Bonewell was a miserable town, the Brigadier decided. It was located at the crossroads where the Great North Road, running from Charnox up to Erestin, met the Imperial Way, the road he would have come by if he hadn't taken the faster train journey to the south. Once, it had clearly been a much larger metropolis, growing fat on the trade that had flowed through it, but the conflicts with Helberion that had occupied virtually the entire last century had seen trade dry up to a trickle. Trade between east and west now flowed further north, through the peaceful lands of Crammock, Woland, Erestin and Gildon, and all that was left of Bonewell was a sprawling mass of slums housing the workers who commuted to the great industrial city of Gullier, just to the south.
Nevertheless, Princess Ardria had been planning to pass through this town on her way to Charnox. Hopefully, he had arrived ahead of her and only had to wait for her arrival. If not, she would have left word with the local Helberion intelligence office and he would have to rush to catch up with her. He rode his horse through the dusty, empty streets, therefore, past the occasional old timer dozing in a rocking chair, wrapped up in warm furs against the cold wind, who opened an eye lazily as he went past and immediately forgot about him again. He continued on past the once grand hotels, stables and boarding houses, now empty and awaiting demolition, until he came to the tavern on Holly Street, the Drunken Goat, which was, he hoped, still owned by the Helberion Head of Station as a covert base of operations. He left his horse tied down outside and went in.
The common room was almost empty, he saw. Just a couple of locals propping up the bar and solving all the problems of the world while sipping at watered down ale. The Brigadier went to the other end of the bar and spent several minutes trying to catch the barman’s eye. The barman was busy cleaning tankards with a dirty rag, though, and seemed to be so totally engrossed in this task that he wouldn’t be distracted from it unless the building caught fire.
The Brigadier was wondering whether to commit the minor social indiscretion of calling out to get his attention when the barman finally noticed him and came over, still wiping the same tankard. “What can I get you?” he asked with a slight irritation in his voice, as if cleaning glasses was much more important than serving customers and that be needed to return his full attention to this urgent task as quickly as possible.
“I’d like a room for the night,” the Brigadier replied. “A room with a north looking window, if you please.”
The man stared at him with such surprise and alarm that he almost dropped the tankard. It slipped between his fingers, and he just barely managed to retain his grip up in it before it fell and smashed on the tiled floor. He put it safely down on the bar before returning his attention to the Brigadier, who was feeling a shiver of doubt. He thought he'd given the correct identifying phrase, but it had been years since he’d last had to use any of them. If he’d made a mistake, how would the barman react?
The barman hesitated nervously, as if considering his options. He stared at the Brigadier, trying to read his face, trying to judge his intentions, and it was several moments before he came to a decision. “Of course,” he said. He lifted the flap in the bar and came through. “The green room is available, but the bed is very hard.”
The Brigadier allowed himself to relax a little. That had been the correct response, but the man's attitude still worried him. Could the intelligence office have been compromised? Maybe the barman was a Carrow agent, here to nab any Helberion agents who might happen by. He remained on his guard, therefore, and kept his hand close to his pistol while he gave the last part of the identifying Exchange. “Good, hard beds are good for my back.”
The barman stared at him again, then beckoned him towards the stairs. The Brigadier followed him up to the first floor, the boards under the threadbare carpet creaking with every step. The Brigadier saw, from his body language, from the tension in his every movement, that he was going to go for a gun, but he made no move to disarm him, even though it would have been ridiculously easy for him to have done so. The man seemed to move with glacial slowness as his hand reached inside his jacket and removed the weapon. The Brigadier could have taken it from him with virtually no effort, but he made himself stand there, impassive and confident, as the other man brought the pistol to bear on him.
The barman used the gun to direct the Brigadier into the nearest bedroom. The Brigadier went through, and the barman closed the door behind them. “Who are you?” He demanded.
“My name is Brigadier Weyland James. I am on an important mission on behalf of King Leothan.”
“The code phrases you gave are obsolete. We were given new ones, as a precaution, since one of our men was taken by the Carrowmen. Maybe he gave up all he knew under torture, maybe you're a Carrow agent.”
