The Mansions of Idumea (Book 3 Forest at the Edge series) (47 page)

The kitchen door opened and in came a young
woman with four enormous sandwiches, two twice as big as the
others. “Order for . . .” Her face screwed up in confusion. “Be
Discreet—”

Perrin immediately stood up. “That’s for us,”
he said, taking the platter of food before she could announce the
name.

Her eyes grew big as she stared at the
colonel, but a narrowing of his eyes told her that she needn’t say
anything else. She nodded before she hurried back to the
kitchen.

Mahrree exhaled as Perrin sat. “That was
close. She nearly exposed our spy ring.”

“What’s wrong with people knowing our name?”
Jaytsy asked as she nervously eyed the massive sandwich consisting
of three kinds of breads, four kinds of meats, two kinds of
cheeses, two kinds of sauces, and every vegetable that can be
sliced thinly and stacked between everything else. “And does this
look bigger than it used to?”

“First, the name of Shin is associated
primarily with one person—my father,” Perrin said softly, “so we
really don’t need that kind of attention. Second, oh yes—this is
even bigger than I remember. Peto, if you can finish that, I’ll buy
you a horse with my pay increase.”

“Very funny, Father,” Peto sneered. “The last
thing I want is a horse, and you know it. But maybe he’s added
horse meat to this.”

Mahrree just shook her head at what sat in
front of her, daring her to even find a way to bite it. “I don’t
even know where to start.” She smashed it experimentally,
flattening it to be narrow enough to fit into her mouth. “Ah, but
I’ve missed Gizzada!”

For the next ten minutes the Shin family did
nothing but chew and sigh in pure satisfaction, until the weight of
the food in their bellies, and the amount of what still remained on
their plates, caused Mahrree and Jaytsy to admit defeat and take a
rest.

Perrin and Peto, however, watched each
other’s bites to time who could down their food the fastest, but
Mahrree fretted privately that the winner of the contest would be
which male didn’t heave it all up later again.

The table of enlisted men behind Perrin had
also gone quiet as they dove into some kind of meat concoction with
gravy and curls of something on top, and only as they started
sucking on the bones did they began to talk loudly about brassies
again.

“I’ll tell you,” a staff sergeant began to
his audience of still chewing men, “get the wrong kind of brassy in
charge, and nothing gets done unless the sergeants step up and take
over.”

“Hear, hear!” another sergeant garbled with a
mouthful. Two more men pounded the table in agreement.

“Take the brassy I brung here tonight.
Colonel Snyd just sits in his office giving commands then walks
around with his hands behind his back as if he owns the place,
while the rest of us run around doing the training, the orders, the
everything! I’m telling you, brassies wouldn’t last a minute
without all of us making them look good.”

Mahrree looked over to Perrin to gauge his
response. He was licking his fingers as some sauce dribbled out of
his sandwich, and Mahrree realized, by the drippings on his white
shirt, that Gizzada’s recommendation for him to remove his jacket
was most timely. Perrin caught her eye and winked at her.

She raised her eyebrows toward the
conversation behind him, and he merely shrugged in agreement.

“Snyd,” he mouthed and sneered. Not one of
his favorite brassies, either.

Mahrree smiled.

“Still, he’s better than my brassy,” another
sergeant spoke up. He downed his mug of mead, wiped his mouth on
his sleeve, and belched loudly. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” he
nodded toward Mahrree, who nodded politely back. “But my brassy,”
said the sergeant during another belch he didn’t seem to notice
leaking out, “he’s that Thorne, and I’m telling you—he’s a mean
one.”

Mahrree again watched Perrin, who just subtly
nodded and took another big bite, from which escaped a slice of
something that landed smartly on his lap.

Several of the men grumbled in agreement
about Thorne this and Thorne that.

“Gotta boy, too. Soon to be graduating. Pity
the commander who gets stuck with that brat.”

“Hey, every commander deserves that
brat.”

A few more men seconded the declaration, and
Perrin chuckled quietly as he licked his fingers again. So he
wasn’t the only one not overly impressed with Lieutenant
Thorne.

“At least Thorne promotes people,” the first
staff sergeant complained. “I’ve been trying to get Snyd’s
attention for years, but he doesn’t see anything past his own
buttons.”

