Hatter (28 page)

The captain froze, and it took him a long time to turn. With a pensive look he finally said, “Onion. You’re absolutely right.” In a voice barely loud enough to be heard, the captain said slowly to a soldier, “Make them messengers. Give them a copy of my letter to Queen Palida and have them depart immediately.” To Hatta and Ander he said, “I’m sure loyal servants of the queen won’t mind carrying a missive. Since you’re already on your way to find her.”

They didn’t argue. “I’m not releasing you from conscription,” said the captain, “but we can’t have too many messengers.” Without further comment, he spun and strode away.

Hatta sank to his knees in relief. The two hours spent as a soldier were the worst of his life.

Chapter 25

Selvage

Wearing the felt gloves made by his brother, Chism stroked thumbs against fingers as he scanned the encampment that infested the town of Marrit. His flight originally took him north, but he circled around, eventually reaching a low hill to the south that gave him the best view of the town. Though the terrain was much different, he had flashbacks of Quicksilver Squadron entering Serpent Gap while he looked on. However, back at the Gap he looked forward to the outcome, confident that his brothers-in-arms could deal with the situation. He was just as confident that Hatta could
not
deal with the current situation.

Staying and becoming a prisoner wouldn’t have done either of us any good,
he told himself for the sixteenth time.
I haven’t abandoned you, brother.

The camp came to life as he looked on, but it was much too far to make out individual activities and he had no idea where Hatta was being held. Or Ander. Hatta would stick out if Chism could see colors, but that was worthless wishing. Hopefully they were still together. Ander’s experience as a Fellow gave them a small chance of escaping or at least being treated humanely. If they got separated Hatta was capable of getting himself into any situation.

“Move, curse you,” he told the camp at large. If tents didn’t come down soon then the army would stay for at least another day, giving Chism no chance of making a rescue. He called it an army, but the group was no larger than three hundred and fifty men.

Once the soldiers marched, Chism would have many more options for rescue. Sneaking into camp under disguise and leading Hatta and Ander to safety would be the easiest, especially in the chaos of making or breaking camp. He also considered an ambush if Hatta ever appeared close enough to the borders of camp that Chism only had to fight four soldiers. Maybe even six.

Every minute his brother spent as a conscript would be agony for both of them.

Chism’s patience was rewarded, as tent poles were lowered and men bustled, preparing to march. He wouldn’t have to wait until the next day to act after all.

An hour later, the regiment lined up facing south, nearly the direction in which Chism waited. He watched hopefully until the soldiers started moving, then released his held breath. Lucky enough to flee in the right direction, he had a considerable head start on the soldiers.

After retrieving his horse where he had tethered it near the road, Chism started south on the road at a trot. As a lone rider, he could cover distance twice as fast as the battalion, giving him plenty of time to analyze possible locations for ambush or escape attempt. But the land he passed was flat with the same scrubby trees that surrounded the mining homestead. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for, but didn’t see any way to use the current terrain.

Half a day passed without any change in landscape until a few small farms came into view on either side of the Northern Spoke. At the height of summer the fields should have been full of farmers, but nearly everyone Chism saw was a woman or young boy. The people who noticed him watched closely and some even stopped their chores and withdrew to locations out of Chism’s view. It didn’t even seem like the same town he and Ander had passed through.

Located just north of the crossroads of the Northern Spoke and the Fringe Road, Selvage was almost big enough to call a city. As one of nine towns in the kingdom that allowed travel along major routes in any direction, Selvage was a somewhat important center of commerce. Technically it was in the Provinces, but close enough to Maravilla that loyalties might be divided.

Two months previous, Ander reported no signs of any kind of search for Chism. He hoped that still held true.

When he entered the town he noticed the same lack of activity he’d seen in the fields. Most people hurried inside as he approached, and the ones that didn’t flee eyed Thirsty with mistrust. The shops all appeared to be closed, odd for a town whose lifeblood was trade. A cloud of caginess hung over the village; he couldn’t even talk to anyone since they fled every time he approached.

Townsfolk shouldn’t be so scared of a lone boy. I need to corner someone and find out what’s going on.

Watching for a dead end alley or someone out in the open who couldn’t duck inside, he spotted a woman scurrying out of a shop and saw a much better opportunity. A shopkeeper would have no choice but to attend him.

Chism tethered his horse to a post outside the shop and casually gripped Thirsty as he approached the door. Leaving Thirsty outside would set a shopkeeper at ease, but any advantage would be greatly overshadowed by the risks of not having it handy in a bind. Besides, abandoning friends should be avoided when possible.

The shopkeeper’s eyes darted to the back of the store when Chism entered, but the man held his ground uneasily, not sure if he should stay or run. Chism had never seen such a prominent nose, like a parrot’s beak, and the man’s flowing hair was brushed back like plumage.

“What do you what?” he asked tersely.

The shop was empty of people and nearly empty of supplies. Some baskets were vacant, others held a few potatoes, some flour, or dried corn. More shelves were bare than stocked.

“What happened here?”

“Who are you with?” asked Parrot. “White or Red?”

“Neither. I’m trying to stay out of it.” Then he added, “Just like you.”

“What’s a boy doing with a sword like that?”

“Like I said,” answered Chism, “I’m trying to stay clear any way I can.”

