The Shadow Throne: Book Two of the Shadow Campaigns (59 page)

It was well into the afternoon by now, and he decided his aching legs weren’t up to the long walk back to the Twin Turrets. Instead he hailed a cab, which turned out to be occupied by two other men also headed north across the bridges.

“We’re all doubling up these days,” the cabbie told him. “Half the boys have hidden their rig and taken their horses to the countryside until all this is over. It’s only a few minutes out of your way.”

The man was eyeing his uniform, and Marcus probably could have evicted the other passengers with a word of command and a pointed look. But he was in no hurry, so he climbed in and took his seat beside two young men wearing the restrained but expensive clothing of professionals or successful merchants. The door closed, and the horses started
clip-clopping
up the cobbled street.

“It’s true,” one of the men said to the other, taking no notice of Marcus. “One of my kitchen boys has a cousin who’s a carter, and he’s been making the run up to Ohnlei. He said he saw them in the field, muskets and trousers, bold as brass.”

The other man snorted. “Whores drumming up business. Girls acting like men does it for some people, I suppose. I can see the appeal. It’s cute, like putting a little coat and hat on your dog and pretending he’s a gentleman.”

“This carter talked to some of the new soldiers,” the first said. “They said one of the men asked for a price, and got a kick in the fork for his troubles.”

The other laughed. “Probably tried to lay a hand on the merchandise without paying cash up front. I met this girl in a Southside tavern once, and she would slit you as soon as look at you until you crossed her palm with gold. After that, well, it was a different story . . .”

Marcus pressed his head against the window and tried not to listen. He was certainly no stranger to prostitutes—no soldier was—and he’d had his share in Ashe-Katarion, before the Redemption. There were always girls willing to fawn over the Vordanai soldiers in those days, for the status and protection from the prince’s law, but Marcus had preferred the honesty of a straightforward commercial transaction. Then there had been Jen, and after she’d betrayed him . . .

And now she’s dead.
He still wasn’t sure how to feel about that. There had always been the wild hope, in the back of his mind, that she’d wake up and beg forgiveness. Janus said whatever Ihernglass had done had stripped her of the demon she’d borne for the Church, so she’d be no further use to them.
She could have stayed with me, and—what? Marriage?
His mind balked at the idea.

It doesn’t matter now.
He swallowed a lump in his throat and shook his head.
Fantasies never helped anybody.

After letting the two young men off at a fashionable town house south of Bridge Street, the cab rumbled around to the Twin Turrets. The sun was still up, but already the house was ablaze with light, torches burning beside the doors and candles showing in the windows. Marcus paid the fare, exchanged salutes with the Mierantai guards, and went inside.

Janus was in his study, still going over the maps of the ground between Vordan City and Midvale with a pencil and dividers. The usual stack of folded papers, weighed down with books, inkwells, and whatever else was handy, stood at his elbow. The colonel always insisted on thorough reports from his subordinates.

Marcus saluted again, then relaxed at Janus’ vague wave. He closed the door behind him.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” the colonel said. “What news from our officers of artillery?”

“They’re making progress, sir.” Marcus related what he’d seen at the University, and what Val had told him.

“It’s something, anyway.” Janus sighed. “If I were truly the all-seeing genius they call me in the streets, I would have had a cache of cannon secreted
somewhere in the city in preparation for this moment. Take note, Captain. Preparation has its place, but there is no substitute for improvisation. And a great deal of hard work.”

“Yes, sir.” Marcus hesitated. “You were up at Ohnlei today?”

“Briefly,” Janus said. “Captain Warus and I decided to keep the headquarters here. If the duke moves quickly enough, it’s possible Ohnlei might come within his reach, and it’s poorly suited for defense. We’d have to abandon it.”

“I see.”

Janus looked up, big gray eyes skewering Marcus. “Why do you ask?”

“I . . .” Marcus paused, his face reddening a little, but there was no turning back now. It was hard to hide anything from Janus. “I heard something on my way back. Just a rumor, I’m sure. They said a gang of women had taken up residence there, and were . . . practicing their trade. I wondered if you knew about it.”