Mahrree wondered how Perrin would react to
the accusation of a commander not promoting his men.

To her surprise, Perrin picked up a cloth and
wiped off his fingers. He sent a wink to Mahrree, then leaned back
to the table behind him. Without turning around, he addressed the
sergeant.

“Got an idea for you,” Perrin said. “I worked
with Snyd some years back. He likes to hear about people
suffering.”

The sergeant scowled at the back of Perrin’s
head. “That sounds about right, but how do I make that work for
me?”

Perrin turned part way to see the man. “Have
to get it back to the colonel that men are complaining about you.
That maybe you’re working them too hard, or something. Private,”
Perrin gestured with his sandwich at a young man seated next to the
staff sergeant, “you work under that man?”

The private nodded. “Staff Sergeant’s the
best, sir!” he barked loyally.

“Good dog,” Perrin said, “but that’s not what
Snyd needs to hear. You’re acting as footman tonight for his
carriage, right?”

The private nodded eagerly. Privates weren’t
allowed to do anything more interesting than that, anyway.

“When you’re helping Snyd out of the
carriage, let something slip about the sergeant’s treatment of you
tonight. Say that he, I don’t know—made you scrub the mud off the
wheels because you were disrespectful, or that he made you braid
the horses’ mane, then had you take it all out again because he
didn’t like the effect. But you’ve got to say it in the right way.”
Perrin turned more fully to the table that sat in rapt attention to
this unknown insider’s suggestions. “Sound like you’re whining,
it’ll hurt you, but say it in genuinely pained admiration, Snyd
will remember it.”

“Tell him what to say, friend,” another
soldier encouraged.

Perrin put on a thoughtful expression. “Snyd,
sir,” he said in a passable imitation of the young private that
made him turn red and the other soldiers snicker, “thank you for
assigning me to this duty tonight. Staff Sergeant—” Perrin pointed
to the man for his name.

“Oblong.”

Perrin blinked at that before he continued,
“Staff Sergeant Oblong was most instructive tonight on the merits
of keeping one’s carriage wheels spotless, and the finer points of
horses’ mane presentation.”

Half the men were already laughing, while the
other half shushed them to hear the rest.

“Sir, while I
so
appreciate this
opportunity, may I instead respectfully request some other kind of
duty in the future, such as . . . cleaning out the latrines?”
Perrin finished in an innocent smile which made all of the men
burst out laughing.

“That just might work!” Oblong said. “Snyd
would always assign the private to me as punishment—”

The private grinned, because even
eighteen-year-olds know that spending the evening eating was an
unbeatable assignment.

“—and Snyd will think me a most slagging son
of a sow, and give me a promotion!”

Perrin winced at the man’s rough language,
but Mahrree just looked down at the table and shook her head
slightly. He didn’t need to ruin the moment by reminding the men
that women and children were present.

“Glad to be of help,” Perrin said, and turned
back to the second half of his sandwich.

“When did you work for Snyd?” a soldier asked
him.

Without turning around, Perrin waved his
hand. “About seven or eight years ago. When he was first installed
as commander at Pools.”

Mahrree finished the rest of it in her head.
And I trained him in how to be a commander, but I promise I
didn’t teach him how to be a narrow-sighted old goat.

“Where are you serving now?” another man
asked.

Mahrree cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but I
don’t think you realize my husband’s in the middle of a very
important contest. You see, our son thinks he can finish his Large
Gizzada before his father, and unfortunately he seems to be winning
at the moment.”

The soldiers nodded and grinned.

“Gotta respect a man who brings his son here
for a meal,” Oblong said. “Teach the boy what real eating is.”

Mahrree smiled sweetly at Oblong and kicked
Jaytsy under the table, who was trying to control her giggling.

The discussion at the other table turned back
to their brassies. “So Snyd and Thorne are here eating together?”
asked the private.

“Do so every moon or so,” a master sergeant
said. “Suspect they’re feeling each other out. Both are eying the
mansion of the High General. He retires in two years, you know.
Good thing he survived that tremor, eh? But soon some younger man’s
gotta take the spot. Cush is just too old.”

Mahrree noticed Perrin had stopped chewing
his sandwich, and had frozen in position.

“Nah, they might put Cush in for a time. But
I think Thorne will get it in the end.”

