The Crimson Campaign (48 page)

“I’ll see you then,” Doles said. He gestured to the door. They were dismissed.

The sailor SouSmith had thrown through the window suddenly stuck his head up through the trapdoor. His face was bloody from the glass, his clothes and hair soaked, silt on one shoulder. “I’ll kill you!” he screamed at SouSmith, hefting himself up through the trapdoor.

Doles tripped the man on his mad dash toward SouSmith, then set a boot on the sailor’s backside. He waved good-bye to Adamat, then said to his man, “Stay down, or I’ll let the big one tear you apart.”

Outside, SouSmith turned a sneer toward the pub.

“That could have gone better,” Adamat said. “Then again… it could have gone worse.”

SouSmith’s sneer slowly left his face. “Yeah. You need me to come back with ya?”

“Yes. Yes, I think that would be a good idea.”

“I’ll be ready for ’em next time,” SouSmith said, and for a moment he looked as if he considered going back in and killing the lot.

Adamat looked the big man over. He didn’t seem worse for the wear. His shirt had ripped. Not many people get the drop on SouSmith.

“I’m sure,” Adamat said. “Let’s go get the money.”

Taniel sat in a chair in the middle of the tent, his hands clasped in irons and his legs shackled. There wasn’t an ounce of powder anywhere within fifty feet of the command tent, and above all the cautions that the General Staff had taken with his arrest, that concerned him the most. They were being careful with him. Too damned careful.

He was flanked by a pair of provosts. Two more stood behind him, and another four were at the back of the command tent. Each man held a truncheon at the ready and was eyeing him like he was some kind of dangerous degenerate.

The tent was barren, austere. There were a dozen chairs in the back, most of them empty, and at the front a table with five places – one for each of the senior General Staff of the Adran army.

Taniel inspected the tent with a quick glance. Colonels Doravir and Bertthur were seated just behind him. Bertthur’s broken jaw was held in place by a linen tied around his head. To Taniel’s surprise, Brigadier Abrax, the senior commander of the Wings of Adom, sat near the tent flap. What interest could she have in these proceedings?

In the back corner, Colonel Etan sat in his wheeled chair, nodding encouragement. Taniel forced a confident smile he didn’t feel. No one else had come to support him.

Then again, perhaps they wouldn’t let anyone else in the tent.

This was, after all, a court-martial.

Cloth whispered as the front of the tent parted and the generals filed in. Everyone stood. The provosts grasped Taniel roughly beneath the arms and pulled him to his feet, the chains on his ankles nearly making him trip and fall.

Generals Ket and Hilanska were the only two Taniel recognized. He should know more of the senior staff than this, shouldn’t he? Or had Ket stacked the cards against him by selecting new generals to serve on the jury? Taniel tried to meet Hilanska’s eye, but the one-armed general kept his gaze on the floor, a scowl on his face. This didn’t bode well.

The generals sat, and Taniel was allowed back in his chair. General Ket took the middle seat, scratching furiously at the stub of her missing ear. Her eyes traveled about the tent for a moment and then came to rest on Taniel. She gave a slight shake of her head, like a prison warden denying parole.

“This court-martial is in session,” Ket said. “I will be presiding. As you all know, this is a time of war. In such cases, Adran military law allows us to proceed with a drumhead court-martial. No prosecutor or defensive council was consulted. An investigation was carried out swiftly and privately over the course of the last seven days, and now, according to Adran military law, we will determine guilt and sentencing.”

Taniel heard the tent flap at the back of the room part, and the sounds of the camp outside grew momentarily louder before the flap was closed again.

A frown passed over Ket’s face at what she saw. Taniel thought about turning around, but Ket was still speaking.

“We’ve lost eight miles of ground and over three thousand men over the last seven days due directly to the chaos caused by Captain Taniel and his proclamation that Field Marshal Tamas is still alive, and that the General Staff is in league with the enemy. Captain Taniel is accused of fomenting rebellion among the ranks. The charge: treason. Does the accused enter a plea?”

“Not guilty,” Taniel said. He knew the customs of the court. This was standard procedure – or at least, that’s what Colonel Etan had told him, and Etan had studied military law at the university. Taniel couldn’t help the feeling, however, that everything was going to go against him.