Marcus wouldn’t have put it past Janus to hire a bunch of prostitutes for the use of his newly recruited soldiers, now that he came to think about it. For all that he was a nobleman, he lacked delicacy in such matters, though as far as Marcus knew he himself never indulged. He wondered if Janus had a woman, back in Mieran County.
Hell, or a wife. I’ve never asked, and he never talks about himself.

“Ah.” Janus laid his pencil down and straightened up. “I suppose word was bound to get out.”

Now I’ve put my foot in it.
Marcus’ cheeks were flushed under his beard. “If this is something you’ve arranged, I don’t mean to imply—”

“It is indeed something I arranged, Captain, but it’s not what you think. This morning I had a visit from a group of young women who wished to volunteer as soldiers.”

Marcus barked a laugh, automatically. Then, as he put this together with what he’d heard in the carriage, his forehead furrowed.

“You sent them on their way, sir, I should think,” he said.

“On the contrary, I told them their services would be welcome. Their spokesman was the notorious ‘Mad Jane,’ with whom I think you may be familiar.”

“You told them . . .” Marcus shook his head. “I don’t understand. What are you hoping to accomplish?”

“I am
hoping
to defend this city and my queen against the Last Duke,” Janus
said, a touch of harshness entering his voice. “I will accept the assistance of anyone who wishes to offer it.”

“So you sent them to be—what? Nurses? Washerwomen?” Marcus’ frown deepened. “I don’t like it, sir. A few girls, out among so many young men. People are going to make assumptions.”

“You don’t seem to understand, Captain. I sent them to be
soldiers
. As for their safety among so many men, I think Miss Verity and her companions have adequately demonstrated their ability to care for themselves, don’t you?”

“You sent them to be soldiers,” Marcus deadpanned. “A bunch of girls.”

“Yes.”

“To carry muskets.”

“Yes.”

“And to march—”

“Yes. Captain, what is it about this concept that you find so difficult to understand?”

“But that’s ridiculous, sir! You can’t—I mean, they would—”

Janus said nothing, eyes hooded. Marcus took a deep breath.

“If they’re dead set on it, maybe we could use them for recruiting,” he said. “But you can’t seriously think of sending them into the fighting.”

“Why not?”

“Because they might get killed!”

“And I suppose you think all the
boys
we’ve recruited have steel skins?”

“But—”

“Forgive me if I sound callous, Captain, but from my experience I am reasonably certain that a woman can stop a musket ball as well as any man. If she can load and fire her own weapon as well, I see no reason to stop her.”

“The other recruits will never stand for it.
Nobody
will stand for it.”

“You’d be surprised,” the colonel said. “‘Mad Jane’ is quite popular, and many of our new soldiers come from the Docks. And if anyone does object, they’ll have their officers to answer to.”

“But . . .” Marcus turned even redder. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through, sir. What if they’re captured by the enemy?”

“Then I suspect they will be raped,” Janus said, pronouncing the ugly word with a deliberate bluntness. “A fact of which they are certainly well aware. These are not noble girls from the Fairy Castles, Captain. It’s a threat they’ve lived with all their lives.”

“But how can we send them out if we
know
that might happen to them?”

“We fought the Redeemers, who liked to burn their prisoners alive and, some said, to eat them. There was also the option of impalement, which I understand involves a wooden spear inserted via the anus and positioned in such a way as to leave the victim alive for days while he’s mounted on the city wall. The Desoltai tortured, gelded, and murdered our scouts and left them for us to find. Against any of these enemies, did you hesitate to order your men forward because you were worried about what might happen to them?”

“But these aren’t
men.
They’re—”

“Captain d’Ivoire,” Janus growled. Marcus had only heard the colonel raise his voice in anger once, in a temple on Ashe-Katarion’s sacred hill. This was only a shadow of that violent outburst, but it carried an echo that made Marcus’ skin crawl. “You seem to be laboring under a misapprehension, and perhaps I am to blame. Our victories in Khandar have made many in the Colonials overconfident, and their estimation of my own abilities has risen to frankly unjustified heights.

