Petro had never met Gaius, but it was obvious to him that Marcus really didn't know what to do about Gaius' death. Petro knew that Marcus had been to talk to their commanding officer, and he knew that Marcus had considered writing to his father and then not actually done so. Petro thought that this was foolish; in his opinion, it was easier to break hard news through a letter, than in person. Petro suspected that this was Marcus’ native weirdness coming through again, but you could never be sure with Marcus. Even his weirdness was weird.
Petro sat before the fire and sighed, watching Marcus’ slave as she cooked supper in Marcus’ large, iron pot. Well, some reasonable facsimile of supper. Whatever was in that pot looked pasty and smelled gluey. Petro began to wonder if Marcus' latest disappearing act was just a search for a better dinner. Then again, Marcus looked really rough. He was taking his brother's death badly.
“Mulberry?” Petro asked.
She looked up at him nervously, stepping away from the fire as she clutched Marcus' tunic closer around her body.
Petro titled his head to one side. That girl was always so suspicious!
“What do you know about this whole Gaius thing?” He asked her.
Mulberry shrugged, tentatively standing closer to the fire again. She stirred the pot thoughtfully with a large wooden spoon.
“Not much,” she said, “Only that ever since that letter came, Marcus has wanted to do nothing but hold Aurelia and stare into the fire. He’s off somewhere with her right now.”
“That’s not like him,” Petro said thoughtfully, “And I think it’s weird . . . . well, something weird happened. Weirder than usual, I mean. And I don’t like how his brother died.”
“Pneumonia? That doesn’t sound so weird to me.”
“At this time of year? I mean, I guess you could get sick any time, but it seems strange to me.” In a completely serious tone, he continued, “What if he was assassinated? He was a soldier, but he in the diplomatic corps, after all.
“Assassinated? You can’t be serious. Everyone knows that the Imperial diplomats are protected like – like they were made of gold, and were the Emperor himself,” Mulberry sniffed, “Who on earth could manage to kill one of them?”
“I know, maybe some of those Order chicks came in and got him.”
“Order what?” Mulberry exclaimed in confusion, dropping her spoon into the pot of gruel. Great. As if dinner wasn’t pathetic enough already, now it would include the delightful flavour of marinated wood.
“You never heard of the Order of the Blossom?” Petro asked as Mulberry rooted around her woodpile for a branch to pull the spoon out of the boiling gruel.
“Nope,” she said, choosing a likely-looking stick.
“You speak our language, you’ve been living with a camp full of imperial soldiers for, like, half a month, now, and you’re telling me you never heard of the Emperor’s elite cadre of female assassins?”
It was Mulberry’s turn to look surprised.
“Female assassins? I thought you imperials didn’t have much practical use for women. I was told that your girls didn’t even learn archery, let alone proper fighting.”
“Doesn’t mean we don’t have brilliant female assassins who work from the shadows to kill anyone whose death the Emperor fancies.”
“I bet they’re just a myth,” Mulberry scoffed.
“Oh, they’re no myth. Their pay is in the budget, same as everyone else’s. Though you’re probably right, some of the things said about them are rumours. I don’t think they can really turn into birds, for instance.”
“Nobody can do that,” Mulberry agreed, “The most magic I’ve ever seen is being able to get a spark to light tinder for a fire. And that was done by someone with Abilities. Magic can’t do big things like change the form of a human being. It just isn’t possible.”
“Heck, I agree with you on that. But a woman hiding in corners and sneaking up and killing a man? That I believe in”
Mulberry shuddered, and used her stick to fish the gummy spoon out of the pot. She flung it on the grass. It was covered in the sticky, lumpy gruel, and too hot to touch.
“Yes, I suppose that’s possible.” She replied. She did not look at Petro. She wondered, uneasily, if he suspected her of making that sort of plan. Truthfully, she hadn’t considered killing them and running off. It was stupid idea, and she really didn’t want Marcus, or even Petro, dead. They weren’t cruel, just young and imperial and foolish.
“Anyhow,” Petro continued, “that isn’t even the weirdest part of it.”
“Being murdered by magical girl assassins isn’t the weirdest part?” Mulberry looked surprised.
“No. The weirdest part, is that I had a dream. A dream about – about the letter Marcus got. About him finding out.”
“My people believe that dreams can be prophetic, particularly if one is . . . Able. It is a gift from God, if you receive such a dream,” Mulberry said gravely.
“The gods must be plenty weird, to send a dream like that.”
A blue butterfly settled on the handle of the spoon, then flitted off into the evening mist. Petro reasoned that Marcus would have to be looked after, very carefully indeed.
YOU ARE READING
The Baby and the Battlefield
FantasyA baby? On a battlefield? Marcus is a clerk in the Imperial army. When he finds an abandoned baby on a battlefield, he has no idea what to do with her. His best friend is no help; he thinks Marcus is a sucker for taking the kid in. The slave who end...
