flew overhead. He could have been huddling in a trench, waiting for soldiers in rock-gray tunics to swarm over him. After a while, the dragons above Eoforwic would be gone. In a trench, the danger never went away.
“We ought to have more dragons and heavy sticks around Eoforwic,” Delminio said. “This is an important place. Do we let the Unkerlanters knock chunks of it flat whenever they please?”
“If we put more dragons and heavy sticks back here, pal, we wouldn’t have ‘em at the front,” a soldier said. “There’s not enough to go around as is, in case you haven’t noticed. Having Swemmel’s whoresons tear a hole in the line is a bigger worry than anything else, believe you me it is.” That echoed Bembo’s thought too closely for comfort.
After what seemed like forever but couldn’t have been much above half an hour, the eggs stopped falling on Eoforwic. Bembo could barely hear the bells announcing that the Unkerlanter raiders had flown back toward the west. All through the cellar, people sighed and stretched, getting ready to resume their interrupted lives. Somebody put it pretty well: “We got through another one.”
“Now let’s go see how many pieces need picking up,” Bembo said to Delminio.
“There’ll be some,” Delminio predicted. “There always are.” He did his best to sound like a jaded veteran. As far as Bembo was concerned, he succeeded. But then a soldier let out a snort. Delminio gave the fellow a dirty look, but the damage was done.
When they came out into the fresh air, it didn’t seem so fresh any more. The stink of smoke made Bembo cough. Looking around, he saw several plumes rising into the sky. More bells jangled as crews hurried to try to cope with the fires. “Looks like they hit us a good lick,” he remarked.
“They’ve done worse,” Delminio said. But his bravado didn’t last. With a sigh, he went on: “They are hitting us harder and more often than they were a year ago. We have to carry on. I don’t know what else we can do.”
At the edge of the Kaunian quarter, Algarvian constables eyed Bembo and Delminio’s kilts and reddish hair, making sure of who and what they were before waving them on into the district. Bembo looked around in disgust. “Hardly seems like anything fell here.”
“Swemmel’s whoresons don’t usually hit the Kaunians hard,” Delminio answered. “They know the blonds give us trouble, and they know what we do with those blonds, too, so they don’t see much point to dropping eggs on em.”
“Stupid, if you ask me,” Bembo said. “If the Unkerlanters know we’re killing Kaunians to give ‘em grief, they ought to do their best to kill ‘em before we get the chance.”
“Why don’t you write a letter toMarshalRathar?” Delminio said. Bembo made a horrible face at him. They both laughed.
Just as they were rounding a corner, another redheaded fellow in constabulary uniform hurried into a block of flats. “Boy, he didn’t waste any time getting back here, did he?” Bembo said.
Delminio chuckled. “He’s probably got himself a sweet little Kaunian tart stashed in there.” His hands, expressive as any Algarvian’s, shaped an hourglass in the air. “Has to make sure his darling is all right, don’t you know.”
“Makes sense,” Bembo agreed. “You want to know what I think, though, what doesn’t make sense is getting that stuck on any one blond girl. How long is she likely to last before they ship her west?”
“You know what your trouble is?” Delminio said. He waited for Bembo to shake his head, then continued, “Your trouble is, you’ve got your head on too straight. A lot of fellows, they screw a girl a few times and then they decide they have to be in love with her. You know what I mean?”
Bembo nodded. “Oh, sure. I’ve seen that. Powers above, back when I was a kid I’d do it myself. But it’s especially stupid here.”
“I won’t tell you you’re wrong,” Delminio said. “Back before you got here, a couple of constables got caught tipping off their Kaunian girlfriends that roundups were coming, or else hiding them so they wouldn’t get shipped out.”
“Officers do that kind of stuff all the time,” Bembo said.
“If these had been officers, they would’ve got away with it,” Delminio said. “But they were just ordinary sods like you and me. The wenches went out on the next ley-line caravan west, and the bigwigs decided those constables had volunteered for the infantry, so they’re somewhere off in Unkerlant, too-if they’re still breathing they are, I mean.”