“I know my worth, Captain, but I have no magic trick to pull out of my bag here. Orlanko has more trained men than we do, and they are well equipped. He has more guns, and he has a regiment of cuirassiers to our few hundred light horses. All I have to set in our side of the balance pan is the assistance of the people of Vordan City, to whatever extent they are willing to offer it. If we lose, you and I, not to mention the other officers of the Colonials, will almost certainly lose our heads, and our queen will become a slave in all but name. Under the circumstances, please believe I mean what I say when I tell you I will take
any
help I can get. I am not going to turn away two hundred highly motivated volunteers because
you
have scruples about their gender. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Marcus drew himself up and saluted. “I understand,
sir
.”

“Good.” Janus’ expression calmed, as though the brief burst of anger had never been. A moment later, he flashed a smile. “If you have any further objections, I suggest you take them up with Her Majesty. I have no doubt she would be happy to listen.”

WINTER

Putting on her uniform, straight from Janus’ laundry, felt more comfortable than Winter could have imagined. Her specially tailored undershirt, tight across the chest in the right places, tucked into blue trousers with razor-sharp creases.
A proper lieutenant’s jacket, with a double row of gleaming buttons and the white stripes sewn on the shoulders. And the brimmed cap, which sat differently than she was used to. Winter puzzled at this until she realized she hadn’t had her hair trimmed in weeks, and her usual close-to-the-skull cut was getting distinctly shaggy.

It was all as familiar and comfortable as an old glove, but during the walk across the palace grounds she found herself tugging nervously at the seams and sleeves. The problem was Jane’s unaccustomed gaze. In Khandar she’d managed to forget that her disguise
was
a disguise, but with Jane watching she couldn’t put it out of her mind.

Finally, out of earshot of the outer ring of sentries, she muttered, “You don’t have to
stare
at me like I was a dancing bear.”

“Sorry,” Jane said, with a smile that was anything but. “I’m still getting used to this. Do you know you even walk differently?”

“This is going to be awkward enough,” Winter said, “without you making me nervous.”

“All right, all right. But promise me something?”

“What?”

Jane’s grin turned wicked. “Wear that outfit to bed sometime? I can’t look at it without thinking about how I’d peel it off you.”

Winter rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a little blush.
So now I have
that
image to keep me company.
She started off again, and Jane fell in behind her. Winter could almost feel her leering gaze. Jane could out-ogle any tavern full of sailors Winter had ever encountered, when she put her mind to it.

The First Colonial camp was laid out directly in front of the palace itself, split by the broad main drive and occupying the grass lawns that spread out from the cul-de-sac with its fountain and statue of Farus IV. Farther down the drive was the space they were using as a drill field, and the new recruits, lacking tents, were bedding down in the offices and hallways of the various ministries. The notorious Cobweb had been mostly gutted by fire, started by Orlanko’s minions as they’d fled. The drill sergeants had been using targets chalked on its facade for target practice, so the once-smooth columns and frontage were now scored and pitted as well as black with smoke.

All the drills thus far had been with weapons, without even a token effort to teach march discipline or camp skills. Jane’s girls, given a hallway of hastily abandoned offices in the Ministry of War, had organized a cooking schedule and set watches on the doors with the thoroughness of long practice, but the
rest of the recruits were not nearly so organized. Fires burned at random among the once-perfect grounds, and carefully trimmed trees and shrubs were hacked to bits for wood. Rough-looking men filled their buckets from the ornamental fountains, and the specially bred black-and-white carp in the Ministry of State’s reflecting pool were quickly captured and eaten.

The First Colonial camp was far more organized, with the familiar torchlit avenues between rows of faded blue canvas tents. One ring of sentries surrounded the camp, and patrols with lanterns walked around the palace, protecting it from looters. There weren’t enough men to guard the entire vast estate, but Janus had asked that the royal residence, at least, be spared wanton destruction.

Once they were among the tents, Winter was at least spared Jane’s continued attention. The familiar scene of an army camp was entirely new to her, and she looked around eagerly at the tents, the stacked arms, and the big kettles where the men were cooking dinner. Her stares were returned from every quarter, and as they passed, men poked one another and whispered. Rumors had obviously started to spread about the girl soldiers. For a moment, Winter felt the familiar urge to shrink in on herself, but a glance back at Jane steadied her. She straightened up and walked a little faster.