General Ket went on to read another dozen charges, including insubordination and assaulting a superior officer. Taniel responded with “not guilty” to every charge.

There was a clink of silverware behind him, and General Ket scowled. Taniel turned around to find Mihali passing out small plates to everyone sitting in the back – even to the provosts. Mihali came to the front with a stack of plates balanced on his arm and began to set them on the general’s table.

“Provosts,” Ket said, “remove this man.”

“Oh, it’s just refreshments,” Mihali scolded, bringing a plate to Taniel. “Wine cake sprinkled with chocolate shavings and a touch of pepper powder. There will be hot coffee outside after the court-martial.” His back to the generals, Mihali winked at Taniel.

None of the provosts had responded to Ket’s command. They were too busy eating.

Taniel couldn’t quite muster the strength to smile. He took a proffered slice of cake and tasted a bite, his chains clinking, and found it absolutely perfect. When everyone had finished, Mihali gathered the plates and retreated to the back of the tent.

Ket’s cake remained untouched. “The investigation has concluded and the evidence has been presented to the judges, each of whom has made his or her own private determination. On the charge of treason, how do we find?”

“Guilty.”

“Not guilty,” General Hilanska said.

Ket stared into Taniel’s eyes. “Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

Taniel felt as if the bottom of his stomach had dropped out.

Ket went on. “By a majority, the defendant is found guilty of treason. The court-martial has reached its verdict. The penalty for treason is death by firing squad.”

“That won’t work on a powder mage,” Mihali said helpfully from somewhere in the back.

“Silence in the court!” Ket pounded her gavel on the table.

“I’m not allowed to speak for myself?” Taniel demanded. “To address these idiotic charges?”

Ket sneered. “Were you or were you not given a full briefing by Colonel Etan on how a wartime court-martial is carried out?”

“I was.”

“Then you’ll know that you are not permitted to speak. Another outburst like that and I’ll have you removed.”

Taniel bit his tongue. Removed from his own trial? This was a load of buggery!

“In the case of a powder mage,” Ket said, “the execution will be carried out by hanging.”

General Hilanska leaned over to Ket and whispered something in her ear. She nodded slowly. Ket took a deep breath, as if collecting herself.

“I’ve been remiss by jumping to the inevitable conclusion of this court. The judges will now retire in order to discuss the sentencing of the guilty party. Court is in recess for one hour.” The generals stood.

“May I speak to the court?”

General Ket paused, about to exit the back, and frowned past Taniel’s shoulder. “This is a military court. I do not know who you are, ma’am, but civilians are not permitted.”

“It will just take a moment. My name is Fell, undersecretary of the Noble Warriors of Labor and personal assistant to Ricard Tumblar. I am here to speak on behalf of Mr. Tumblar.”

Taniel turned in his seat. Fell stood at the back of the room. She wore a tan suit jacket and sharply pressed shirt and trousers, her hands tucked casually into the pockets of her vest.

“Absolutely not,” Ket said. “Provosts, remove this woman.”

The gendarmes had no qualms about heading toward Fell.

“General Ket!” Fell said loudly. “This man who you seem so eager to sentence to death for the love of his country is in the running for second chair to the first prime minister of Adro!”

“Politics has no place in the Adran military,” Ket said. The provosts paused, unsure as to whether to remove Fell now that Ket was facing her directly.

“Captain Taniel Two-Shot is a military hero on two continents,” Fell said. “You might eschew politics, but you will destroy popular opinion of this war and of your command if the captain is executed.”

“I don’t care for public opinion. Leave this court.”

“General Ket,” Fell said emphatically, “if Taniel Two-Shot is executed, the factories will shut down in protest. Replacement boots, uniforms, buttons, musket kits, shirts, and hats will stop coming to the front. Hrusch Avenue will cease to produce rifles and muskets. The newspapers will make sure every single soul in Adopest knows that Taniel Two-Shot, hero of Adro, son of the supposedly late, and most definitely great Field Marshal Tamas, has been executed on trumped-up charges.”

“Are you threatening me, Miss…?”

“Fell.”

“Fell.” Ket rounded the table and crossed the room, gesturing to the provosts. “Are you threatening this war effort?”

