The Marcher Lord (Over Guard) (7 page)

“Do you know much about what
this expedition will consist of?” Ian asked cautiously.

“Several
Chax have been contracted, and Captain Marsden has some knowledge of such things.” Corporal Wesshire paused, looking as though he was carefully picking the least rude way of phrasing an unpleasant story. “There was some difficulty with hiring an expert for the local details. The Bevish haven’t been allowed the right to hunt on Orinoco—our charge is among the privileged first. Many Dervish guides were available—the Bevish have suspended many of the superfluous Dervish trades for now. As such, there are many eager to offer their services, but our charge was not interested in being led by a Dervish guide. The captain had to settle for a party of Chax and will navigate to the best of his ability with what material is available.”

“The
Chax should work out well,” Ian tried, thinking that he would like to know how the rest of his company interacted with the Chax. “It’s their planet after all.”

“
Yes.”

“I imagine the planet must have quite a
lot of large game,” Ian went on. “I have always heard about the red lions, but for all the renown of this place, I don’t remember hearing of any other specific animals.”

“The
Dervish haven’t been nearly as interested about such things as the Bevish,” the corporal said. “Their approach to hunting is also quite different, but the Bevish attention seems to be most arrested by the grazing herds on the plains. There are long buffalo and four horns. All of them are very large and fast, difficult to drop with a single shot.”

“Great,” Ian grinned, “I suppose we’ll be using our
Allen rifles.”

“The company has special magnum chokes that will be used on the game.”

“Really?” Ian asked. “That would make a difference. I have a hard time imagining a normal Allen rifle bringing down anything that large. Though I guess we’ll have to make sure to give our charge the first shot at everything.”

“
Yes. Though there will likely be more than enough opportunities throughout the expedition.” Corporal Wesshire stopped for a moment in the street, looking ahead of them quietly. “There always are.”

Ian was about to ask why
the corporal stopped, but Ian caught sight of a familiar set of red patterns up ahead. As he watched, two men from his company and a Bevish regular became increasingly visible—and audible—around the other people. Private Kieran Anglas was at the center and a bit ahead of the two others, talking fast and gesturing empathically about something.

“
Carciti, founded at least by the time of the ancient Kees colonization, has since then always remained the seat of foreign rule on Orinoco. Being situated directly beneath the Great Eye, the largest and safest approach to the planet, has allowed it to flourish as the planet’s chief port, regardless of who has held it.”

—Yeoman encyclopedia entry

The other ranger beside Kieran Anglas made some comment and laughed along with the regular, Anglas giving a smug smile in answer. But the other ranger caught sight of Ian and Corporal Wesshire.

“What sto?” the man called out toward them.

Corporal Wesshire remained still as Ian waved back.

Kieran
Anglas didn’t go to any elaborate hurry to get to them, and the other two seemed to be following his lead, though they appeared relatively jovial.

“Why it’s our intrepid corporal,” the second ranger said. He contained a fairly bland face, but had so
mething good-natured that tugged at the edges of it in a way that made it more appealing than it probably would’ve been otherwise. “And company. ‘Tis a fine evening, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Ian agreed, and the
Bevish regular nodded as they reached them.

“This is
Private Ian Kanters,” Kieran put in for his companions, “the one who arrived this afternoon.”

“Pleased
to meet you,” the other man said. “I’m Brodie, and this gentleman of unfortunate circumstances is Dwight Manchester.” Brodie paused for a perfect moment. “He’s not actually with us.”

Ian laughed, looking at Dwight the regular, who fashioned something of a slightly ridiculous mustache and
a pair of twinkling eyes that seemed to be mostly all right with that.

“
Where have you two been about?” Anglas asked Corporal Wesshire.

“
Vendor lane,” the corporal answered crisply.

“We’ve already eaten,”
Kieran said, “thought we’d find a place to bend an elbow.”

“Mind
keeping us company?” Brodie asked. “The more the merrier.”

Kieran glanced over at
Brodie, giving Ian the impression that the invitation might not have been so readily extended if it had undergone a committee evaluation.

“
That would be great,” Ian said quite honestly, and not just because Kieran wasn’t keen on it.

“Unfortunately
, there are other matters to attend to before retiring,” Corporal Wesshire said, his voice overwhelmingly neutral.

There was an almost awkward pause.

“Well,” Kieran said, “it’s not as though we’ll let just one of you come.”

Luckily
, Brodie started laughing right away, with Dwight quickly following, even though Ian still wasn’t completely sure it was a joke until a large chunk of a self-satisfied smirk broke through Kieran’s face.

