Into The Darkness

Out Leofsig went, Gutauskas trailing after him. Crashes and thuds inside said the Algarvians were tearing the barracks to pieces. If anyone in there was plotting an escape, Leofsig didn't know about it. He did know what he'd find when the Algarvians let him and his fellow captives return: chaos. The Algarvians were good at tearing things to pieces. They didn't bother setting them to rights again. That was the captives' problem.

He strolled toward the fence around the camp - carefully, because the guards there would blaze without warning Forthwegians who came too close. The fence itself wasn't particularly strong. Captives could rush it.. . if most of the ones who tried didn't mind dying before they got there.

A few captives had escaped, the Algarvians discovering it only when their counts came out wrong. Leofsig didn't know how the escapees had done it. Had he, known - he'd have done it himself.

"You there, soldier!" a Forthwegian officer snapped at him. "If you haven't got anything better to do than waddle around like a drunken duck, draw a shovel and go fill in some slit trenches or dig some new ones. We've got no room in this camp for idle hands, and I'll thank you to remember it."

"Aye, sit," Leofsig said resignedly. Even as captives, officers main tained the tight to give common soldiers orders. The only difference was, even the brigadier who was the captives' commandant had to obey the orders of the lowliest Algarvian trooper. Leofsig wondered how the brigadier, who was also a belted earl and a proud and touchy man, enjoyed being on the receiving end of commands. Maybe the experience would teach him something about what a common soldier's life was like.

Somehow, Leofsig doubted it.

The shovels made a sadly mismatched collection. A few were Forthwegian army issue; more, though, looked to have been looted from the farm surrounding the captives' camp. The officer in charge of the latrines, an intense young captain, had nonetheless arranged them in a neat rack he'd built from scrap lumber.

"Ali, good," he said as Leofsig made his slow approach. "It's nasty work, to be sure, but someone's got to do it. Choose your weapon, soldier." He pointed toward the rack of shovels.

"Aye, sit," Leofsig said again, and took as long as he could deciding among them. No one expected a captive to move fast; on what the Algarvians deigned to feed them, the captives couldn't move fast. Leofsig knew as much, and took advantage of it.

"Now get to it," said the captain, who probably hadn't been deceived.

As Leofsig started off toward the noisome trenches, the officer spoke again, this time with curiosity in his voice: "What did you do to get sent over here? The redheads mostly give this duty to Kaunians."

"It wasn't one of the redheads," Leofsig said sheepishly. "It was one o our own officers. I don't suppose I looked busy enough to suit him."

"Seeing how you went about getting a shovel there, I can't say [..I'hil..] surprised," the captain answered. He sounded more amused than a Leofsig hadn't done anything drastic enough to deserve more punish than latrine duty in a captives' camp. After a moment, the captain on, "Maybe it's just as well you got nabbed. Seeing you, the Kau won't think they're the only ones getting stuck with the shit detail."

"Just as well for you, maybe, sir," Leofsig said, "but I don't see how it's just as well for me."

"Go on," the Forthwegian officer said again. "You're not going to get me to waste any more of my time arguing with you."

Leofsig wouldn't have minded doing exactly that. Since he hadn't managed it, he went off to work. He wished he could hold his nose and dig at the same time. A couple of Kaunians in trousers were already working among the slit trenches. The captain in charge of the latrines had been right; they seemed surprised to have a Forthwegian for company.

Leofsig started filling in a trench. Flies rose, resentful, in buzzing clouds.

Seeing he was doing the same thing they were, the Kaunians went back to it themselves. Leofsig noted that with some small relief, then forgot about them. He was working as fast as he could now, to get the job over with. If the Kaunians liked that, fine. If they didn't, he thought, too cursed bad.

"You've got the wrong man, I tell you!" the prisoner shouted as Bembo marched him up the stairs of the constabulary building in central [..Ttican'co..]. Bembo had clapped manacles on him; they clanked with every step he climbed.

When the prisoner's complaints started to get on Bembo's nerves, he pulled the club off his belt and whacked it into the palm of his hand. "Do you want to see how loud you can yell with a mouthful of broken teeth?" he asked. The prisoner suddenly fell silent. Bembo smiled.

At the top of the stairs, Bembo gave him a shove that took him into the door face first. Clucking at the prisoner's clumsiness, Bembo opened the door and gave him another shove. This one sent him through the doorway.