Fell put a hand to her chest in shock. “Me? Threaten you? By Kresimir, General Ket, I would never think to threaten you. After all, I can see Taniel’s face right there, tenderized like a side of beef by your provosts. I wouldn’t want to end up like that. No, I am merely providing context for the consequences of the decision of this court.”

“Your master controls the unions. Therefore, you’re threatening me.”

“No.” Fell waggled her finger like a parent scolding a child. “My master heads the unions. The unions have the power to strike, and Mr. Tumblar cannot stop them if they so desire. Do you want that to happen?”

Ket leaned in toward Fell. To her credit, the undersecretary did not so much as flinch.

“This court is in recess for one hour!” Ket whirled and stormed out of the tent, followed by the other generals.

Fell dragged a chair up to the middle of the room. She waved her hand at the provosts flanking Taniel, and they hesitantly took a step back. Fell deposited the chair beside Taniel and sat down.

Taniel studied Fell for a moment. She was dressed sharply, looking far more a businesswoman than an undersecretary or personal assistant. Her eyes, though, were tired, and Taniel could see a recent scar on her cheek covered by a layer of face powder. She reached into her pocket and removed a brown bag. “Cashew?”

Taniel didn’t know what to make of the woman. She, and her master, could have very well just saved Taniel’s life… but a man like Ricard always had his price.

“You’re going to owe Ricard a great deal if you live through this,” Fell said in a low voice.

And there it was. “I didn’t ask for his help.”

“No, but he gave it. You’re an honorable man, aren’t you, Taniel?”

The idea of owing Ricard Tumblar anything made Taniel’s stomach turn.

“What’s Ricard’s price?”

“Three years,” Fell said. “As a politician. You’ll be expected to attend galas and address the public. Everything will be scheduled for you. When you’re not in the public eye, you can do anything you want – bed whomever, smoke all the mala in the world. Not a hard life at all.” Fell shrugged. “But if Ricard happens to die or be killed, you’ll have to step up as prime minister of Adro.”

“I don’t want that.”

Fell gave him a tight smile. “Then you’re more qualified for the job than Ricard is.”

Taniel wondered if that was something that Ricard himself would have said, or if the undersecretary had just made a jab at her master.

“I thought that Hrusch Avenue hadn’t unionized.” Taniel glanced meaningfully toward the tent flap where the generals had exited.

“
They
don’t know that.”

“Is Ricard serious about those threats?”

“I’d rather not find out.”

A bluff, then. Taniel had to give credit to Ricard. Bluffing the senior staff of the Adran army took courage. “Has Ricard ever tried blackmailing Tamas?”

“Oh, pit no. Tamas would have strung Ricard up like a marionette.”

“I’m glad to hear he has limits.”

The hour-long recess for the court stretched into two hours, and then into three. Mihali served coffee and another round of cake.

Taniel couldn’t help wondering where the pit the generals had gotten to. What could be taking them so long?

“This is a good thing, you know,” Fell said between bites of cake.

Colonel Etan, his chair wheeled up beside Taniel, agreed. “At this point, the sentencing requires a four-out-of-five vote. If they’d returned at the hour, or earlier, it would not have looked good for you. They’ve been arguing this whole time, which means that more generals than just General Hilanska are trying to save your skin.”

The tent flap was swept aside, and the generals reentered the room. Fell and Etan both retreated to the back, and the generals took their chairs.

Ket examined Taniel for several moments before speaking. The anger had left her eyes. Steely determination replaced it. “This court,” she said, “has found the defendant guilty of treason. We have decided to drop the remainder of the charges and commute upon the guilty one sentence, to be carried out immediately:

“Captain Taniel is hereby stripped of his rank in the Adran army and dishonorably discharged. As this is a closed court, the verdict is private – however much I’d like to announce to the world that Taniel is no longer one of us, he will be allowed twelve hours to gather his things and quietly leave the camp. Any failure to do so will be met with swift reprisal. Court is adjourned.”

Taniel could hear Doravir protesting from the back that the sentence was too light. Etan loudly argued that the sentence was too harsh. The provosts released Taniel from the irons and stripped him out of his uniform jacket.

He didn’t argue. He couldn’t argue. He barely noticed when the generals had left.