“Come on, then,” Kieran said, looking off past them, “
we don’t have all night.”

“Halls to plunder,”
Brodie pointed up toward that direction, “kegs to sack.”

“Good evening, then.”
Corporal Wesshire looked over at him for a moment, and Ian nodded, trying to express as much of his gratitude as possible in it.

As
the corporal walked on, Ian couldn’t fancy that he was getting the short deal of the two. It had been an incredibly insightful day, but he doubted there would be anymore to learn. Unwinding while getting to know his new split mates sounded like the perfect way to end his first day. He watched Corporal Wesshire go for a moment though, noticing how the people around him seemed to almost unconsciously part, their expressions lingering on his uniform just a little bit longer.

Ian knew he already had something of that, that instinct of knowing how to make other people notice and listen to him in a way
that most others didn’t seem to have. But the confidence that Corporal Wesshire didn’t even seem to be aware he had amazed Ian. He had known there was always more to learn, especially in matters of leadership, but Corporal Wesshire exuded a degree of charisma that he’d never seen before in a person.

Someday
he hoped he would be like that.

“A bit of an offish chap, as he strikes me,” Dwight remarked, the others watching
Corporal Wesshire go as well.

“He’s not really chummy,”
Brodie was the one to answer, “but he’s a fair enough corporal. A bloody brilliant swordsman, too.”

“Really?”
Ian asked.

“
Of course he’s good,” Kieran agreed, though his tone didn’t seem to give the notion much care. “Come on then, we’re wasting time.”

The other two men heartily agreed
, and they all set off.

“Are you two in Corporal
Wesshire’s flank, then?” Ian asked, kicking himself as he’d forgotten to ask the corporal how the company’s flanks were broken up.

“Didn’t he tell you?” Kieran asked. “
Brodie’s my second, and we’re under Lieutenant Taylor and Corporal Wesshire.”

“
All right,” Ian said.

“And you’re with
Williams under Captain Marsden and Corporal Hanley,” Kieran went on. “You were the last one to get in, so we can start off tomorrow morning.”

“That’s good to know,” Ian said, managing to avo
id the amount of cheek he would have liked. He sort of wanted to know when exactly they’d be leaving in the morning, but he didn’t want to risk exposing another plane of ignorance to Kieran. Hopefully, it would come up later, or he would get a chance to ask someone else.

“
And Dwight here is our backup,” Brodie said, leaning into Dwight’s path so that the other had to push him away with a smile. “He’s to fill in if anyone dies and fetch us rum in case anyone gets thirsty.”

“I’ll be staying here tomorrow morning,” Dwight tried hard to declare in the same posture, “and for the rest of the year.”

“At least,” Brodie added, sounding as if it was a familiar postscript.

“At least,” Dwight agreed.

Ian looked at Dwight’s Johnny Lobster uniform, feeling an ambivalent sense of pity and relief at their contrasting stations. By just a small bit of blessing, Ian had skipped over a long stretch of mire. “If you can keep your ‘lator on your belt,” Ian said, “Carciti isn’t a bad place to be. Seems like there’s a lot to be had here.”

“Aye,” Dwight nodded, “it’s a reet step up from Munbia. I was there for nearly two years, bl
oody backwards place that is. Never’ll amount to anything.”

Ian
listened with half an ear as the others went on to other subjects, mostly about their preferences in destination, which Ian didn't know anything about anyway. Excitement was in Ian’s step and a relief weighed on his shoulders, the kind one might get when they've just made a friend. But had he? Corporal Wesshire had been very generous to him, and in many ways Ian felt he owed the other man at least some sort of transient debt. He'd greatly enjoyed talking with him, and hoped there would be more opportunities to do so. Even as he walked with the others, who were in the midst of talking about assuredly low-brow things, all varieties of things he wished he'd asked about came to mind. The only other person he'd really ever been able to discuss any amount of very high ideas with was old Peter, and at that it had always been under the constraints of Peter being very much older than Ian. For the first time, here was someone close to Ian's own age who was able, and seemingly quite willing, to offer an engaging perspective on any number of topics. It had been a wonderful surprise that he still perhaps wasn't fully able to comprehend.

But that was it, the source of the guilty echo in his gut. Was he really looking at the Corporal
Wesshire as a potential friend? Or as an exploitable resource—someone he could learn much from and better develop his understanding of whatever ideas and issues caught his whim?

