If Bottle watched through the eyes of one of his rats, what did he see? There in your face?
Anything? Anything at all?
‘What’s burning?’
‘You are, Shoaly.’
The heavy made no move. His boots were now peeling off black threads of smoke. ‘Am I done yet, Primly?’
‘Crispy bacon, I’d wager.’
‘Gods, I love bacon.’
‘You gonna move your feet, Shoaly?’ Mulvan Dreader demanded.
‘Got bids, all you bastards?’
‘Of course,’ said Pravalak Rim.
‘Who’s counting tens?’
‘I am,’ said Rim. ‘Got an order, doing rounds. We got ten in all, counting Skulldeath and Ruffle, though they ain’t counted in personally, being busy and all.’
‘Sinter bet?’
‘Aye,’ said Sinter.
‘What number?’
‘Seven.’
‘Rim, where you at now?’
‘Three.’
‘Out loud.’
‘Five, six, se-’
Shoaly pulled his feet from the fire and sat up.
‘Now that’s loyalty,’ Sinter said, grinning.
‘De ain feer! De ain feer! I eed farv! Farv! Erim, de ain feer!’
‘It’s Shoaly’s feet,’ said Mulvan, ‘he can do what he wants with them. Sinter wins the pot, cos she’s so pretty, right, Shoaly?’
The man smiled. ‘Right. Now, Sint, you like me?’
‘By half,’ she replied.
‘I’ll need it. Nep Furrow, what’ll a quick heal cost me?’
‘Ha! Yar half! Yar half! Ha ha!’
‘Half of my half-’
‘Nad! Nad!’
‘It’s either that or the sergeant orders you to heal me and you get nothing.’
‘Good point,’ said Sinter, glancing over to Badan Gruk. ‘Got need for your healer, Badan, you all right with that?’
‘Of course,’ he replied.
‘This was all a set-up,’ Primly muttered. ‘I’m smelling more than bacon right now.’
‘Arf ad yar arf! Shably! Arf ad yar arf!’
‘Be kind to him, Shoaly, so he does you a good job.’
‘Aye, Sergeant Sinter. Half of half. Agreed. Where’s the kitty?’
‘Everybody spill now,’ said Rim, collecting a helm. ‘In here, pass it around.’
‘Scam,’ said Drawfirst. ‘Lookback, we all been taken.’
‘What’s new about that? Marines never play fair-’
‘They just play to win,’ Drawfirst finished, scowling at the old Bridgeburner adage.
Sinter rose and walked from the camp. Numb and restless at the same time, what kind of state was that to be in? After a few strides she realized she had company and glanced over to see Badan Gruk.
‘Sinter, you look… different. Sick? Listen, Kisswhere-’
‘Never mind my sister, Badan. I know her best, remember.’
‘Exactly. She was going to run, we all knew it. You must’ve known it too. What I don’t get is that she didn’t try to get us to go with her.’
Sinter glanced at him. ‘Would she have convinced you, Badan?’
‘Maybe.’
‘And then the two of you would have ganged up on me, until I relented.’
‘Could be like that, aye. Point is, it didn’t happen. And now she’s somewhere and we’re stuck here.’
‘I’m not deserting, Badan.’
‘Ain’t you thought about it, though? Going after Kisswhere?’
‘No.’
‘Really?’
‘She’s all grown up now. I should have seen that long ago, don’t you think? I don’t have to take care of her any more. Wish I’d realized that the day she joined up.’
He grimaced. ‘You ain’t the only one, Sinter.’
Ah, Badan, what am I to do with you? You keep breaking my heart. But pity and love don’t live together, do they?
Was it pity? She just didn’t know. Instead, she took his hand as they walked.
The soft wind on his face woke him. Groggy, thick-tongued and parched, Gesler blinked open his eyes. Blue sky, empty of birds, empty of everything. He groaned, struggling to work out the last thing he remembered. Camp, aye, some damned argument with Stormy. The bastard had been dreaming again, some demonic fist coming down out of the dark sky. He’d had the eyes of a hunted hare.
Did they drink? Smoke something? Or just fall back to sleep, him on one side of the tent, Stormy on the other-one side neat and ordered, the other a stinking mess. Had he been complaining about that? He couldn’t remember a damned thing.