“If they knew about you, they'd have sent a whole squad, not just one man. They're not going to worry about causing a scene in their own country. I just need to know one thing. Has Princess Ardria passed through yet?” When the man just stared, the Brigadier grew impatient. “Come on, Man! The Carrowmen know all about the Princess! King Nilon himself gave his permission for her to come!”
The door opened again, and both men turned to see the man who entered. “It's okay, Roger,” said the new arrival. “We've been expecting him. Remember?”
“We don't know this is him...”
“Of course it's him! Put the gun away. If he wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already.” He turned to the Brigadier. “My name is Private Charles Grey. I was a member of the Princess’s retinue. We were forced to take an alternate route into Carrow. She sent me to find you and help you find her.” He turned to the barman. “Perhaps we can go downstairs, talk somewhere a little more...”
“Never mind that,” said the Brigadier. “Where is she now?”
“We were forced to turn west just south of Boroford. There was fighting up ahead, a major battle by the sound of it. We decided to avoid it by entering Carrow by way of the Tweenlands. We came across some Carrow soldiers at the border, they allowed us to pass into their country. The Princess sent me here just after that, so I have no more recent news of her. I presume they went to Tibre, to present themselves to the garrison there in the hopes of securing an escort the rest of the way to Charnox.”
“When did you leave her? How long ago?”
“About six days. I got here yesterday. Fortunately, I knew the correct code words.”
The Brigadier nodded distractedly, no longer interested. “We're probably closer to Charnox than they are, then. If we make speed, we can make it to Shipley Gate before her, wait for her there. Gather your belongings, we leave in ten minutes.”
☆☆☆
They rode for an hour and walked for an hour, to rest the horses, and whenever they saddled up again they swapped horses, to make sure no parent bond formed. Not that there was much chance of a bond forming in the day or two before they exchanged them for fresh horses at a stables, but it did happen occasionally, even if rarely, and the Brigadier didn't want to be burdened with a son while he had so much to do.
While they walked, they talked. The Brigadier quizzed Private Grey on what the situation had been when he’d left Helberion, and although a mere Private only had a very limited access to information he was able to fill him in on some details that hadn’t made it into the newspapers, such as the fact that the Carrow First Army, which had gone up into the north of Helberion, had unexpectedly turned south, just when it had been on the point of taking Adams Hill, and had rejoiced the bulk of their army converging on Marboll. “Why did they abandon Adams Hill, when right up until then they’d seemed absolutely hell bent on taking it?” he wondered as they strolled beside their horses through the parched Carrow countryside. “I mean, so far as I know, there's nothing at Adams Hill! The place has no strategic advantage! What I think...” he said, lowering his voice as if there were Carrow agents hiding in the roadside hedges listening to his every word, “...is, they were lured up north by a disinformation campaign! Someone deliberately leaked false information to a Carrow spy, making them think there was a massive army base there, or something! The Carrowmen lost interest in the town when they found out the truth, found out they'd been deceived! That's what I think!”
“That would certainly explain their odd behaviour,” replied the Brigadier.
“So, was I right? I mean, you're a Brigadier! Not just any Brigadier, but the Brigadier! If anyone knows the truth, it's you! Since the operations over now, there’s no need to keep it secret any longer. You can tell me! So, am I right?”
“I'm afraid I don't know, Private. I was in Kelvon when it all happened, and even if I hadn't been it would have been handled on a need to know basis. And even if I did know, I still wouldn’t be able to tell you. You shouldn't even be asking.” He eyed the man reproachfully.
The Private turned his gaze away, to look out across the countryside. “Yes, of course,” he said. “I apologise, Sir. Can't help speculating, though. When we were crossing the border, the Carrowmen said that Marboll was almost completely encircled. Do you think he was telling the truth, Sir?”
“Speculating may be unavoidable, but it does us no good. We just have to do our part and trust that they’re doing theirs.”
“The possibility doesn't seem to bother you, Sir.”
“If bothering about it helped, then I'd bother about it.”
The Private stared at him, his eyes wide with wonder. “You know something, don't you? You and the King, you cooked something up between you...”
