The journey from the king to the general only took overnight on the train. Even if this was a cattle train, I appreciate it. Especially certain body parts previously in contact with a saddle.

The cars are full of young, weak-kneed doctors who barely know one end of a stethoscope from the other. I watched as one of them opened a case of curved needles and curiously examined them. If that’s who they’re sending to the front lines…

As the sun turned the clouds pink, Percy helped unfold the seats into beds. Some folded out from the walls to create a second level of bunk beds. The tall-backed bench seats converted without a squeak into beds. Someone passed out sheets, and almost everyone made their own bed with military efficiency. I smirked at how some of the doctors struggled.

When I sat on my bed, it off-gassed the strong odors of sweat and cheap soap.

Before we’d boarded, I bought the most recent newspaper from a stand at the train station. The headline read, “Black Market Caught Selling Parisian Dress Dupes”. What an eye-catcher. I never cared about dress patterns. But a black market? That could mean none other than the Triumdemic. Rumor had it, their headquarters were underneath Egron City. They supplied the Egronites all sorts of illegal, restricted, and expensive items.

I would have read the article, but one of the train attendants turned off the gas lanterns. I used my cap as a pillow and covered myself with the itchy wool blanket they gave me. The train chugged along, and I watched the sunlight disappear from the polished brass. The train rocked me to sleep.

I dreamt that night. I dreamt that the beggar - what was his name? Shane? Something like that - was on the train with us. He somehow wasn’t blind anymore. He watched me eat dinner, then said, “Don’t let that go to waste. At least you have some.” I turned to Percy to ask, “What’s going on? Why is he here?” But Percy wasn’t there. When I tried to look at the beggar - Shaphan, that’s it! - he had disappeared. Then I was all alone in a dark room. I couldn’t find a lantern or a match or anything to create light. “Help! I’m stuck in here,” I said, but no one answered. “Help! I’m stuck! How do I get out?” Before I finished my sentence, an electric light that covered the whole ceiling turned on, illuminating even the darkest corners of the room. I woke up before I could look around at all.

When I opened my eyes, the sun barely peeked through the trees. No one else stirred. I pulled the blanket over my head. Why is Shaphan haunting me? He’s an enemy. If he could see, he’d be dead by now, whacked by some anonymous Egronite soldier.

Once when I was little, my mother and I were walking to the market when she said, “Callum, have you ever heard the word ‘conscience’?”

I kicked a rock off the sidewalk and said, “No.” I tried my best to walk only on the curb, but my foot slipped and touched the street. I looked up at her and asked, “What does it mean?”

“Your conscience is a little part of your brain that tells you when you’ve done something good or bad. Remember when we gave the soup to Mrs. Diamond when she was sick? Did you feel good about yourself after we did that?”

“I guess.” I liked the candies Mrs. Diamond always gave me.

“That was your conscience reminding you about a good thing you did. Now do you remember when you ran past Daisy and knocked her over?”

“Yeah, she cried.”

“But you came back and helped her up. You did that because your conscience told you that knocking her over wasn’t nice, and helping her get up would fix it a little.”

“Oh.” We reached the first market stall and Mother greeted the shopkeeper. The memory faded, and I returned to reality under the blanket. I itched my neck. Was this emotion I felt toward Shaphan my conscience? Should I have given him some of my food?

I poked my head out. A few of the doctors were awake. Percy, still asleep a few beds away, caught my attention. He showed his generosity when he gave Shaphan all of his rations. I can't imagine what it’s like to be that nice.

Maybe when we see Shaphan next, I’ll guard them. Maybe I’ll give him some jerky. Maybe.

________

The train stopped at Caldey station with a puff of steam. Everyone exited neatly. “We’re going to General Morley immediately, right?” Percy asked. He stood behind me as we stepped down, out of the train compartment.

I nodded. He wouldn’t hear me over all the noise. Wounded people, some grotesquely so, laid on cots in the train station itself. Doctors hurried to each one of them, to prepare them for the journey. In the shape some of them were in, I doubted they would survive the trip.