No. It wasn
't just that. Although, Corporal Wesshire's personality seemed to be one of those that were best to be cautious around—

One of the others said something directed at
him.

“What?”
Ian asked.

“I asked if the fresh private had any sort of preference,” Dwight said, smiling a bit at himself, “and that’d be you.”

“Sorry,” Ian said, looking over at Brodie and especially Kieran. He could probably hear more from their visual reactions than what any of them would actually say. “What are the choices again?”

“We haven’t sampled all that the city has to offer,”
Brodie said, moving a bit to the side as a singing chorus of off-duty regulars passed by them. “Of what we know though, the place to get the best ale is Flaxens, which is off thither.” He gestured vaguely off to their left. “The vocal and well-heard protest at that is it’s a bit of an exclusive club—it caters only to servants of His Majesty. So no women. The Trois Out, however, is far more broad in its taste—”

“It’s grand, absolutely grand,” Dwight put in, “three taverns put together on one block, half of it inside and half out on a porch.”

“Best place in the city,” Kieran agreed, not quite quietly.

So that was it then, two against one, with his vote pending, and evidently having some weight. The newcomer’s pick was definitely an angle he could play.
If he wanted to.

“But their grog tastes like …”
Brodie waved his hand passionately, his eyes searching the heavens. “—Grog.”

“It’s stuffy at Flaxens,” Dwight protested, though he did sound persuadable. “Nothing ever happens there.”

“Not true,” Brodie frowned. “Culture happens there. Sophistication. Better-tasting-spirits! Isn’t that enough?”

“Come on,
Brodie,” Kieran said, sounding tired—exasperated. “There aren’t any girls at Flaxens. We just went there.”

Brodie’s
eyes flitted uncertainly over at Ian, who discerned a crucial juncture in the proceedings.

But
Ian hesitated. His initial reaction was to play it safe and go to the place without the girls. While there were undoubtedly plenty of other interesting people there as well, and meeting new girls did sound like a lot of fun, Ian had heard plenty of talk about such locations. Dervish women in particular had often been the subject of family dinner discussions, and not to any sort of flattering degree. In fact, his mother had strictly warned him about such women before he’d left for training—he could only imagine what her reaction had been when she’d learned that his first posting was to be on a former Dervish colony.

At the time
, he’d given some sort of half-hearted affirmation—which generally amounted to him agreeing that he probably should be in greater agreement with his mother. Though honestly then, and quite usually, the thought of Dervish women—all soft brown eyes and exotic tongues mishandling the King’s English in the most delightful ways—was dreadfully appealing.

But not now—not at all really.
Meeting alluring Dervish women would be exciting, but not here, not in the company of people he didn’t really know in a city almost entirely strange to him. Most of all, though, not in circumstances like this, where there was so much pressure.

And
while girls always had the tendency to distract, the more level-headed parts of him knew his career needed all of his focus, especially as it was just beginning. Meeting women might be fun, but essentially unfair to them. Unless of course they didn’t care about such things—

“I think it’s hard to say too much about grog,” Ian quickly declared, “the good kind
, I mean.”

“Amen,”
Brodie heartily rejoined, looking pleasantly surprised.

“It’s hard to say too much about
reet company,” Dwight tried.

“No,” Ian said, furrowing his eyebrows a bit, but not too much, “it’s our last evening
here, why not let it taste good? A proper send off.”

“It’s your last evening, not mine,” Dwight said, a bit sulkily.

“We were just there,” Kieran repeated.

“No need to
get your back up,” Brodie said, sounding a bit jubilant, “newcomer gets the deciding vote.”

“Then what’s the point of voting?” Kieran asked.

“Come, come,” Brodie said, “it’s simply politics. Everyone gets their first go.”

Ian decided it was best to re
main quiet through the political math—especially since it seemed a fairly safe bet that Brodie’s party had it.

“Yes,” Kieran said tightly, “but he doesn’t know anything about either place. He’s just guessing, and why let that ruin the whole
—”

“Don’t be such a
croaker,” Brodie sang up into the air with mock exasperation, “either place is great. We can’t lose either way.”

“He wouldn’t know if we could,” Kieran said, looking over
at Ian. “Have you even ever had anything to drink before?”

Ian was mostly able to keep
his mouth from clenching, his most obvious outward sign of agitation as he’d learned in the past. Ian wasn’t particularly interested in getting into anything with Kieran, not at least until he had a better understanding of how their company fit together. But Kieran, Ian’s dead equal in rank, probably age, and probably nearly in experience as well, was staring at him like Ian was a child.