The Brigadier resisted an impulse to snap at him, tell him to shut up. That would only confirm his suspicious, in his mind at least. He simply kept on walking, therefore, his eyes scanning the road ahead for any sign of danger, and Private Grey fell silent, although he kept studying the Brigadier's face for any sign that there was still hope for Helberion, some secret hope known to his travelling companion that might keep him from falling into despair.
The Brigadier knew it wouldn’t be long before he was talking about something else, though. He was one of those people who needed to talk, in an attempt to fill the great emptiness in his head, a silence caused by the almost total absence of an inner monologue. And on those occasions when he did think, he couldn’t do so without letting his thoughts out of his mouth towards anyone who happened to be nearby. The Brigadier tensed up uncomfortably, preparing himself for it. He preferred to think in privacy. He lived largely inside his own head, and having to engage in a conversation pulled his attention away from whatever problem he was trying to concentrate on. Not that he was trying to solve any particular problem at the moment, they didn't know enough about the situation up ahead to be able to make plans. Right now, all they could do was head to Shipley Gate as fast as they could, and leave the planning for when they found what awaited them there. That left them nothing to do except talk.
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The Brigadier was spared from having to engage in conversation, though, when they came across a pair of brothers going the same way as them. Farmworkers by the look of them, dressed in the turbans and long, flowing robes of poor, country Carrow folk. They emerged from a side road right beside the two Helberions, who had only dismounted a few minutes earlier and so had nearly a full hour to go before they could mount their tired horses again. The Brigadier considered doing so anyway, since associating with Carrow civilians ran all kinds of risks, especially when his companion was so fond of talking, but the Carrowmen turned out to like talking just as much as the Private and they were in a conversation almost before he knew what was happening. He sighed in resignation. He would just have to hope that his companion had enough good sense not to give away their true identities.
“Our farm dried up and blew away,” said the first Carrowman, brushing the long, grey hair out of his eyes with a thin, bony hand. “The maize didn't even live long enough to set seed, just shrivelled up and died before it was up to our knees. We tried irrigating, until the creek dried up, but the water didn't help much anyway. Fouled by the steelworks to the north. We got no money left to buy seed stock, and no sign of the drought ending even if we did, so we’re off to find work in the city.”
“I passed through Lutton on the way here,” replied Grey. “We're both looking for work too, but there was none in Lutton, even with most of the men drafted into the army. Factories are shutting down, all except for the munitions factories. They’re busy enough, churning out arms and ammunition for the army, but they've already got all the men they want, so we're going south. They told us there's work in Sunby and the Venwell area.”
“There’ll be something!” the second agreed. “There's always work for men who are willing to work! We may be old, too old for the army, but there'll be someone who needs a strong back and a willing heart. We'll find something.”
“Aye, and things'll be better when the war's over, when the army brings all the food and money back from Helberion. Everything they stole from us over the years...”
“What did they steal?” demanded Grey, and the Brigadier gave him a sharp nudge with his elbow. It was too late, though. “What did they steal?” said the first Carrowman. “How about half the bloody country? All the best farming land? We’re starving and they’re living high on the hog, selling our own food back to us for three times what it's worth! They've had this coming for a long time and now they’re getting it!” The other Carrowman nodded wisely. The first one looked at Grey suspiciously. “How come you're not in the army, anyway? Fit, young man like you!”
“His lungs,” said the Brigadier hurriedly, drawing upon Malone's description of life in Farwell’s working class districts. “He worked in a factory making medicines before the war and breathed in too much bicarbonate. He’s fine so long as he doesn’t exert himself, but any heavy exercise and he coughs ‘till he bleeds! He offered to join up anyway but they wouldn’t have him. Said he'd slow down the whole company! Poor man's still upset about it!” He patted Grey's shoulder comfortingly and the other man gave him a grateful smile.
“Too bad,” said the first Carrowman doubtfully. He clearly suspected Grey of cowardice, but the Brigadier didn't mind that. They'd be parting ways soon and they'd never see these two men again. So long as they didn't discover the truth, it didn't matter what else they thought.
