‘No.’
‘Then come here next to the fire, warm up, stand your post, and wait for Len. Later, I’ll take you down to the waterfront. I want to check on my trawler – with me gone this Twinmoon, it would be just like one of the wharf brats to stuff my scuppers full of rags. The old tub will be halfway to swamped in this rain.’
Markus crossed to the back wall where a lone figure drowsed contentedly on a cot. ‘Forgive me, Sharr,’ he said quietly.
‘No. Wait!’ he cried, but Markus ignored him.
Kicking one of the cot legs, he said, ‘Wake up, Stalwick. Come on now. Time to clear out the cobwebs.’
Sharr groaned. ‘Did you have to do that? I was enjoying the morning.’
‘What? What is it, Markus? Sharr? What is it? I’m up. I am.’ Stalwick was on his feet in a heartbeat, completely lucid and talking without pause. ‘Is it an attack? What’d I miss?’
‘It’s nothing, Stalwick. I’m cold, is all, and I need you to stoke up our fire a bit.’ He ushered the bandy-legged, unkempt figure towards the firepit. ‘There might be something wrong with this one,’ he explained. ‘It’s plenty bright, but there’s not much heat.’
‘Oh, I can fix that,’ Stalwick went on without a breath, ‘I can fix that right away, right away, I tell you.’ He gestured over the fire, winced as if he had smelled something bad, then flicked his wrist with a flourish. The flames leaped to the tent’s waterlogged ceiling.
‘Whoa!’ Sharr cried. ‘Ease off a bit, Stalwick. You singed my whiskers, old man.’
‘Sorry, Sharr, Markus, sorry.’ Stalwick blushed. ‘I just, you know, I just wanted it to be warm for you. But I guess that was a bit overdone, a bit, anyway.’
Sharr raised his hands in surrender. ‘It’s fine, good even, much better this way. Can you just… well, just keep the chatter to a low roar, all right? I’m trying to think.’
‘Sure, of course, Sharr. Sure I can.’ Stalwick paced around the tent’s interior a couple of times, ostensibly looking for something productive to do. ‘I’ll just… well, I’ll just… you know. I’ll-’
‘So,’ Markus interrupted, ‘where’s our man, whatshisname?’
‘Len Hernesto,’ Sharr replied. ‘He’ll be here.’
Gita’s Falkan Resistance forces, essentially a battalion with the dregs of a couple of companies that had wandered in over the past several days, still held Capehill. They hadn’t lost a soldier, nor had they encountered an enemy. Unsurprisingly, the handful of Malakasian soldiers apparently left behind had gone missing, most likely in civilian clothes, and none of the locals they’d met so far had any clue as to where the rest of the Malakasians had sailed. Sharr hoped Len would be able to shed some light on the situation, on the condition of the import-export businesses still operating, and on the availability of food stores, in Capehill and on the Eastern Plains. Gita needed to know if there would be enough food to see Capehill and its new lodgers through the winter Twinmoon.
Sharr had met the harbourmaster’s assistant in a local public house the previous evening. Unwilling to talk there, Len had offered to join Sharr and Markus after the dawn aven, but now he was late. Sharr tried not to worry as Stalwick carried on about whatever desultory topic had sparked his interest. Sharr had about given up trying to focus Stalwick’s attention on anything.
