a good time with the ample food, liquor and women the city had to offer. It was the last two temptations that had landed Forbes in trouble. As for Percy, he had already recovered from the minié bullet that had pierced his upper arm and had found his own difficulties in the form of the general's wife. Richmond was a city of sin and decadence, as far as he could tell. He was eager to return to the war.
"That's the place, sir," said Pettibone, who had seen Forbes disappear with the woman on his arm.
Percy sighed. "Bastard will have the pox," he muttered.
They were looking at a shabby, two-story house that was hardly fifteen feet wide. The gray, unpainted clapboards had long since splintered and cracked, and the whole house, like many others on the street, gave the impression that it might blow down in the next strong wind.
Hazlett leaned over and spat. “Ain’t much of a place.”
“All right," Percy said. "Let's go get him."
Percy shoved open the door. A thickset man was sitting inside at a table, and he blinked up in surprise at the sudden appearance of the tall officer in his doorway.
"What the hell—”
As the man started to get up, Percy put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down.
"Where is he?" Percy asked, keeping the man pinned firmly in his chair. A cunning look came into the man's eyes. "Who?"
It was not the answer Percy wanted. He nodded at the doorway and suddenly the room filled with soldiers. John Cook stayed outside to serve as a lookout. Percy crinkled his nose. The whole place stank of stale liquor, lamp fumes and sweat.
"Shut the door," Percy ordered. "We don't want the provost guard in here causing trouble. That is, if they even bother to patrol this part of the city."
"Who are you?" blustered the man at the table as he struggled to get up. Hudson went over and held the man's other shoulder and a look of genuine fear crossed his face at the powerful grip of the black man's hands. He strained one last time, then gave up.
"Never mind who we are," Percy said. “We just want our friend back."
The proprietor of the flophouse nodded toward a back room. "He's in there, if it's that little scrub of a cavalryman you're lookin' for."
Percy turned to Sergeant Hazlett. "Get him."
Hazlett disappeared into the back room. There was the sound of a woman cursing, and they heard a man moaning in pain.
"Leave me be," he groaned. "I want to die here, in my true love's arms."
"You dumb son of a bitch," Hazlett growled. "Put your damn clothes on."
Hazlett soon emerged, shoving a half-dressed Forbes in front of him. A slattern of a woman followed them out. She looked as drunk as Forbes, her hair greasy and tangled. She had managed to get just one arm into a sleeve of her dress. One breast hung out, a gray, lumpen thing with a nipple the color of old leather.
"Jesus," Percy heard one of the men gasp at the sight of her.
"You can have him," the whore said, plucking at the dress and finally succeeding in covering herself. She slurred her words. "No-good bastard's a drunk. Nothin' but a no-good drunk soldier!"
She swayed, then collapsed into a chair at the same table where the proprietor of the house sat.
"How many in here?" Percy asked.
"She's downstairs. Two upstairs," the man replied.
Forbes was so drunk he could only fumble with his buttons as if his fingers were thick as sausages. Pettibone went over and helped him. Forbes's uniform was in an awful state: muddy, wrinkled, and reeking of whiskey. A dried crust of what appeared to be vomit clung to one sleeve.
"Colonel," Forbes said, and attempted a salute. He reeled and nearly fell over.
"Forbes, you are a sorry excuse for a soldier," Percy said. "And your taste in women leaves something to be desired. Now let's go."
"He owes me ten dollars for the whiskey he drank," the proprietor said, then jerked his head toward the awful-looking woman. "And for her."
Percy shrugged. "Very well. Hud, pay the man."
Hudson drove a massive fist into the fat man's belly. The man's breath rushed out and he collapsed on the floor and lay there gasping like a huge, bloated fish. The whore shrieked. In the tiny room, the noise was like a shell exploding.
"Let's go, boys, just in case that fool has friends in the neighborhood," Percy said. "Frank and Johnny, prop Forbes up in between you there and make him walk. That'll sober him up. Does he have anything left in his pockets?"
"They picked him clean, sir."
"Come on, then."
They went back the way they had come as quickly as they could. It was not a good neighborhood in which to linger because Percy's concerns about the flophouse proprietor's friends were not without good reason. Also, Percy didn't want any trouble with the Richmond provost guard because he knew well enough that many of Richmond's more important citizens who would like nothing better than a good excuse to put him in jail — at least until the general could shoot him.
"I reckon you had yourself a good time, Willie," Hazlett said as he helped half-drag, half-carry Forbes along the muddy street. "We went to a lot of goddamn trouble to find you."
"Good thing you was drunk," Pettibone chipped in. "She was powerful ugly."
Forbes staggered along under the abuse of his comrades. "You can say what you want, boys, but she was a fine woman. Hell, I might just marry her!"
"Ain't you already married?"
"Why, I reckon I am, boys. Promise me you won't tell my wife?"
They were all laughing so hard that they almost didn't notice the officer and two soldiers standing in the street ahead, directly in their path. Percy squinted, trying to see who it was, but he didn’t recognize the man. The group came to a stop and watched the officer expectantly.