“And what about you!” The other Carrow man asked, though. “You're old, but not that old. I reckon you could still hold your own on the battlefield. You got bad lungs too?”
“I was in the last war,” replied the Brigadier truthfully. “I could tell you some stories, show you some scars. I've done my bit. Time to give the younger folk a chance.”
“Reckon there’s enough action to be had over there for everyone,” the man replied, though. “Old and young alike. And you'll have valuable experience, reckon you'd make a good officer!”
“Officers have to march just the same as everyone else,” said the Brigadier, though. In his mind, he considered how he'd kill them, should it be necessary. “My marching days are done. My legs.”
“Your legs seem fine at the moment...”
“Leave him alone, Davey,” said the other man gently. “Sometimes, it's not the body that fails. Like my uncle Phil. Breaks down and cries every time he hears a loud bang. Reminds him of the guns, you see. Is that how it is with you, mate?”
The Brigadier tried to look ashamed and embarrassed. It was hard, his face had no idea how to do it. The whole concept of shame was alien to him. You did what needed to be done, and that was that. He tried, though, and he must have succeeded to some extent if the expressions of sympathy on the faces of the Carrowmen was any indication. “I prefer not to talk about it,” he mumbled, and the Carrowmen looked away as if embarrassed.
“So, what kind of work you looking for?” asked Grey.
“Anything that's going. Can't afford to be picky. So long as it pays enough to buy food and a roof over our heads.”
“Mate of mine says you need two jobs these days to avoid starvation,” said his fellow. “People are leaving the country. West to Kelvon, and maybe east to Helberion when the war's over. There’ll be plenty of farms need working when the Helberries have been driven off.”
“Surely the Helberries will be working their own farms,” said Grey. “Just because they’re living under Carrow rule, the farms will still belong to them.”
“Word is, the farmers are all heading east and taking their cattle with them, leaving their crops to rot in the fields! The land's empty, just waiting for the first person to claim it!”
“So why aren’t you over there, claiming a farm?”
“’Cos of the land mines! It's not just the big minefields! Now and then they put a solitary mine right in the middle of a field of corn, to blow up the first Carrowmen who tries to harvest it!” The Brigadier suppressed a smile. It had been he who'd suggested this trick to the King during his brief stay in Marboll following his mission to Mekrol. “Best to wait for a bit,” continued the Carrowman. “Let the army find the mines first, then go over and find a nice little place for ourselves.”
“And what'll you do when the farm's rightful owner comes back to claim it?”
“He can push off again! The farm'll be mine, and the government'll back me up! Maybe I’ll hire them on to work the farm, but the farm'll belong to me! We're gonna be the victors, after all, and the victors get the spoils! Right?”
“Well, you'd better not leave it too late, then, or you'll find all the best farms have been taken already,” said Grey with a smirk. “Still, maybe one of them'll take you on as hired hands.”
The first Carrowmen glared at him, but the other merely shrugged. “Right now I'd settle for that,” he said. “So long as I get an honest day's pay for an honest day's work, I’ll be happy.”
“Fat chance of that in this country,” said the first. “Not with the bosses running everything. You hear all kinds of things from the big cities! The bosses cutting wages, then cutting them again and making the men work longer hours! And anyone who dares to object gets beaten up, even killed! I don't know, maybe we should be wishing the Brigadier luck!”
“The Brigadier?” said Grey in surprise, glancing sideways at the Brigadier.
“Careful, Davey!” said the other Carrowmen. “We don't know these people!”
“I'm just saying what everyone's saying! My cousin Nick keeps pigeons, uses them to talk to people in Treeds. He says the Brigadier passed through a day or two back. He's going from city to city, they say, organising an uprising! A last ditch attempt by Helberion to avoid defeat by helping the people of Carrow overthrow their own government! Won't work, of course. Nothing can save Helberion now, but the seeds the Brigadier's sowing might still bear fruit! Give it a year or two and we might have a new government in this country! A fair government! This might become a country where people willing to work can make a good life for themselves! When the bloody draught passes, of course! The Brigadier and a return of the rains! This could become a great country one day! It could become what it used to be, before Bengoll Strake!”