Perrin’s eyes shifted to Mahrree, and she
noticed a level of alarm in them. Naturally,
he
didn’t want
the position, but maybe this was the first time it occurred to him
that someone else—someone he thought less worthy—would take it
instead.

“I don’t know,” mused another sergeant.
“While Thorne’s the commander of the garrison, Snyd’s been
commanding his own fort for longer. I think that might edge him out
as High General.”

Perrin’s jaw clenched, and Mahrree mouthed to
him,
It has to be someone.

“There are others,” another man offered.
“What about that younger Shin? Isn’t he somewhere up in the
north?”

At that, even Peto paused his non-stop
gulping and listened to the talk behind him.

“Gizzada even worked with that Shin,” another
man reminded them. “Said he was the most decent officer he’s ever
known. Said he did the dangerous work in the forest, wouldn’t let
anyone else do it.”

Perrin stared at his sandwich, but a corner
of his mouth went up.

“Yeah, but he’s been quiet for a while.
Probably turned into one of those daft people who actually likes
the mountains,” another man said.

Peto sneered and started to turn around to
the table, until Perrin elbowed him.

“He’s only a lieutenant colonel, anyway,”
pointed out another voice.

“No, he’s not. Not anymore,” said one of
Thorne’s men. “They just promoted him to colonel. Thorne wasn’t too
happy about that.”

“I heard that too. I also heard he finally
left the mountains and came down to see his father when he heard
he’d been buried.”

“It’s about time. Shin never comes to Idumea.
How are you supposed to be a commander for the army if you never
come back to the army’s headquarters? Check in with your father? I
bet he’s gone a bit local.”

Mahrree squinted at her husband, looking for
the meaning of that.

Perrin just shook his head slightly.

“No, no—Gizzada said he wasn’t a stupid
northerner at all.”

Now Mahrree pursed her lips and thought of a
variety of ways to disprove the phrase ‘a bit local.’

“Best officer he knew,” a soldier continued.
“Shin just liked the small village.”

“But he’s down here now, right?”

“Yeah, and he even brought his wife and
children—a son and a daughter, I think . . .
Oh, slag
.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, slagging slag . . . shut up!”

“What? Why?”

“Just shut up! SHUT UP!”

None of the Shins had moved a muscle in the
last minute, too engrossed in the conversation behind them that now
fell silent.

Except for Peto who whispered, “Women and
children, women and children . . . that Margo’s not doing her job.
I distinctly heard the ‘s’ words—”

“You mean,” Perrin hissed at him, “
shut
up
?”

Mahrree dared to take her eyes off her
husband and look instead at the soldiers behind him.

Every last one of them was staring at the
back of his head, and the color was draining out of their
faces.

“Slagging son of a sow . . .” murmured
another man.

All around them conversations and laughter
continued, except at the table full of enlisted men.

Perrin set his sandwich down and caught his
wife’s gaze. He mouthed to her,
Don’t move
.

Mahrree noticed some movement behind him, and
tried to subtly redirect his gaze, but he just studied her as if
working out what do to next.

“Uh, Father—” Jaytsy started, and Perrin
shifted his gaze to her. He widened his eyes in warning.

“But, Father—”

“Jayts!” he snarled. “Just don’t say—”

He noticed she was no longer looking at him,
but at something above him. Slowly his eyes traveled up to see five
men standing at the end of the table, each at stiff attention with
his hand in salute.

Perrin puffed out his cheeks and released his
breath. He craned his neck to look behind him and saw another dozen
men in anxious formation.

“Colonel Shin!” announced Staff Sergeant
Oblong. “What an honor it is to have you in our presence!”

“And sorry for the reference about the
slagging son of a sow,” another soldier behind him muttered
urgently. “Not intended at you, sir.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Perrin mumbled. He
reluctantly got to his feet, his hands in the air as a kind of
surrender. “I’m not about to salute you back, you know, because I
was told that when the jacket came off, so did the ranking. My
jacket’s currently balled up and I’m here as a hungry man looking
for a meal better than what those ridiculous brassies are waiting
for out there, so if you’d all just take your seats again, I’d
really appreciate it. And now I’m behind in this eating contest
with my son, so unless you stop all this saluting nonsense, I may
get a bit annoyed.”