Dawn was pearling the sky overhead as Marty eased his mount through the final ravine and into the hanging valley where Av had set up his hidey hole. It would be awhile before the sun found its way down here into the draws and canyons, but it had announced its presence, and RN would be taking to the air at any moment. Which meant that he was probably stuck here for the day.

Homer’s greeting was warm, and grew warmer when he spied the pack animals. Marty could sympathize. It had no doubt been a cold, hungry night out here in the high ups with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

He passed the lead rope to one of the shivering militia and rode in through the archway beneath the cut.

Long ago, in some bygone era, before the island had been shorn from the bedrock of the world and sent floating free, a river had flowed here, down along the bones of the mountain peak that would become the island of Plubenda. While no trace of its origins could be found, its legacy remained. Ledges and bowls where water had cascaded over falls and pooled at their bases. Deep undercuts such as this, where long-vanished water had scoured deep caves into the softer alluvial stone before moving on.

A deep and sizeable pond lay at the valley’s center. Thick grass surrounded the pond, filling the valley in a knee deep carpet of verdant green. Bright flowers of yellow, blue, and white dotted its expanse, scattered here and there across its surface in uneven splashes of color. Along its steeply rising walls, the occasional scrawny evergreen perched. Berry bushes grew in clumps along the shadowed verges.

Over the years, Av had improved on the terrain in other ways. There was a corral beneath the overhang, and a stable behind that, in the deepest recess where it became more cave than bowl. Here, he occasionally sheltered his livestock from rampaging rocs or other skyborne predators.

Nearer its mouth, he’d cobbled together a small cabin from native rock, built as much for concealment as shelter. Off to one side, Marty could spy a hand pump indicating that the old man had dug down to the ground water layer so as to reach a purer supply than the pond would permit.

Farther out into the open of the small valley where the drainage was better, he’d added a one-holer to keep things neat. Sadly, not far enough for the overburden caused by the number of bodies the lonely structure must now support.

Marty hadn’t any idea how well stocked the cabin might have been when this mob had hove into view. He hadn’t really had much to do with Av over the years following his escape from earth so long ago. He couldn’t imagine it being all that much, though.

Homer, walking alongside the horse, waved into the interior of the cave. “We put them squareheads in th’ stable,” he said without looking up. “Should be safe. We didn’t leave ‘em with nothin’ but ripe hay t’ cause mischief with. Everything else we brung out and stashed in th’ cabin.”

“Nice job, Homer,” Marty nodded. “Anybody been talking to them?”

“Nah,” Homer shook his head casually. “Av said not to, so I been keeping them militia knobheads clear of ‘em.”

“Good,” Marty nodded. “I don’t suppose Av left food behind?”

“Some,” Homer laughed. “Not enough, though. Ner enough whiskey. I fed the militia and had a bite myself, but there wasn’t enough to feed the whole lot of them prisoners, so I didn’t feed any of ‘em.

“Figured you or Av or somebody’d be along with vittles soon enough. Not like I owe them evil sons anything, right?”

Marty didn’t answer that. He had his own opinions, and he didn’t think he wanted to get into them just yet. In any case, it was SOP to not feed prisoners before you’d had a chance to interrogate them. Of course, it was also SOP to interrogate them as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately, he’d had too much on his mind in the event, and hadn’t been giving much thought to such things. You were also supposed to keep them separated so they couldn’t cook up corroborating stories. He’d had neither the forethought nor the manpower for that, though, and certainly not the facilities. Well, what was done was done. He’d have to make due as best he could.

“Well, don’t feed ‘em yet,” he said tiredly. “They got water?”

“we bring a bucket an’ dipper in every couple of hours,” Homer said.

“Good. How’s that bootsmann doing? Still alive?”

Homer shrugged. “Sorta. He really should be in a hospital if we want anything outta him isn’t shallow breathing.”

Marty only nodded. He wasn’t sure himself what he thought he wanted out of the man. Answers, of course, but answers to what? He was very much afraid he was looking down the gullet of an extremely dangerous beast here, and he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to proceed, let alone how.

