door.
Stephan had kissed him before—kissed innumerable people, for that matter; the man was an inveterate
embrasseur.
But surely this had been somewhat more than the fraternal embrace of a fellow soldier. He could still feel the grip of Stephan’s hand curled around his leg. Or was he deluded by fatigue and distraction, imagining more to it than there was?
And if he were right?
He shook his head, took the warming pan from his sheets, and crawled between them, reflecting that, of all the men in Gundwitz that night, he at least was safe from the attentions of any roving succubi.
Chapter 3
A Remedy for Sleeplessness
R egimental headquarters for the 52nd was in Bonz, a small hamlet that stood some ten miles from Gundwitz. Grey found Colonel Ruysdale in the central room of the largest inn, in urgent conference with several other officers, and indisposed to take time to deal with an enlisted body.
“Grey? Oh, yes, know your brother. You found what? Where? Yes, all right. See…um…Sergeant-Major Sapp. Yes, that’s it. Sapp will know who…” The colonel waved a vague hand, indicating that Grey would doubtless find whatever assistance he required elsewhere.
“Yes, sir,” Grey said, settling his bootheels into the sawdust. “I shall do so directly. Am I to understand, though, that there are developments of which our allies should be informed?”
Ruysdale stared at him, eyes cold and upper lip foremost.
“Who told you that, sir?”
As though he needed telling. Troops were being mustered outside the village, drummers beating the call to arms and corporals shouting through the streets, men pouring out from their quarters like an anthill stirred with a stick.
“I am a liaison officer, sir, seconded to Captain von Namtzen’s Hanoverian Foot,” Grey replied, evading the question. “They are at present quartered in Gundwitz; will you require their support?”
Ruysdale looked grossly offended at the notion, but a captain wearing an artillery cockade coughed tactfully.
“Colonel, shall I give Major Grey such particulars of the situation as may seem useful? You have important matters to deal with…” He nodded round at the assembled officers, who seemed attentive, but hardly on the brink of action.
The colonel snorted briefly and made a gesture somewhere between gracious dismissal and the waving-away of some noxious insect, and Grey bowed, murmuring, “Your servant, sir.”
Outside, the clouds of last night’s storm were making a hasty exodus, scudding away on a fresh, cold wind. The artillery captain clapped a hand to his hat, and jerked his head toward a pothouse down the street.
“A bit of warmth, Major?”
Gathering that the village was in no danger of imminent invasion, Grey nodded, and accompanied his new companion into a dark, smoky womb smelling of pigs’ feet and fermented cabbage.
“Benjamin Hiltern,” the captain said, putting back his cloak and holding up two fingers to the barman. “You’ll take a drink, Major?”
“John Grey. I thank you. I collect we shall have time to drink it, before we are quite overrun?”
Hiltern laughed, and sat down across from Grey, rubbing a knuckle under a cold-reddened nose.
“We should have time for our gracious host”—he nodded at the wizened creature fumbling with a jug—“to hunt a boar, roast it, and serve it up with an apple in its mouth, if you should be so inclined.”
“I am obliged, Captain,” Grey said, with a glance at the barman, who upon closer inspection appeared to have only one leg, the other being supported by a stout peg of battered aspect. “Alas, I have breakfasted but recently.”
“Too bad. I haven’t.
Bratkartoffeln mit Ruhrei,
” Hiltern said to the barman, who nodded and disappeared into some still-more-squalid den to the rear of the house. “Potatoes, fried with eggs and ham,” he explained, taking out a kerchief and tucking it into the neck of his shirt. “Delicious.”
“Quite,” Grey
Stephan had kissed him before—kissed innumerable people, for that matter; the man was an inveterate
embrasseur.
But surely this had been somewhat more than the fraternal embrace of a fellow soldier. He could still feel the grip of Stephan’s hand curled around his leg. Or was he deluded by fatigue and distraction, imagining more to it than there was?
And if he were right?
He shook his head, took the warming pan from his sheets, and crawled between them, reflecting that, of all the men in Gundwitz that night, he at least was safe from the attentions of any roving succubi.
Chapter 3
A Remedy for Sleeplessness
R egimental headquarters for the 52nd was in Bonz, a small hamlet that stood some ten miles from Gundwitz. Grey found Colonel Ruysdale in the central room of the largest inn, in urgent conference with several other officers, and indisposed to take time to deal with an enlisted body.
“Grey? Oh, yes, know your brother. You found what? Where? Yes, all right. See…um…Sergeant-Major Sapp. Yes, that’s it. Sapp will know who…” The colonel waved a vague hand, indicating that Grey would doubtless find whatever assistance he required elsewhere.
“Yes, sir,” Grey said, settling his bootheels into the sawdust. “I shall do so directly. Am I to understand, though, that there are developments of which our allies should be informed?”
Ruysdale stared at him, eyes cold and upper lip foremost.
“Who told you that, sir?”
As though he needed telling. Troops were being mustered outside the village, drummers beating the call to arms and corporals shouting through the streets, men pouring out from their quarters like an anthill stirred with a stick.
“I am a liaison officer, sir, seconded to Captain von Namtzen’s Hanoverian Foot,” Grey replied, evading the question. “They are at present quartered in Gundwitz; will you require their support?”
Ruysdale looked grossly offended at the notion, but a captain wearing an artillery cockade coughed tactfully.
“Colonel, shall I give Major Grey such particulars of the situation as may seem useful? You have important matters to deal with…” He nodded round at the assembled officers, who seemed attentive, but hardly on the brink of action.
The colonel snorted briefly and made a gesture somewhere between gracious dismissal and the waving-away of some noxious insect, and Grey bowed, murmuring, “Your servant, sir.”
Outside, the clouds of last night’s storm were making a hasty exodus, scudding away on a fresh, cold wind. The artillery captain clapped a hand to his hat, and jerked his head toward a pothouse down the street.
“A bit of warmth, Major?”
Gathering that the village was in no danger of imminent invasion, Grey nodded, and accompanied his new companion into a dark, smoky womb smelling of pigs’ feet and fermented cabbage.
“Benjamin Hiltern,” the captain said, putting back his cloak and holding up two fingers to the barman. “You’ll take a drink, Major?”
“John Grey. I thank you. I collect we shall have time to drink it, before we are quite overrun?”
Hiltern laughed, and sat down across from Grey, rubbing a knuckle under a cold-reddened nose.
“We should have time for our gracious host”—he nodded at the wizened creature fumbling with a jug—“to hunt a boar, roast it, and serve it up with an apple in its mouth, if you should be so inclined.”
“I am obliged, Captain,” Grey said, with a glance at the barman, who upon closer inspection appeared to have only one leg, the other being supported by a stout peg of battered aspect. “Alas, I have breakfasted but recently.”
“Too bad. I haven’t.
Bratkartoffeln mit Ruhrei,
” Hiltern said to the barman, who nodded and disappeared into some still-more-squalid den to the rear of the house. “Potatoes, fried with eggs and ham,” he explained, taking out a kerchief and tucking it into the neck of his shirt. “Delicious.”
“Quite,” Grey
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