Prince Cole, dressed in a spotless captain’s uniform, waited for us in an area of the platform shaded by the silhouette of a building. He grimaced - I mean, smiled - when he recognized me. He shook my hand and clapped my shoulder at the same time. “Good to see you, Bloomfield.” He nodded at Percy, who bowed. “You too, Private.”

As soon as he let go of me, I bowed too. “No, no, stand up,” he said. “Here, I’m just plain old Captain Rosenberg. Come along, I think General Morley is waiting for us.”

The trees, some bright and some dull, waved their leaves. I heard the breeze before I felt it; it raked my face. My hands reached for my collar, but I stopped myself.

“Here we are, lads. Private, you wait here. Bloomfield and I will be out shortly.”

Percy gave me a look as he stopped outside of the door. I think it was a “get a load of this guy!” kind of look. His hair, whipped by the wind, now stood practically on end. I shrugged slightly and stepped over the threshold. I felt relief right away - the wind only blew down the street, perpendicular to the door. The few guards in the hall saluted as I walked by.

This time, I remembered that I walked in the presence of royalty, and the guards probably weren’t saluting me. I did enjoy it, though.

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“Private Bloomfield!” General Morley boomed. “Back so soon, are ya!”

“Sir, yes sir!”

“What message do you bring?”

I recited the paragraphs the king told me, and both the general and the prince listened carefully. “Is that right?” The general whistled in surprise.

“Certainly not the stratagem I would have decided upon!” Prince Cole said. “But I know my father. He and his advisors must have thoroughly cogitated this plan.”

“Very well, Private. Please stand by in town and await further instructions. The hotel probably has lodging for you and Private Baker. It’s the large wooden building on the next block over. Just tell someone in the lobby that General Morley sent you. I’m sure they will give you a room.”

“Sir, yes sir!”

“Dismissed,” Prince Cole said. He turned to the general and started flapping his jaw about troop movement, and ideal routes, and I don’t know what all, because I left.

I met Percy around the corner. He’d gone out of the wind, but still he rubbed his hands together in a fruitless attempt to warm them.

“They don’t give you gloves in the army?”

“Not when it’s been this warm so far. This wind is sharp.” He lowered his voice. “Do you think Shaphan will be out today?”

“General Morley said that we should go to the hotel and get a room there. I think it’s that building, on the corner across the way. We should put our things there first, before we go see the beggar.”

“He has a name, you know. Oh wait, is he still “the enemy” to you?” Percy mocked me.

“Well, I’m going to the hotel. If you want to freeze, you go see Shaphan. I’ll be nice and toasty in the lobby.”

“Fine, I’ll come with you. Wouldn’t do for my father to hear that I’d been whacked by something so tame as the weather!”

The hotel was a squarish building, with four stories. Like General Morley said, it was made of wood. Smoke curled from two brick chimneys. A wide covered porch wrapped around the two sides that faced the street. Bullet holes marked some windows. Cardboard taped in place covered the shattered glass. Some of the steps, though scrubbed, bore bloodstains as a testimony to the enemy soldiers who resisted the occupation. Despite the destruction, the place looked warm and invited me in with a beckoning hand.

Soldiers, several wounded, sat on chairs on the porch. I said a greeting to the ones closest to the door. A private whose arm was in a sling held them open for me. In the lobby, I saw several dozen soldiers, some wounded, some not. They played checkers, told bawdy stories and jokes, and looked like they were just having a grand old time. An able-bodied private brought in armfuls of wood to feed the fires. Tobacco smoke filled the air.

A sergeant sat at the front desk, his chair tilted back. His boots rested on some scattered papers. “What is it?” he growled at us.

“Privates Bloomfield and Baker reporting, sir. We’d like to secure lodgings here for the night.”

“There’s no room,” the sergeant said. “Unless you want to sleep on the porch. There might be space left.”

Percy started to dig in his pocket for some coins, but I stopped him and said, “General Morley sent us, sir. He said there would be room.”

