her bed in the cenoby, although its scorched upholstery smelled of
smoke. Not astonishing, Maytera Mint told herself, not really. To
be expected, because it had been an officer's seat, and the Ayuntamiento
treated officers well, knowing that its power rested on
them; that was something to keep in mind, one more thing she must
not forget.
'Do not touch the trigger, My General. The safety catch is
disengaged.' The captain reached over her shoulder to push a small
lever. 'Now it is engaged. The gun will not fire.'
'This spider web thing.' She touched it instead. 'Is it what you call
the sight?'
'Yes, the rear sight, My General. The little post you see at the end
of the barrel, that is the front sight. The gunner aligns the two, so
that he sees the top of the post in one or another of the small rectangles.'
'I see.'
'Higher rectangles, My General, if the target is distant. To left or
right if there is a strong wind, or because the gun favors one side or
another.'
She leaned back in the seat and allowed herself, for no more than
a second or two, to close her eyes. The captain was saying
something about night vision, short bursts hitting more than long
ones, about fields of fire.
Fire was eating up somebody's home while he talked, and Lime
(if Teasel had found her quickly and she hadn't been far) was
looking for her right now, going from sentry post to post to post to
post. Looking for her and asking people at each post whether they
had seen her, whether they knew where the next one was and
whether they would take her there because of the fires, because
Bison had known, had rightly known that the fires must be put out
but had been afraid to say it because he had known his people
couldn't do it, could not, men and women who had fought so long
and hard already all day, fight fires tonight and fight again tomorrow.
Bison who made her feel so strong and competent, whose thick
and curling black beard was longer than her hair. Maytera Mockorange
had warned her about going without her coif, which was not
just against the rule but stimulating to a great many men who were
aroused by the sight of women's hair, particularly if long. She had
lost her coif somewhere, had gone without it though her hair was
short, though it had been cropped short on the first day, all of it.
She fled Maytera Mockorange's anger down dark cold halls full of
sudden turnings until she found Auk, who reminded her that she
was to bring him the gods.
'I am Colonel Oosik, Calde,' Silk's visitor informed him. He was a
big man, so tall and broad that Shell was hidden by his green-uniformed bulk.
'The officer who directs this brigade,' Silk offered his hand. 'In
command. Is that what you say? I'm Patera Silk.'
'You have familiarized yourself with our organization.' Oosik sat
down in the chair Shell had carried in earlier.
'Not really. Are those my clothes you have?'
'Yes.' Oosik held them up, an untidy black bundle. 'We will
speak of them presently, Calde. If you have made no study of our
organization charts, how is it you know my position?'
'I saw a poster.' Silk paused, remembering. 'I was going to the
lake with a woman named Chenille. The poster announced the
formation of a reserve brigade. It was signed by you, and it told
anyone who wanted to join it to apply to Third Brigade Headquarters.
Patera Shell was kind enough to look in on me a few minutes
ago, and he happened to mention that this was the Third Brigade.
After he had gone, I recalled your poster.'
Shell said hurriedly, 'The colonel was in the captain's room when
I got there, Patera. I told them I'd wait, but he made me come in
and asked what I wanted, so I told him.'
'Thank you,' Silk said. 'Please return to your manteion at once,
Patera. You've done everything that you can do here tonight.'
Trying to freight the words with significance, he added, 'It's already
late. Very late.'
'I thought, Patera--'
'Go,' Oosik tugged his drooping mustache. 'Your calde and I
have delicate matters to discuss. He understands that. So should you.'
'I thought--'
'Go!' Oosik had scarcely raised his voice, yet the word was like
the crack of a whip. Shell hurried out.
'Sentry! Shut the door.'
The mustache was tipped with white, Silk observed; Oosik wound
it about his index finger as he spoke. 'Since you have not studied our
organization, Calde, you will not know that a brigade is the
command of a general, called a brigadier.'
'No.' Silk admitted. 'I've never given it any thought.'
'In that case no explanation is necessary. I had planned to tell
you, so that each of us would know where we stand, that though I
am a mere colonel, an officer of field grade,' Oosik released his
mustache to touch the silver osprey on his collar, 'I command my
brigade exactly as a brigadier would. I have for four years. Do you
want your clothes?'
'Yes. I'd like to get dressed, if you'll let me.'
Oosik nodded, though it was not clear whether his nod was meant
to express permission or understanding. 'You are nearly dead,
Calde. A needle passed through your lung.'
'Nevertheless, I'd feel better if I were up and dressed.' It was a
lie, although he wished fervently that it were true. 'I'd be sitting on
this bed then, instead of lying in it; but I've got nothing on.'
Oosik chuckled. 'You wish your shoes as well?'
'My shoes and my stockings. My underwear, my trousers, my
tunic, and my robe. Please, colonel.'
The corners of the mustache tilted upward. 'Dressed, you might
easily escape, Calde. Isn't that so?'
'You say I'm near death, Colonel. A man near death might
escape, I suppose; but not easily.'