“You mind taking care of my horse, Homer?” he asked. “I’m beat. I think that I need to catch thirty or forty winks before I wade into this mess.”

“Sure,” Homer nodded. “You want I should wake you at any particular time?”

Marty gave it some thought. “I don’t stagger outta there by noon,” he grinned, “send in a party.”

Homer laughed genially. “Sure thing. I’ll rig ‘em for demolitions so they can blast you outta that rack.

* * *

A deeper shadow within the gloom of the stone barn fell across Leutnant Jaeger’s field of vision, and he raised his eyes to behold the square form of Artillerie-mechaniker Schultz.

“Setz Dich hin, Schultzie,” he sighed.

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The older man nodded and settled himself against the cold stone of the stable wall beside the young leutnant.

He’d taken it upon himself at the beginning of this latest voyage to take the young officer under his wing. The boy was intelligent and earnest, but —as was the case with all junior officers— little more than a lost puppy thrust into the midst of a pack of wolves. As with the others, he would need an experienced mentor if he were to have any chance of surviving long enough to lead men.

So, as the boy had been assigned no particular duty or section, Shultz had volunteered. There was nothing official about it. No more than the tacit acknowledgement by the other unteroffiziere that the boy was under his tutelage and protection.

He relaxed against the wall, head back, eyes closed, waiting. He’d not long to do so.

“How do I come to this, Schultzie?” the boy wondered softly to the room at large.

Schultz grunted dismissively. “Come to what, Herr Leutnant?” he asked in a friendly voice. “Come to be alive? Come to be in command?”

Leutnant Jaeger turned to him, face dismal.

“Come to be a prisoner, Schultzie,” he explained. “Of who knows who? Come to be locked into a barn like some cow awaiting slaughter. Come to having failed my duties to protect my men.”

Schultz chuckled softly. “Oh, I think you’ve done not so badly, Herr Leutnant,” he smiled. “Certainly better than the other offiziere, who managed between them all to get half the crew killed and the ship stolen out from beneath them.”

Jaeger frowned. “You don’t seem particularly unhappy for that to have occurred, Schultzie,” he said, eyes going stern.

Another chuckle. “Herr Leutnant,” he sighed easily. “Has it escaped your attention, perhaps, that your brother offiziere were thieves, cutthroats, and butchers? Yes, and the majority of your fine crew as well?”

He waved an arm casually around the dimness of the barn. “Look at them, Herr Leutnant,” he pointed out dismissively. “Were they not your men, would you give them so much as the time? Or would you more prudently cross the street rather than approach within stabbing range of them?”

“They are not all—” Jaeger began.

“No, mein junge herr,” Schultz cut him off. “Not all. Some are like you, merely cast into this pack of rabid dogs by chance or the bad luck of being skilled in arts other than simple murder. But look at them. There is a reason that the majority of those beasts were sent out by command to pillage the skies. Do you not ever forget that, Herr Leutnant Jaeger,” he cautioned. “Do not turn your back on them unless I am there to watch it, do you understand me? Never.

“In any case,” he went on. “We’re alive, are we not? And so long as we live, there is hope, nicht wahr?”

“What do you suppose they want of us?” Jaeger changed the subject.

A shrug. “Questions, almost certainly,” he replied. “No doubt they are wondering at our uniforms and weapons, not mentioning Katzbalger herself. I’m sure we confuse them, and that is never comfortable.”

“And why should they care?” Jaeger wondered. “You saw them, Schultzie. They were no true military force. They are island militia at best. If anything, they should have held us for their authorities to question. Why bring us all the way out into the wilderness and hide us in a cave? That does not make sense.”

Schultz gave him a moment to calm himself, taking the time to contemplate the answers in his own stead for that while. He owned far more of experience in this world than young leutnant Jaeger. Yes, and on Earth as well.

His early career had been spent in that hotbed of intrigue that was the South China Sea. It had given him more knowledge about the goings on behind the scenes even than most. Certainly more than a wet behind the ears niedriger rang offizier barely a month apart from his mother’s bosom.

