difficult. The caravan had to halt twice before it got to the front, for Unkerlanter irregulars had burst eggs on the ley line and overloaded its energy-carrying capacity. Algarvian mages had to put the damage right, and there weren't enough of them to go around.
At last, a day and a half later than he should have, Spinello got down from the caravan car in the wreckage of a town named Pewsum. A sergeant was standing on the platform at the depot, holding up a leaf of paper with his name printed on it in big letters. 'I'm Spinello,' he said, cane in one hand, carpetbag in the other.
The sergeant saluted. 'Pleased to meet you, sir. Welcome to the brigade. Here, let me get that for you.' He relieved Spinello of the carpetbag. 'Now if you'll just come with me, I've got a wagon waiting.'
'Efficiency,' Spinello remarked, and the sergeant grinned at him. Algarvians did their best to practice what King Swemmel preached. But the locally built wagon testified to genuine Unkerlanter efficiency- it was high-wheeled and curve-bottomed, and could go through mud that bogged down anyAlgarvian vehicle. As the sergeant flicked the reins and the horses got moving, Spinello said, 'We can't have too many of these wagons, no matter how we get 'em. Nothing like 'em in the fall or the spring.'
'That's the truth, sir. Powers above be praised that you see it,' the driver said. 'Sometimes we can get them from units that think something has to come from Trapani to be any good. If our neighbors want to be fools, it's no skin off our noses.'
'No, indeed,' Spinello said, but then he checked himself. 'The way things are nowadays, nobody Algarvian can afford to be a fool. We have to leave that for the Unkerlanters.' After a few seconds of very visible thought, the sergeant nodded.
Brigade headquarters lay in a little village called Ubach, a couple of miles northwest of Pewsum. Getting there took more than an hour; though Unkerlanter wagons could get through the mud, nothing could get through it very fast. The sergeant pointed to the firstman's house. 'That'll be yours, sir. I'll let the regimental commanders know you're here, so you can meet them.'
'Thanks.' Spinello looked around Ubach with something less than overwhelming curiosity. He'd already seen more Unkerlanter villages than he'd ever wanted. A few peasants tramped along the streets, doing their best to keep their long tunics out of the mud. Some nodded to him as the wagon sloshed by. Rather more pretended he didn't exist. He'd seen all that before, too. And then he did a double take. Seeing a pretty young Kaunian girl in Ubach was the last thing he'd expected. She reminded him achingly of Vanai, though she was even younger and, he thought, even prettier. Pointing her way, he asked, 'What's she doing here?'
'Oh, Yadwigai?' The sergeant blew her a kiss. He raised his voice: 'Hello, sweetheart!'
The blond girl- Yadwigai- waved back. 'Hello, Sergeant,' she called in good Algarvian. 'Is that the new colonel there?'
'Aye, it is,' the sergeant answered, and blew her another kiss.
'Is she yours?' Spinello poked the sergeant in the ribs. 'You lucky dog.'
'Oh, no, sir!' The soldier driving him sounded shocked.
'Ah.' Spinello nodded wisely. 'A pet for one of the officers, then.' He sighed, wishing again that he'd been lucky enough to get his hands on Vanai during the layover at Gromheort.
But the sergeant shook his head once more. 'No, sir,' he repeated. 'Yadwigai isn't anybody's- not any one man's, I mean. She belongs to the brigade.'
'Really?' Spinello knew he sounded astonished. He'd seen more camp followers than he'd ever wanted to, too. Yadwigai had none of their hard, bitter look. If anything, she put him in mind of a prosperous merchant's daughter: happy and right on the edge of being spoiled.
'Aye, sir,' the sergeant replied, and then, realizing what Spinello had to mean, 'No, sir- not like that! She's not our whore. We'd kill anybody who tried doing anything like that with her. She's our… our luck, I guess you might say.'
Spinello scratched his head. 'You'd better tell me more,' he said at last. The sergeant had to know what happened to most of the Kaunians the Algarvians brought into Unkerlant. Spinello wondered if Yadwigai did.
