“I regret the necessity of bringing you such unfortunate news when your wounds trouble you so,” Peegeetee murmured.
Bell doubted he regretted it. If he had to guess, he would have said Peegeetee derived a sneaking pleasure from his pain. And, for once, the wounds weren’t what troubled the general commanding-no, the general formerly commanding-the Army of Franklin. Could laudanum also dull torment of the spirit? If it couldn’t, nothing could. That possibility sent a cold wind of terror howling through Bell’s soul.
“Have you now reconsidered your reconsideration?” the marquis inquired.
“I have,” Bell replied in a voice heavy as lead. “But, your Grace, no matter what you say, I aim to go to Nonesuch to put my case before his Majesty.”
“I would not dream of standing in your way,” Peegeetee said. “I do offer two bits of advice, however, for whatever you may think they are worth. First, do not get your hopes up. King Geoffrey has always been touchy, and he is all the touchier now that the war is going… less well than he would have liked.”
“And whose fault is that?” Bell said, meaning it was Geoffrey’s.
But General Peegeetee answered, “In his opinion, yours. I also note that Nonesuch is not the place you think it to be.”
“I am familiar with Nonesuch,” Bell said. “It is less than a year and a half ago that I last passed through it. Surely it cannot have changed much in so short a time.”
“It can. It has,” General Peegeetee told him. “With Marshal Bart’s army clinging to the siege of Pierreville as a bulldog clings to a thief’s leg, the shadow of the gibbet and the cross falls ever darker on the city. It is not without its gaiety even yet, but that gaiety has a desperate edge.”
“I care nothing for gaiety,” Bell snapped. “I care only for victory, and for vindication.”
“Both of which, I fear, are in moderately short supply in Nonesuch these days.” Peegeetee shrugged. “This is not my concern, however. I, like you, wish it were otherwise. And please believe me when I tell you I wish you good fortune in your quest. As I say, though, do please also be realistic in your expectations.”
Bell had never been realistic, either in the field or in his maneuverings with and against other officers serving King Geoffrey. His headlong fighting style had made him a hero. It had also left him a twice-mutilated man. He had risen to command the Army of Franklin-and, in commanding it, had destroyed it. When he told Marquis Peegeetee, “I shall, of course, take your advice, most seriously,” he meant, I shall, of course, pay no attention whatsoever to you.
With another bow in the saddle, Peegeetee replied, “I am most glad to hear it,” by which he meant, I don’t believe a word of it.
“Which men will be sent to Palmetto Province?” Bell asked. By putting it that way, he didn’t have to mention, or even have to think of, Count Joseph the Gamecock. The less he thought of Joseph, the better he liked it. That Joseph might not care to think of him, either, had never once entered his mind.
Marquis Peegeetee pulled a sheet of paper from the breast pocket of his gold-buttoned blue tunic. “You are ordered to send the wing commanded by Colonel Florizel…” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “A wing, commanded by a colonel?”
“Senior surviving officer,” Bell said. “When we fight, your Grace, we fight hard.”
“Fighting well would be even better,” Peegeetee murmured, and Bell glared furiously. Ignoring him, the nobleman continued, “You are also ordered to detach half the brigades from the wing commanded by Brigadier Benjamin, called the Heated Ham-how picturesque. The said brigadier is to accompany the attached brigades. Have you any questions?”
“No, sir, but do please note you are taking half the army’s strength,” Bell said.
“Not I, Lieutenant General. I am but delivering his Majesty’s orders. And the Army of Franklin-the former Army of Franklin, I should say-is from this moment on no longer your official concern.”
“I understand that… your Grace.” Bell held his temper with no small effort. “Even so, its fate, and the fate of the kingdom, still interest me mightily, as they should interest any man with a drop of patriotic blood in his veins. I have, you know, spent more than a drop of my blood on King Geoffrey’s behalf.” He glanced down toward the stump of his right leg.
Peegeetee’s gaze followed his own-but only for a moment. Then the marquis looked away, an expression of distaste crossing his narrow, clever features. Still not meeting Bell’s gaze, he muttered, “No one has ever faulted your courage.” He gathered himself. “But would you not agree it is now time to let other men shed their blood for the land we all hold dear?”
“I am still ready-still more than ready-to fight, sir,” Bell said.
“That, I regret to repeat, you must take up with his Majesty in Nonesuch,” General Peegeetee replied. Bell nodded. To Nonesuch he would go. He had scant hope, but he would go. His good hand folded into a fist. By all he could see, Geoffrey’s kingdom had scant hope, either. Righteously, Bell thought, I did all I could.
“Come on,” Captain Gremio called to his regiment. “Get aboard the glideway carpets. Fill ’em up good and tight, too. We don’t have as many as we need.”
Beside him, Sergeant Thisbe murmured, “When have we ever had as much of anything as we need? Men? Food? Clothes? Siege engines? Glideway carpets?”
That was so obviously unanswerable, Gremio didn’t even try. He said, “What I’m wondering is, how the hells are we going to get to Palmetto Province? We ought to go through Marthasville-just about all the glideways from the coast out here to the east pass through Marthasville. But the southrons have held the place since last summer.”
He felt foolish as soon as he’d spoken. Thisbe knew that as well as he did. The Army of Franklin-the army now breaking up like rotting ice-had done all it could to keep Hesmucet and the southrons out of Marthasville. All it could do hadn’t been enough. Gremio didn’t think the attack orders Lieutenant General Bell had given after taking command from Joseph the Gamecock had helped the northern cause, but he wasn’t sure Marthasville would have held even absent those orders. Any which way, it was much too late to worry about them now.
One after another, soldiers in blue stepped up onto mounting benches and from them up onto the carpets. From time out of mind, men had told stories of magic carpets, of carpets that flew through the air like birds, like dragons, like dreams. But, up until about the time Gremio was born, they’d been only stories. Even now, glideway carpets didn’t rise far above the ground. They traveled at no more than the speed of a galloping unicorn, though they could hold their pace far longer than a unicorn. And they could only follow paths sorcerously prepared in advance: glideways. As so often happened, practical magecraft proved very different from the romance of myth and legend.
Colonel Florizel limped toward Gremio, who came to attention and saluted. “As you were, Captain,” Florizel said.
“Thank you, sir.” Gremio relaxed. “We’re heading back towards our home province, eh? Been a long time.”
“Yes.” A frown showed behind Florizel’s bushy beard. “Under the circumstances, I worry about desertion. Can you blame me?”
“No, sir. I understand completely,” Gremio answered. “I wouldn’t worry so much if the war were going better. As things are…” He didn’t go on.
Florizel nodded heavily. “Yes. As things are.” It wasn’t a complete sentence, but what difference did that make? Gremio understood him again. Florizel continued, “What makes it so bad for my regiment-excuse me, Captain: for your regiment-is that we are ordered back to our homes in the middle of a war that is… not going well. If our men think, to hells with it, what is to stop them from throwing down their crossbows and heading back to their farms or wherever they happen to live?”