was a crowd of hangers-on by him, aides and flunkies and the battalion commanders of the garrison.
“Whitehall,” Osterville said frigidly. “What the devil do you think you’re doing, coming in here and giving orders outside the chain of command?”
There was a murmur of indignation from the flunkies; but the battalion commanders stayed stony-silent, with a slight unconscious withdrawal, as if Osterville had something contagious. Raj gave them a swift glance. None of them had been living on their pay here—not with Osterville’s example before them, not if Abdullah’s reports were true—but they didn’t love the Commandant for it. Especially not now that their careers and lives were on the line.
Raj reached into his jacket. “Commandant Osterville. By Gubernatorial Rescript, I have been given command of all Civil Government troops in this area. I hereby notify you that I am assuming control.”
Osterville read through the note. “I acknowledge your overall authority,” he said after a moment.
Raj could see the wheels turning behind the narrow black eyes. Whitehall’s in disfavor. Even if he wins, he’ll be removed.
“But this document does not give you authority to interfere in the internal command structure of the units under my authority as district commandant. You may give your orders to me, and I will carry them out as I see fit.”
Divided command . . . Behind Raj, the Scout Troop—the Forty Thieves—tensed; they hadn’t followed the exchange, not really, but they could read the hostility in the air well enough.
M’lewis had recruited the Scouts himself. None of them were men likely to hesitate if ordered to arrest the Commandant . . . or to take him and the others out back and shoot them, if it came to that. Osterville looked past Raj and his complexion turned a muddy gray.
Disaster , Raj knew. A good chance of a firefight right here in the city, or at least wholesale passive resistance by the garrison troops. This mission balanced on a knife edge as it was . . .
. . . and Osterville wouldn’t back down. Not openly; whatever else the man was, he wasn’t that type of coward.
Suzette moved forward. “Hernan, Hernan,” she said, tapping him on the arm with her fan. “Last time I was in Sandoral there were more interesting things than a lot of smelly soldiers.” She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t tell me you’ve become a complete provincial out here, my dear. And you were such a gay blade back in the City.” When someone in the Civil Government put a capital on it that way, only one city could be meant.
Osterville bowed over her hand.
“ I’ve been trapped on a troop train for three days. Couldn’t you find a decent meal for a poor, benighted gentlewoman so far from home? And fill me in on what passes for society out here? And find me a decent bath and somewhere to change out of these impossible clothes?”
Osterville was giving a good impression of a man who had just been struck between the eyes with a bag full of wet sand, but he rallied; after all, he had been at Court for the better part of a decade.
“Enchanted, Messa,” he said suavely. “Business, however . . .”
Suzette made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, Raj just wants some help unloading trains.” She tucked her hand under his arm. “Please?”
Osterville snapped his fingers at an aide. “Luiz, draw that up; here, I’ll sign it. Certainly, certainly, my dear Messa Suzette . . . trains, you say? Logistics, clerks’ work.”
Raj stood silently as they strolled away across the intaglio floor. His head moved back to the officers who’d been attending Osterville, with the smooth tracking motion of a track-mounted fortress gun.
“Messers,” he said flatly. “I remind you that you’ll be needed with your units later this afternoon in the main cavalry barracks. Good day to you. Captain M’lewis, if you please.”
He turned on his heel. Faintly, he could hear:
“. . . quite acceptable dessert wines, but far
“Whitehall,” Osterville said frigidly. “What the devil do you think you’re doing, coming in here and giving orders outside the chain of command?”
There was a murmur of indignation from the flunkies; but the battalion commanders stayed stony-silent, with a slight unconscious withdrawal, as if Osterville had something contagious. Raj gave them a swift glance. None of them had been living on their pay here—not with Osterville’s example before them, not if Abdullah’s reports were true—but they didn’t love the Commandant for it. Especially not now that their careers and lives were on the line.
Raj reached into his jacket. “Commandant Osterville. By Gubernatorial Rescript, I have been given command of all Civil Government troops in this area. I hereby notify you that I am assuming control.”
Osterville read through the note. “I acknowledge your overall authority,” he said after a moment.
Raj could see the wheels turning behind the narrow black eyes. Whitehall’s in disfavor. Even if he wins, he’ll be removed.
“But this document does not give you authority to interfere in the internal command structure of the units under my authority as district commandant. You may give your orders to me, and I will carry them out as I see fit.”
Divided command . . . Behind Raj, the Scout Troop—the Forty Thieves—tensed; they hadn’t followed the exchange, not really, but they could read the hostility in the air well enough.
M’lewis had recruited the Scouts himself. None of them were men likely to hesitate if ordered to arrest the Commandant . . . or to take him and the others out back and shoot them, if it came to that. Osterville looked past Raj and his complexion turned a muddy gray.
Disaster , Raj knew. A good chance of a firefight right here in the city, or at least wholesale passive resistance by the garrison troops. This mission balanced on a knife edge as it was . . .
. . . and Osterville wouldn’t back down. Not openly; whatever else the man was, he wasn’t that type of coward.
Suzette moved forward. “Hernan, Hernan,” she said, tapping him on the arm with her fan. “Last time I was in Sandoral there were more interesting things than a lot of smelly soldiers.” She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t tell me you’ve become a complete provincial out here, my dear. And you were such a gay blade back in the City.” When someone in the Civil Government put a capital on it that way, only one city could be meant.
Osterville bowed over her hand.
“ I’ve been trapped on a troop train for three days. Couldn’t you find a decent meal for a poor, benighted gentlewoman so far from home? And fill me in on what passes for society out here? And find me a decent bath and somewhere to change out of these impossible clothes?”
Osterville was giving a good impression of a man who had just been struck between the eyes with a bag full of wet sand, but he rallied; after all, he had been at Court for the better part of a decade.
“Enchanted, Messa,” he said suavely. “Business, however . . .”
Suzette made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, Raj just wants some help unloading trains.” She tucked her hand under his arm. “Please?”
Osterville snapped his fingers at an aide. “Luiz, draw that up; here, I’ll sign it. Certainly, certainly, my dear Messa Suzette . . . trains, you say? Logistics, clerks’ work.”
Raj stood silently as they strolled away across the intaglio floor. His head moved back to the officers who’d been attending Osterville, with the smooth tracking motion of a track-mounted fortress gun.
“Messers,” he said flatly. “I remind you that you’ll be needed with your units later this afternoon in the main cavalry barracks. Good day to you. Captain M’lewis, if you please.”
He turned on his heel. Faintly, he could hear:
“. . . quite acceptable dessert wines, but far
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