“This country were never great!” said his companion, though. “If it had been great back then, Bengoll Strake would never have found the support he needed to break away! It were a cesspit then and it’s a cesspit now! That's why the Brigadier’s plan might succeed, even if not in time to do Helberion any good. Not that I would support him, of course!” he hastily added, suddenly remembering he was talking to strangers. “Loyal to King Nilon, I am, Those Above bless him! No more loyal man in all the country than me!”
“Who else knows about the Brigadier?” asked Grey.
“Well, my cousin Nick talks to people all across the country with his pigeons! It were him who first found out about Princess Ardria getting captured!”
“What!” said the Brigadier, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing tight. “What about the Princess?”
“She were captured by Colonel Hemdall just yesterday, Nick says! He took a squad of men into Marboll itself, caught her and brought her out a prisoner! He’s taking her back to Charnox right now where Nilon'll use her to make Leothan surrender! Apparently Nilon’s already made his demands to Leothan! He might have surrendered already, for all we know! The war might be over already!”
The Brigadier relaxed and released his shoulder. “I thought Hemdall was stationed in Tibre,” he said. “He's the garrison commander there. What would he be doing leading a raid into Marboll? What would any Colonel be doing leading a raid like that?”
“You don't believe it?” said Davey.
“There may be a grain of truth in it, but I expect they exaggerated it a bit, for propaganda purposes. Princess Ardria may indeed be on her way to Charnox, but voluntarily, to negotiate terms of surrender.”
“I dunno. Nick was pretty sure she'd been captured. They're making a real big thing about it in Charnox, apparently. Parties in the street, the King giving stirring speeches. Everyone's saying the war's all but over!”
“Well, time will tell,” said the Brigadier, who said nothing more for a long time afterwards.
☆☆☆
“Do you think she’s been captured?” asked Grey some time later, after they'd remounted their horses and left the two Carrow farmers behind them. They’d ridden hard for an hour, and were now walking to rest them again. “The Princess, I mean.”
“Doesn't matter,” said the Brigadier. “I’ve been giving it some thought, and I think I know what she’s up to. If I'm right, it doesn't matter whether she’s here voluntarily or not. All that matters is that she has a chance to speak to King Nilon, which she will. He'll want to gloat over her, show her off in public. She'll have all the time in the world to speak.”
“And say what? You think she’ll talk him into surrendering?”
“She'll be trying to convince him that the Radiants are the enemies of all humanity. I've already succeeded in persuading Emperor Tyron. If Ardria can convince Nilon, then the three most highly industrialised countries in the human world will be united against them. We'll teach them what it means to meddle in human affairs!”
“And what if she gets there and finds that Nilon's been adopted? Suppose he's not been fooled by them but is just as determined as they are to enslave humanity!”
“Nilon is a King. He has to appear in public, wave to crowds, and people now know to look out for people with powdered skin. Of course, he’ll have access to much more realistic makeup than most adoptees, maybe enough to fool people even from quite close up... I suppose it’s possible, but I think it's more likely that some of his close advisors are adoptees. They'll be the danger. They'll be very anxious to prevent her from speaking to the King. They'll kill her, or curse her, the first chance they get.”
“Let’s hope she still has her escort to look after her. If she has been captured, they may all be dead! I'd be dead too if she hadn't sent me to get you!”
“We don't know what's happened to them. For all we know, they may all be safely on their way to Charnox, with an escort of Carrow troops to make sure they get there safely.”
“But if she is alone now, captured, what do we do?”
“Assess the situation when we get there. Find a way to make contact, take our orders from her. Find a way to rescue her, should that he necessary.”
“Just the two of us? Rescue Princess Ardria from King Nilon’s palace under the noses of a hundred of his best men?”
“Making plans now is pointless. We have to wait until we know more.” Private Grey nodded glumly, but as they walked beside their horses through the arid Carrow countryside he fancied he could almost hear the gears turning inside the Brigadier’s head as he considered one scenario after another, his expressionless face revealing nothing of what he thought of their chances of success, or even survival.