Parrot looked him up and down, considering. With an exasperated sigh, he said, “The Reds came through first. They ‘appropriated’ the supplies they needed. Only those of us with cold cellars or hidden stocks were left with more than a couple days provisions.” He wore a look of disgust. “Not two days later the Whites came. There wasn’t much in the way of goods for them to seize, but in the end they took much more than the Reds.”

That explains why there are no men left in town,
Chism thought.

“Four out of five men were conscripted, no matter that our supplies had just been wiped out by the Reds. They took volunteers first,” Parrot’s face flushed and he couldn’t hold Chism’s gaze. “But that wasn’t enough to fill the quota so they held a lottery.” His voice was low, as if embarrassed and Chism understood the man was feeling guilt over avoiding the draft.

Chism didn’t know what to say to ease Parrot’s feelings of cowardice or culpability.

“Folk had some coin, but with all the men gone it didn’t last long. We’re traders, and without goods we have nothing.” Motioning to his shop he said, “I was lucky enough to have this stored away under the shop, but near everyone’s buying on credit. A few still barter, but not many have anything of value left to trade and I just can’t bring myself to turn away hungry folk.”

Still Chism had nothing to say, and the shopkeeper continued. “It’s the blessing and the curse of living in a merchant town. Under normal circumstances, coin flows freely, but when the goods are gone, you’re left with no way to provide. There are only a few farms around the town, and the farmers have been glad to take on the men who are left, but unless something drastic happens we’ll never be able to put away enough before winter.”

The armies, which should be supporting the Circle, have become the worst violators. I have to do something.

No,
he corrected himself.
That’s not my concern anymore
.
My concern is watching out for Hatta
. With armies gobbling up conscripts, as the Marrit store owner described it, Hatta had certainly been drafted, if not imprisoned. More than ever he had to find a way to rescue him, even if it meant drastic measures. “Where are the armies now?”

Parrot shrugged. “They had a battle outside of town on the day between their visits here. I don’t know where they went off to, but wherever it is isn’t far enough.”

“Battle?”

“The Whites called it a skirmish. When they took the conscripts they claimed they needed to replenish their ranks.”

“Where was the battle?”

“South of town, at the crossroads.”

“Thanks,” said Chism, and turned to leave. Reaching into a pocket he pulled out six silvers and four coppers. It represented half of his coins. “Can I trust you to get these to people who need them?” He knew they would be worth little in Selvage, but eventually trade with other cities would resume.

Looking at the coins like a starving father at a loaf of bread, Parrot nodded. Chism pressed them into his palm. He wanted to do more, try to mend the broken Circle, but he wasn’t like Hatta—he couldn’t save the world. The thought amused Chism, and he shook his head and smirked in spite of himself.

The ride out of town was as disheartening as the ride in. Similar to the northern outskirts, very few farmers specked the landscape south of town. Approximately a quarter mile out of town, where the Northern Spoke and the Fringe Road met, he found the battle site. What was once a flourishing wheat field spread out north of the Fringe Road and west of the Northern Spoke.

Leaving his horse to graze on the ruined wheat, he wandered through the field, startling crows and vultures. Here and there lay broken pieces of shields and splintered arrows. Swarms of flies pointed him to a few body parts—some fingers, a hand, remnants of entrails and some fleshy chucks that might be parts of legs. All of them had been picked over by animals. In many areas the ground was crusted with blood—he didn’t have to see colors to recognize it. More indications of the shattered Circle.

Along the western edge of the field he saw a mound of fresh dirt, four paces wide and twenty four across. A mass grave. He estimated more than fifty but less than a hundred.

What meaningless loss of life and abuse of the populace.
He pictured Hatta’s body, hacked and rotting under the berm and knew he not only had to keep Hatta alive but also prevent him from even seeing this. That didn’t give him much choice as to where to stage his rescue.

Without another glance at the tragic scene, he returned to his horse and set off to the north without a plan.

An hour north of town, Chism left the road for a vantage point. The legion still ambled south. It was amazing they ever arrived anywhere at that pace.

Far ahead of the main body rode two men with three horses, much too relaxed to be scouts. The hat on one and pale tousled hair on the other were unmistakable

With relief Chism thought,
Hatta and his dumb luck. I don’t know how he does it.

***

“Indefatigable,” said Hatta, adjusting his superb traveling hat.

Pondering, Ander said, “Fatigue means tired. Fatigable is able to tire.
De
fatigable would be unable to tire,
In
defatigable means not unable to tire, or able to tire.”

“Yes! But it doesn’t mean that at all,” said Hatta.

With a nod Ander said, “Indefatigable.”

“Prison and jail are the same, right?” asked Hatta.

Ander nodded.

“So a prison
er
and a jail
er
are the same, right?”

“I suppose they should be, but they’re actually opposites,” said Ander.

“Yes! And what about inflammable. It means something burns easily and quickly.”

“That’s what flammable means, too,” said Ander. “
In
flammable should be the opposite of flammable. Very good, Hatta. You’ve given this some thought.”

“It’s just that perfidy does not agree with me, and words that mean what they don’t say, they bother me. But I noticed you can lie like a grey cat can meow.”

Ander barked a laugh. “And you spew the truth like a man with the scour purges.”

“I thank you,” Hatta said. He wasn’t sure exactly how, but assumed it was a compliment.

They were a few hours south of the Whites on the Northern Spoke. Hatta wanted to travel north, the direction Chism had fled, but Ander said that would be too suspicious. They needed to take the message for Queen Palida and find the main body of the White Army. Or at least act like that was their intent. So they plodded south, nowhere near the path his brother was on.