after Emily had left Captain Goss with Pordevere and Mallarkey, and some port, in the Bear Sejant hut.
Despite the rules of the Club, there was a solemnity they could not shake off. Not pipe nor cards nor brandy could lift their spirits, and by unspoken consent nobody placed shillings in the jar, lest it overflow. Brocky the non-combatant’s face was raddled with misery, as though he was the one condemned and not they. That sour nature, his normal defence against the world, was showing its cracks.
He drank immoderately, but the others little. Tomorrow, a clear head could separate life and death. Scavian looked pale, holding his glass with both hands. Tubal grinned emptily, laughing too hard at any joke the others could dredge up, and at his own. Mallen’s painted face was darkly unreadable. She wondered what they saw in her own.
A silence descended on them, Tubal’s laugh fading away into it. Their eyes sought each other’s around the room. It seemed fragile words had been extinguished, until, ‘I had a girl, once,’ Brocky announced.
‘You surprise and appal me,’ jibed Tubal quickly.
Brocky swilled the liquid in his glass, a curious smile on his face. ‘Even I, dear fellow. I once had a girl. Damn, I’ve not thought of her for many a year. We were close, so close . . . A lithe and bonny lass she was.’ His head came up angrily, daring them to challenge him. ‘We were engaged, you know.’
‘You, Brocky, tying the knot?’ Scavian asked doubtfully.
‘Oh, I cut a better figure back then, I grant you, but not that much.’ The fat man slouched further into his chair. ‘Broke my heart, she did. Poor old Brocky, eh? Went off with some fellow of a lawyer, she did, some wordy weasel from the courts. She always did love a professional man, and I was only a dispenser. I could brew a poison or cure the plague, but he could argue the toss before a judge, and so they showered gold upon him. I ask you, what kind of a world is it where men of such slight merit . . . ah, well . . .’ A monstrous sigh welled up inside him. ‘But I had a girl once, in case you ever wondered. Hurt me worse than the Hellic pox, losing her.’
He blinked at them, looking sober as anything, nothing of the brandy touching him now. From one kind of loss to another, Emily understood. He could not open his heart – perhaps such men never could – but he had let them know, nonetheless.
‘We are a sorry pack of fools, are we not, my friends?’ Scavian said sadly. ‘In truth, what are we? A printer, a chemist, a scholar, one lady of leisure and an idle second son. No man’s heroes, surely. Is it not ridiculous, all this? We should complain to someone.’
‘So we should,’ Mallen echoed. It was the first thing he had said all evening.
‘I want to go back to my dispensary,’ Brocky mumbled. ‘I wasn’t happy there, but so what?’
‘I want to see my wife and son,’ whispered Tubal. His mouth twitched, holding back a tide.
‘I want you lot all to bugger off out of my swamps and take your stinking war with you,’ Mallen said, sparking a few smiles at least.
‘God protect us, all of us,’ Emily said.
Brocky cocked a beetling eyebrow. ‘God? He doesn’t visit here.’
‘Do the indigenes have gods, Mallen?’
The master sergeant nodded, regarding her curiously.
‘Let them protect us, then. Let us be protected,’ Emily decided. ‘Is there a thing you can do? Can you give us their blessing? Say some words or paint our faces?’
‘Em, this isn’t really . . .’ said Tubal, the churchgoer.
‘Doesn’t work like that,’ Mallen told them all stubbornly. ‘They’re not like us. Their gods aren’t like your God.’ And then a pause while his eyes switched shiftily from one face to the next. ‘But I’ll ask – inside here.’ A fist went to his chest. ‘I’ll ask.’
‘Well, then,’ Emily managed brightly, ‘let us meet here, tomorrow evening, when it’s done. All of us – let’s say we will.’
They regarded her cautiously.
‘Just say it,’ she insisted, louder, and heard her voice tremble. ‘Brocky, lay in some supplies: something to smoke, something to drink. Let us all meet here tomorrow evening.’ By now the trembling was worse. She was holding on to her voice like the reins of a panicked horse. ‘And . . . and . . . and if we do not .