As Len arrived, slogging through the sleet and mud, he heard: ‘-and that’s how you tune a bellamir, Markus, but I guess you might have known that, coming from the Plains, right? I mean, lots of farmers are bellamir players, aren’t they? What else is there to do at night? There’s nothing else out there, I mean, no towns or cities to visit, so music makes sense, right? Music or chainball. Rutters, I bet you all play some chainball out there. Don’t you, Markus? What with all that space, the courts would be huge, twice regulation size if you wanted.’ Stalwick took a seat on the cot, somehow knowing that he should avoid the small table and maps set up in the centre of the floor. ‘And speaking of chainball, you know that squad from Timmon’s old platoon, the one with that big fellow from Wellham Ridge and that kind-of nice-looking woman from the Blackstones? Anyway, anyway, they’ve challenged the third squad, the one from Brand Krug’s company – where is Brand, anyway? But they’ve challenged the third squad to a chainball game tonight, with archers around the Common, of course, but it ought to be fun, don’t you think? Markus? Maybe we should all go together. You, me and Sharr, when we get off duty, we can find some food and then head down to the Common. I know I could do with a chainball match, especially a muddy one. We could even stop by the boarding house and see if Gita wants to come with us. She might like a break, too. I mean, she works so hard, all the time. She’s like you and Sharr, Markus. She’s a tough one, and I’m going to miss her when she’s gone, but maybe she’ll like a chainball game as well. What do you think, Markus? Sharr? What do you think?’
Sharr held the tent flaps open; Len Hernesto slipped inside.
‘Stalwick,’ Markus said.
‘Chainball,’ he went on, ‘we never played much around here. Did you, Sharr? You’d think in a place this size, we’d have-’
‘Stalwick!’ Markus shouted.
‘What?’ Stalwick said, ‘what’s the matter, Markus?’
‘Sharr and I are going to speak with Len. We need you to step outside and stand the post, just for a bit. All right?’
‘Take a bow and quiver with you,’ Sharr added, ‘just in case someone approaches through those trees to the north.’
‘Sure, I mean, I can do that. Sure.’ He pulled his hood up and stepped outside.
The silence that followed was welcome, even to the harbourmaster’s assistant, who had been in the tent for just a moment. Outside, the wind had picked up and the freezing rain was a noisy fugue on the walls.
‘Len,’ Sharr said finally. ‘Thank you for coming. This is Markus Fillin, one of our lieutenants.’
‘Markus,’ Len nodded. He was a full two heads shorter than Sharr and at least fifty Twinmoons older. Clad in an all-weather cloak that dragged on the mud behind him, he had the wind-worn look of a lifelong sailor. His grey hair was close-cropped and his beard trimmed. Despite being shorter than his old friend, Len weighed nearly as much as Sharr, evidence that he had given up hauling nets for the relative comfort of the harbourmaster’s office, through his forearms were still heavily muscled and his hands remained as strong as ever.
‘Welcome, sir.’ Markus hung Len’s cloak near the fire then offered the older man a chair. ‘Can I get you a goblet of wine?’
‘Please,’ Len said, settling himself, after several tries, on a small camp chair. He glanced at a map Markus had set out earlier that morning.
Sharr joined him. ‘I understand you couldn’t talk last night, but I hope you can stay the aven. I’ve got a number of questions – we’ve got to come up with a plan to fortify the town, feed the populace, house the army – such as we are – and make a decision about where to strike next. Orindale seems an unlikely target – they’ve got a full infantry division – and Malakasia is out of the question, but if we can reclaim parts of the Central Plains, dig in around some of the ranches and farms, we can hold the East and the Merchants’ Highway until spring, oversee the planting, protect the winter stores.’
Len spoke, his voice the raspy burr of a long-time smoker. ‘Sharr, you wouldn’t have believed it. I was here, and I still don’t believe it. No one knew anything. They just commandeered every ketch, catboat – anything that would float, in fact – loaded up a brigade of scared and cold soldiers and set sail for the North Sea. Don’t worry, though. Your old bucket is still on her mooring; I think trawlers made them nervous: too many nets and lines. It was rutting madness!’ He paused to cough, sighed, and said, ‘I’ve been here a long time. You and I have known each other, what, a hundred and fifty Twinmoons? Two hundred? Anyway, I’ve had the opportunity to develop some lucrative relationships with Prince Malagon’s officers, some of the captains, even a few of the brigade commanders, and I tell you, Sharr, no one knew anything. The order came in from Wellham Ridge, if you can believe it, that little shit-splat in the Blackstones, and the ships were loaded and on their way within a few days. It was madness, pure madness.’ He threw up his hands. ‘Where could they be going?’