“Do not fool yourself, Herr Leutnant,” he said carefully, his voice bereft of its earlier humor. “While those who brought us out into this wilderness may have been no more than ill-trained militia, the men who bested us in that farmstead were most assuredly a highly trained military force.”

He paused for that idea to penetrate. “And much more dangerous than the Englischer Royal Navy.”

* * *

Mailyn awakened to a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flared and she turned her head to follow the arm. Oh no! It was Darnan’s mother. What must she think— “Mrs. Palanna, I—”

“Shhh,” the older woman whispered to the furiously blushing girl. “Don’t wake him. Come, help me make him breakfast.” She turned and left without waiting for an answer.

After a moment to gather herself, Mailyn disengaged herself from Dar’s arm, careful lest she wake him, and followed.

She hesitated at the foot of the front stairs, pausing with her foremost foot poised above the floor. She’d been upstairs with either Dar or her sister for most of the time since she’d arrived, not even coming down for meals. Nor had she paid much attention upon her initial arrival, so worried over Dar’s condition had she been.

Because of those things, she hadn’t gotten more than an abstract idea of what had happened here. Her mind had been too full of worry to have much room to dwell on what had been going on while she’d been glued to his side, willing him to heal.

The fancy front doors had been rehung and rudely patched. The raw wounds of bullet holes still marred their surfaces and frame. The hardwood floor of the vestibule had been scrubbed, but its boards retained a darker stain between doorway and stairs. There were gouges in the planks where bullets had driven through them.

She couldn’t pull her eyes away from the stain or those gouges. That was where Uncle Roland had died. That was where they’d killed him. She felt a chill run through her body as the realization moved from an abstract into reality. Uncle Roland… Rolly…

“Come, Child,” Dar’s mother chided from the hallway. “There are things to be done.”

It took a few more seconds before she could bring herself to set foot on the bottom step, and even then, she was careful to sidle around the foyer wall well clear of the stain. Mrs. Palanna was waiting for her in the dining room doorway, steering her to that room rather than down the hall to the kitchen’s mudroom entrance. At first, she didn’t understand.

“Mailyn,” Mrs. Palanna cautioned as she drew near. “You must prepare yourself.” She paused before continuing. “You must understand that what has happened here was unfortunate, but… but it was not his fault. Do you understand, child? He did what he was forced to do in order to save your sister. Your nieces, and nephew.”

Mailyn didn’t understand what she meant at first. That Mrs. Palanna was speaking of Dar, she knew, of course. Who else would she be speaking of. He had defended Evie and the children — this Mai knew. So why the sudden warning?

The understanding was not long in coming. She stumbled to a halt seconds later, in the doorway to what had always been a happy place for her — a place of baking, and cookies, coloring in coloring books, and licking the batter from the mixer blades while her sister prepared meals and nattered on about her wonderful life and grand future.

No longer. The whole of the floor, though scrubbed near white along its edges, might have been deliberately stained a dark, splotchy maroon, so thoroughly had it been coated. Four men, her mother had told her. Four men had painted their lives onto this floor. And Darnan had done it. Her Darnan had done this. Only now did this fact drive home into her heart.

Tears welling in her eyes, she glanced in the direction of the mud room. There was a gouge in the wall there from another bullet, and an arc of the darker color washing out beyond the doorway. Nearer, a broad swath of fresh paint covered a patch of the kitchen wall from which the wallpaper had been torn. Almost against her will, she noted a few stray speckles outside the area of the repair. In their hurry to finish, whoever had done the cleaning had missed the outermost limits of the… of the…

Face pale, tears washing her face, she recalled taunting him about his training sessions, and the piratey things he’d been learning.

All at once, her mother was there, cradling her in warm arms, and whispering comfort into her ear. All of the grief she’d been holding back so that she could be strong for him, all of the fear, all of the loss, she poured out into her mother’s bosom, feeling Darnan’s mother move to enfold them both.