who know how to get there.
'If you are not under my command, you will still be a divisive force. You just want a shot at du Malphias. I understand this, but none of us can hazard you taking that shot regardless of our plans. If you're not with us, you won't be allowed on the expedition. Is this clear?'
Nathaniel's nostrils flared. 'You're beginning to sound powerful close to that idiot come to lead us.'
'No. He sounds the way he does because he supposes that is how he should sound. He has no real clue as to why he should insist on discipline. That others oppose him is an affront to his honor, and that is all he cares about, his honor and his glory.' Forest tapped a finger against his own chest. 'If I ever had such dreams, I was clutching them in the hand I left in the Artennes Forest. I'm commanding and demanding because that is what will keep men alive. You've seen the fortress. It will be a meat-grinder. As much as I admire you and want you with me, if it is not on my terms, you will do more harm than good.'
'Some thinking needs doing.' Nathaniel turned away and paced off, heading toward a barrel of water that had been filled from Sutler's Creek. Another man offered him a dipper, but Nathaniel waved it away, then plunged his head into the barrel. The cold water shocked him, then he came up and shook his head, spraying water all over.
Major Forest was right, of course. Nathaniel knew he didn't fit well within society's sense of order. That was why he spent so much time outside of it. Society looked askance at his carrying-on with Rachel-even though they knew that she was rightfully his. The hypocrites turned his stomach, and the less he had to do with them, the more he liked it.
Jumped-up idiots play-acting at soldiery, like Langford and Rivendell, were worse. Scolds might whisper about him, but those fools would get men killed. Nathaniel had already heard from various sources that Rivendell doubted most all of what they'd reported about du Malphias. He'd attributed their claims to 'a certain Colonial propensity for hysteria when the subject of war with Tharyngia is at hand.' Rivendell had cheated and stolen. Given three bullets and a choice of targets between Rivendell and du Malphias, Nathaniel would just as soon shoot Rivendell twice.
Major Forest was pretty much the only officer he'd met that he thought deserving of rank. Nathaniel checked himself. Owen Strake merited that honor, too. Both men thought a lot about how to win, not what they'd do after they won. Owen had his scars; Forest, too, obviously. If he had to guess, Nathaniel figured Rivendell's body would have fewer blemishes than a newborn baby's behind.
As much as he hated the thought of taking orders from someone else, his problem with Forest's offer went deeper. He could take orders from Forest. He had before-though he had been much younger-and respected the man enough to assume any service he asked was a service needed doing.
What he didn't want was being responsible for men, and for their feeling beholden to him. Nathaniel could take care of himself. Always had done, likely would do until the day he died. He'd already forgotten things Caleb Frost would need to learn if he was going to live. There wasn't any way, as Forest had said, that they'd be able to teach the men everything, and Nathaniel wasn't sure there was a way to even teach them enough.
He looked up as Caleb shouted for joy. He'd reached the top of the cliff. A few men below applauded; a couple threw caps in the air. Most of the hard men ignored his victory and, if he got chosen, many of them would figure it was because he was Forest's nephew.
Nathaniel knew that wasn't true. Caleb was a smart young man and a good shot. He was a leader, too. He stood up there on the cliff, urging on his college friends. The other men had come in by themselves, or in small clumps. Caleb had brought a squad and had them gamely doing things some of them likely never imagined doing.
'And like as not, they're the ones who end up dead.' Nathaniel ran his hands back along his scalp, squeezing out barrel water, feeling it run down inside his leather shirt. That was the real trick of it. If men died, he'd end up carrying them with him forever. He'd do for their families what he'd done for Grannie Hale. He was sure he'd be thanked a lot, be told it wasn't his fault, but there would be those glances that told him otherwise. Cuz ain't nobody, given a chance to shift blame off the sainted dead, won't do it.
He hugged his arms around himself. There was the final point. If he didn't go, if he didn't lead, he'd still feel responsible. If any of them died, he'd think they wouldn't have had he been there. He didn't want responsibility, but he saddled himself with it anyway.
'I am pure-D doomed.' He shook his head again, then smiled. 'Least ways Kamiskwa ain't here to see this.'
Nathaniel walked back over to Forest. 'I got me one condition.'
Forest raised an eyebrow.
'You pick Caleb, he's my Lieutenant. You take his squad, Makepeace Bone leads it.'
The Major watched him warily. 'Making Caleb your Lieutenant will not keep him out of danger.'
'I know that, but means I have his smarts working for me. And you're gonna be most like putting orders in writing, which he's better at deciphering than I's ever going to become.'
'I'll need time to think on this, Nathaniel. I favor your proposal at the moment. I'll decide in the time it takes for you to climb that cliff. Don't give me too long to change my mind.'
Nathaniel laughed and kicked off his moccasins. 'Step aside boys. Coming up for to show you how this oughtta be done.'
Most men did part, though Rufus Branch made it his duty to get in the way while doing his best to pretend he was ignoring Nathaniel. Nathaniel darted around him, pulled on three pouches of stones and the two sticks as rifles.
The man tying the rope around his waist commented on the extra pouch of stones. 'You only need two.'
'Well, Rufus, he's carrying an extra stone or two. Ain't no reason I shouldn't.'
Men laughed, and someone made the mistake of trying to slap Rufus on the belly. That man landed on his butt with a split lip, but had the sense not to get up right away.
Nathaniel began his climb. It came easy at the start, with hand-and footholds having been worn deep by boys who'd played on the cliffs for years. About twenty feet up a nice ledge afforded a view of the ocean past Temperance, and one could spot sails rounding the headland easily.
After that it got a bit trickier, but Nathaniel had long since learned the secrets of climbing. Never hug the rock, never get too spread out, and do all the lifting with your legs. Sudden moves, especially with stones swaying and sticks clacking, would throw a climber off balance more sure than a gallon of whisky drunk in a minute. And the fall from a cliff was worse than the fall from an alehouse stool.
Once he got past halfway, things became easy again because fewer climbers had made it that high. He ranged a little to the east, away from the quarry-side, and once he'd cleared some crumbling rock, made the run up fairly quickly. He climbed over the top and stood-even though he wanted to lay down and pant-and untied the belay line himself.
Major Forest cupped a hand to his mouth. 'Glad to have you with us, Captain Woods.'
Makepeace slapped him on the back, and Caleb offered him his hand as men below cheered and a couple fired off their guns. No bullets came close, but that was because Rufus wouldn't have dared do anything where folks could see, what with Makepeace above him and with his new Hill breech-loading rifle close by his side.
Nathaniel shook Caleb's hand. 'You done right well, Caleb.'
The younger man blushed. 'Just hope my uncle thinks so. We, the boys and me, we want to go, do our part.'
'Iffen he does choose you, be an honor to serve with you.'
Caleb threw him a salute. 'Yes, sir, Captain Woods.'
Nathaniel hesitated. 'I ain't thinking it's right me having the same rank as Captain Strake.'
The younger man frowned. 'Technically you don't. I mean, you'll be commanding the same number of troops as he does, doing the same things his troops do but in the command structure you'd only be a Subaltern.'
'A what?'
'It's kind of a half-Lieutenant, and no Norillian trooper would have to obey your orders. It's because you're Colonial Militia.'
'So, by that thinking, your uncle, he's below Captain Strake?'
'Yes.'
Nathaniel shook his head. 'Don't seem right being as how one man stops a bullet good as the next.'