Bembo grunted. “That’s… probably worth knowing,” he said at last. What went through his mind was, You can enjoy yourself with these Kaunian gals, but don’t -by the powers above, don’t!-do anything stupid. He didn’t expect he would. His mother hadn’t raised him to be a fool.
Delminio had been eyeing him. After a moment, his new partner nodded. “I said you had your head on straight.”
“You’d best believe it,” Bembo boasted, which made Delminio snort.
That pregnant Kaunian woman emerged from her cellar and made her way back to the block of flats next door to the one the Algarvian constable with the blond girlfriend had entered. Delminio pointed to her. “What do you suppose she’s thinking right now?”
“When you get right down to it, that doesn’t make much difference, does it?” Bembo pointed in the direction from which the Unkerlanter dragons had come, the direction in which so many Kaunians were going. Delminio thought it over. He didn’t need to think long. After only a couple of heartbeats, he nodded.
“How are you this morning, milady?” Bauska asked.
“Sleepy,” Krasta said around a yawn. “Very sleepy.” She gave the yawn full rein. “Funny-I didn’t get to bed all that late last night, or the night before, either.” She yawned again. If she wanted to go back to bed, who would stop her?
But her maidservant, annoyingly, persisted: “How are you feeling today?”
Bauska’s question had a certain eager avidity to it. No matter how tired Krasta felt, she noticed that. “I already told you,” she snapped. “Why don’t you go away and leave me alone?”
“Aye, milady. Shall I bring you some tea, to help you wake up?” the serving woman asked.
“No.” Krasta shuddered. “The cup I had yesterday tasted most shockingly bad. I know there’s a war, but the blenders will simply have to do better than that, or they shall hear from me.”
“Aye, milady. Of course, milady.” Bauska’s nod was obsequiousness itself-or so Krasta thought, till her maidservant asked the next question: “When the baby comes, do you hope for a boy or a girl, milady?”
Krasta’s jaw fell open. All at once, she wasn’t sleepy any more. She’d just begun admitting that possibility to herself, and she still didn’t care to think of it as more than a possibility. “How did you know?” she blurted.
“Milady, I handle your clothes,” Bauska said patiently, as if to a foolish child. “Do you think I don’t notice what happens-and what doesn’t?”
“Oh.” Krasta couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to Bauska in such a small voice. She hated the feeling that Bauska had the advantage of her, but couldn’t very well escape it.
Her maidservant went on, “Does Colonel Lurcanio know yet?”
“Of course not!” Krasta exclaimed. Bauska raised an eyebrow and said nothing. Krasta’s face heated. She hated the idea that other people knew more about her life than she wanted them to or than she thought they did. But then, still unusually subdued, she changed her answer: “I don’t think so.”
Bauska’s nod was businesslike. “I’m sure he’ll look after you and the baby very well,” she said, “as long as he’s in Priekule.” Krasta glared at her for that addition. Bauska’sCaptainMosco had been very attentive to her-till he got sent to Unkerlant not long before her little bastard was born. From that day on, Bauska had never heard a word from him.
“I’m sure he will, too.” Krasta did her best to sound sure. It wasn’t so easy as she wished it were. Conceiving by her Algarvian lover would prove inconvenient any which way; she was already sure of that. What she wasn’t altogether sure of, and what could prove worse than inconvenient, was whether she’d conceived by Lurcanio or byViscountValnu. She’d thoroughly enjoyed her infidelity, and hadn’t worried in the least about consequences. But if she had a consequence growing somewhere behind her navel-she was vague about such details, although she supposed she wouldn’t be able to stay vague much longer-that could end up complicating her life more than she wanted.
Whatwould Lurcanio do if she bore a child who looked nothing like him, nothing like any Algarvian? It was a mild spring morning, but Krasta shivered anyhow. She didn’t want to think about that.
To keep from thinking about it, she said, “I’m going down to breakfast.” And, to keep Bauska from nattering