'Well, it's like this, sir,' the sergeant said, halting the wagon in front of the firstman's house. 'We picked her up in a village in western Forthweg when we first started fighting Swemmel's buggers, and we've brought her along ever since. We've had good fortune ever since, too, and I don't think there's a man among us who wouldn't die to help keep her safe. She's… sweet, sir. You know what I'm saying?'
'All right, Sergeant. I won't mess with your good-luck charm.' Spinello could see that any other answer would land him in trouble with his new brigade before he met anyone in it but this fellow driving him.
He got down from the wagon and went into the firstman's hut. Along with the benches against the walls that marked Unkerlanter peasant houses, the main room held an Algarvian-issue cot, folding table, and chairs. A map was tacked down on the table. Spinello studied it while the sergeant brought in his carpetbag, set it down beside the cot, and went out again.
Officers started coming in to greet their new commander a few minutes later. The brigade was made up of five regiments. Majors led four of them, a captain the fifth. Spinello nodded to himself. He'd led a regiment as a major, too.
'Very pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen,' he said, bowing. 'By what I saw on the map, we have a good deal of work ahead of us to make sure King Swemmel's whoresons stay where they belong, but I think we can bring it off. I tell you frankly, I'd be a lot more worried if we didn't have Yadwigai here to make sure everything turned out all right.'
The officers stared. Then they broke into broad smiles. A couple of them even clapped their hands. Spinello smiled, too, at least as much at himself as at his subordinates. Sure as sure, he'd got his new command off on the right foot.
'With your kind permission, milady,' Colonel Lurcanio said, bowing, 'I should like to invite Count Amatu to supper again tomorrow night.'
Krasta drummed her fingers on the frame of the doorway in which she was standing. 'Must you?' she said. 'I don't like hearing my brother cursed in the house that is- was- his home.'
'I understand that.' Lurcanio bowed again. 'I shall do my best to persuade Amatu to be moderate. But I should be grateful if you would say aye. He needs to feel… welcome in Priekule.'
'He needs to feel not quite everybody hates him, you mean.' Krasta tossed her head. 'If he curses Skarnu, I will hate him, and I will let him know about it. Even you don't do that.'
'For which praise, such as it is, I thank you.' Lurcanio bowed once more. 'Professionally speaking, I quite admire your brother. He is as slippery as olive oil. We thought we had him again not long ago, but he slipped through our fingers again.'
'Did he?' Krasta kept her voice as neutral as she could. She was glad the Algarvians hadn't caught Skarnu, but knew Lurcanio could and would make her unhappy for showing it. Changing the subject and yielding on the side issue struck her as a good idea; with a theatrical sigh, she said, 'I suppose Amatu is welcome- tomorrow night, you said? -if he behaves himself.'
'You are gracious and generous,' Colonel Lurcanio said- qualities few people had accused Krasta of having. He went on, 'Might I also beg one more favor? Would it be possible for your cook to serve something other than beef tongue?'
Krasta's eyes sparkled. 'Why, of course,' she said, and her prompt agreement made Lurcanio bow yet again. Krasta kissed him on the cheek and hurried into the kitchen. 'Count Amatu will be coming for supper again tomorrow night,' she told the cook. 'Do you by any chance have some tripe in the rest crate there?'
He nodded. 'Aye, milady. I do indeed.' He hesitated, then said, 'From what I know of Algarvians, the colonel will be less happy at eating tripe than Count Amatu will.'
'But Amatu is our honored guest, and so his wishes must come first.' Krasta batted her eyes in artful artlessness. She doubted she convinced the cook. If Lurcanio asked him why he'd prepared a supper unlikely to be to an Algarvian's taste, though, he had only to repeat what she said and she would stay out of trouble. She hoped she would stay out of trouble, anyhow.
The cook dipped his head. 'Aye, milady. And I suppose you will want the side dishes to come from the countryside, too.' He didn't quite smile, but something in his face told Krasta he knew what she was up to, sure