“You’re the courier?” He dropped his feet off the table and scrutinized my face and uniform with one eye scrunched shut. He leaned in so close that the scent of the tobacco plug in his cheek overwhelmed me. I grabbed the edge of the desk with my fingers to keep from falling over.

“Yes, sir. This is my personal guard.”

“I’ve been expecting you,” he said with a smile, which revealed only about six teeth in his brown-stained mouth. He stood up and offered his hand. “Sergeant Davis, at your service. We have space for you in a premium room.”

“Very good, sir.” I replied.

“Thank you, sir,” Percy said, always the picture of a well-mannered gentleman.

“Right this way,” Sergeant Davis motioned for us to follow him. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Doyle! Doyle! Come and man the desk for me! Doyle!”

The same soldier we’d seen carry in the firewood trotted over to us. His shoulders and arms strained the seams of his uniform. He was almost taller than Percy, but he ran over to the sergeant just like a lapdog. He stopped abruptly and shouted, “Sir!”

“Doyle, I’m taking these two gentlemen to the last beds available. There is no more room in this hotel. Do you understand? I need you to sit here and tell everyone that wants a room that there is none left. Unless there is some coin involved. Do you understand? No coin, no rooms. I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Doyle shouted. He plopped into the chair and swivelled until he faced the sergeant. He saluted and I think he continued saluting until we were halfway up the stairs.

The hotel had once been nice, but thousands of muddy boots and the bayonets of adrenaline-fueled soldiers had not been kind to the decor. The stairwell’s wall had so many holes, I think it was really made of Swiss cheese. The carpet was probably teal at some point in the not-so-distant past. The margins remained teal, but all the crushed fibers displayed a dirty brown color, reminiscent of… dirt.

The sergeant tries to open the door to room 215. “This blasted door! The lock keeps getting stuck. I’ll have to get Doyle to kick it open again.” He turns to start back downstairs.

“Just a minute, Sergeant. May I try something?” Percy asked.

“Sure, anything is easier than getting Doyle to do something correctly.”

Percy pulls two pins from an interior pocket of his coat and kneels to pick the lock. After a minute, something clicks and when he tries the doorknob, it swings open easily. “Looks like the hinges need to be tightened.”

“Very good, Private.” The sergeant opened the door wider, revealing two roughly built bunk beds took up most of the floor space, and an almost middle-aged soldier languished in a large bed pushed into the far corner. “That there’s Corporal Carrington. Was hit by shrapnel two weeks ago. He’s recovered, but he hasn’t spoken since. Mostly he just sleeps. He shouldn’t be a bother; in fact, he’s the quietest roommate you’ll find in this here hotel!”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’ll be all for today. There’s a john in the back. It’s easy to find - just follow the smell. Two of the bunks might be taken, so watch out. Eat your rations for dinner. Supper will be served promptly at 1800 hours in the ballroom, just off the lobby. The cooks will ring the church bell to let everyone know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, I’ll leave you to it. At ease, men.” Sergeant Davis left and shut the door behind him.

“I’m not going to ask how you learned to pick locks.” I said quietly to Percy.

“Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies. Now which of these bunks is taken?”

“There’s a photograph tacked to the wall by this one,” I said, checking the top bunk to our left.

“Here’s a dirty sock on this one’s pillow.”

“That settles it, then. I claim this one,” I said, meaning the bunk under the one with the photograph. I dared not leave my knapsack on the bed. Who knows who goes through these rooms. If it’s stolen, I won’t get a replacement.

“Okay.”

I looked around the room a little more. An inch of light shone through the curtains that covered the only window. Carrington, the mute corporal, laid under the sheets of the bed. A patch of darkness obscured his face, but judging by his even breaths and stillness, he was probably asleep.

“Will you remember the room number? 216, right?” Percy asked.

“215, actually.”

“You remember that. Now let’s go find Shaphan.”

“Are you sure? I bet it’s still windy out there.”

“I’ll bring a blanket,” Percy said, as if the thought had just occurred to him. He grabbed the blanket off his bunk - the same itchy wool we’d been given on the train. “I’ll be fine. Come on, let’s go.”

I sighed dramatically. “Fine.”