at last, and waited for his excuses and his explanations. But no: ‘It is such a simple thing,’ he told her. ‘A matter of how the gun barrel is made, no more. We mill a spiral groove down the inside, you see. So, when the shot comes out, it spins more reliably in flight. The effective range is thereby improved. Science, you see? The spinning keeps it steadier, so the shot is accurate at a much greater range, though they are slower to reload. The shot must be cased in leather to be snug within the barrel, you see.’
She stared at him. ‘I still don’t understand.’
‘That is because you are no scholar of mechanics, Lieutenant. Take the idea to one who is: he will throw his hands in the air and curse that he himself did not think of it.’
So much for the magic guns. ‘That’s all. A groove inside the barrel?’
‘We call it “rifling”, and the guns “rifles”. The musket is dead, Lieutenant.’ His smile slipped awkwardly. ‘Along with so much else.’
*
After she returned to her side, she dismissed Caxton and the ten of the Rabbit, but kept Mallen with her.
‘You should hear this,’ she explained. ‘I think Tubal’s going to want your advice.’
‘Tubal? What about you? You’ve got as much command as he has, the way I see it.’
She let that pass. ‘We’ll need Scavian, and . . .’
‘Brocky?’ he suggested. ‘Get the Survivors together?’
How bleak are the times, when a desperate little gentleman’s club, and one lady, have become the command staff of an entire army? That thought made her laugh. ‘And Brocky. Why the devil not?’
The men were murmuring as she headed towards the clubhouse. They knew important things had been said, but not what. Their future was being decided, they knew. Something terrible had happened. For all they knew, they could be dead in their shoes already, right there. A Denlander assault could be on its way to wipe them out, down to the last man. She would have to trust to the sergeants to keep them all in line. She could not talk openly of what Doctor Lam had said to her: the camp would be torn apart between loyalists and deserters.
She handed Penny Belchere into the care of Doctor Carling’s wife. The messenger girl was still trembling. Emily’s introduction to war had come in steps, at least. Belchere’s had come in one day and all at once.
Tubal was already there as she came in, talking with Scavian; Mallen brought Brocky in almost on her heels.
‘What’s the score?’ Tubal asked her, but she knew she would have to be as careful in the reporting as Doctor Lam had been in the speaking.
‘Someone get us some wine out, will you?’ she asked. ‘Let’s do this properly.’
‘Wine? And cards?’ asked Brocky.
‘Just wine.’
‘That bad, is it?’ Brocky, having just descended into his precious chair, levered himself out of it again. ‘My shout, I think.’
‘Em . . .’ Tubal started, but she upheld a hand for quiet.
‘When the wine comes. This isn’t going to be easy, Tubal. It’s big, really big. None of us had any idea, if it’s true.’
Brocky came out with the glasses, laying them out as ceremoniously as a waiter, before slumping back into his chair.
And after just a sip to fortify her, she told them. She gave them Doctor Lam’s words and his offer, as accurately as her memory could provide. The fate of Locke and the fate of Lascanne; the perilous position they were all now in. If it was true – always if it was true.
God, dear God, let it be a trick. Even if that means we are trapped, and fall, let it still be a trick. Oh, my poor country.
After she had finished, a dead silence reigned for a long time, stilling each tongue with a chill hand. She glanced from one face to the next, and all of them looked stunned by it. It had ripped out the heart of them. Even Mallen’s tattoos could not hide the scale of his feelings.
‘It’s a lie.’ Scavian was the first to speak. ‘I can’t believe it. Lose the Couchant? It’s impossible.’
‘Little enough’s impossible,’ Mallen said, staring at his hands.
‘But the Couchant front!’ insisted Scavian. ‘The passes and the plains – everyone knows our cavalry is superior. The only reason we’ve been bogged down here is because you can’t use cavalry in a swamp. I refuse to believe a word of it.’
‘Mallen? How about you? Have your scouts picked up anything?’ said