“What about this morning?” Winter said. “Somebody told me there was an incident.”
“Some savages wanted to take shelter.” Fyotyr shrugged. “I heard it was a trick. Two soldiers were killed. Now we have them to worry about, on top of the demons.”
“You don’t seem very concerned,” Abraham said mildly.
“Eh,” the old man said, “I’ve seen worse days. This is Murnsk. If we got excited over every little catastrophe, we’d never be stopping.” He leaned forward. “Now, what brought you all the way out here?”
Winter spun him a tale about sick parents, a trek for medicine, and a journey that went awry in foul weather, with Alex adding a few creative details where necessary. It seemed to satisfy Fyotyr, who nodded solemnly.
“You’re a good child,” he said. “If only my own sons had such respect for their father.”
“I don’t even know if Mother is still alive,” Winter said. “If I can get back to Dimiotsk, then I can find my way home.”
“Well. You’re safer in here than out there, but I wouldn’t count on leaving anytime soon. The worse things get, the more that stubborn bastard Kollowrath will dig in his heels.” He waved a hand. “If you’ve got tents, spread them anywhere there’s room.”
“We will.” Winter hesitated, then decided to push her luck. “Can you tell me where Lieutenant Dobraev is? I wanted to ask him for news of the army. I have a brother, you see.”
Fyotyr frowned and pointed. “That’s his shack over there. But don’t wake him; he’s worse than a bear. Try to catch him after breakfast.”
“Thank you.” Winter yawned. “We’d better find a little space for ourselves.”
“Check the west wall. It’s close to the privies, so the smell isn’t great, but there should be room.”
Fyotyr grinned, and Winter smiled back. She and the others slipped into the darkness, passing between tents and lean-?tos until they were well out of sight of the old man.
“We’re not actually going to sleep next to the toilets, are we?” Alex said.
“I think we may not be getting a lot of sleep tonight.” Winter looked up at the keep, its solid stone bulk looming over the rest of the encampment. That’s where Kollowrath will be. “First we need to have a chat with this Lieutenant Dobraev.”
*
Dobraev had one of the nicer shacks, as befit an officer. It was built against the east wall, leaning on the palisade for support, tucked in neatly underneath the wall walk. Unlike most of the others, it had been there for some time, and someone had tried to make it proof against the elements. It was built out of awkwardly split logs, with the gaps stuffed with rags and a doorway covered by half a rug nailed to the top of the frame. It was big enough that Winter guessed it might even have two rooms.
A corporal stood by the door, hands cupped around a twist of something he was smoking. He wore Murnskai white, with a nonregulation fur cap on his head and a musket slung over his back. Winter didn’t think he was much of a threat, but they couldn’t afford for him to raise the alarm.
“How long will someone stay out when you do that sleep trick?” Winter said.
“As long as I want,” Abraham whispered. “Up to maybe six hours.”
“And how long does it take?”
“Once I’m touching them, just a couple of seconds.”
“Good. Give our friend here a nap while I distract him.”
Abraham nodded, face twisted as though he’d eaten something sour. He doesn’t like doing this. Winter could understand that, but she was glad he was willing to work through his moral scruples when it counted. She took a deep breath and walked up to the guard, giving him an openly appraising look.
“Hello, Corporal.”
The man—?boy, really—?frowned and pinched his smoke between two fingers. “Do I know you?”
“My masters and I came in last night,” Winter improvised, “and we’ve got wares to sell. I see you’re...” She waggled her eyebrows at the twisted paper, not really knowing if it was stuffed with tobacco or something more exotic.
The corporal grinned. “Oh, you’re a saint. This is my last pinch.” Then his eyes narrowed. “How much will it cost?”
“Not much,” Winter said, as Abraham came up behind the boy and put one hand on his shoulder. The corporal started, then sagged, his eyes rolling up in his head. Before he hit the ground Winter caught him and dragged him into the shadows beside the shack.
“You two should do this sort of work more often,” Alex said, strolling up behind them. “I could have used you back in my thieving days.”
Winter rolled her eyes. She pushed the rug aside a fraction and found that a faint light emerged from within. There was a quiet clatter and the slosh of water.
“Someone’s awake,” she said. “Stay here until I call.”
“What if he gives the alarm?” Alex said.
“Then we’re in big trouble.” Winter pushed the rug up and slipped underneath, as quietly as she could.
The interior of the shack was only dimly lit. As Winter blinked, she made out a very small iron stove with a tiny flame flickering in its box and a pot of water on top of it. A big man with a full, bushy beard crouched in front of it, dressed only in a nightshirt. He puffed gently into the firebox, encouraging the flame to catch.
Winter drew her pistol, aimed, and said quietly, “I’d really prefer not to kill you, but I will if I have to. Please stay quiet.”
The man froze, hands on either side of the firebox. He turned his head, far enough to see the weapon in her hand.
“Stand up and raise your hands slowly,” Winter said. “I promise you I just want to talk. If you don’t do anything stupid, you won’t get hurt.”
He hesitated for a moment, and she could see that he was calculating the odds. Grab the firebox, fling it at her, dive out of the way—?what would happen? Nothing good, she thought. You have to know that.
The man stood up. To Winter’s surprise, she recognized him—?he’d been the sergeant accompanying Kollowrath that morning. The one who at least tried to stop this mess.
“Where’s Lieutenant Dobraev?” Winter said.
The sergeant stiffened. “If you want him, you’ll have to go through me. Shoot and you’ll have the whole camp down on you.”
Now that her eyes had adjusted, Winter could see she’d been right about there being two rooms in the shack. The one they were in had the little stove, a larger fire pit beside it, and a few boxes and supply crates arranged to form a table. Another curtained doorway led to the other room, up against the palisade wall.
“You’re the woman from this morning,” the sergeant said. “The one who was with the savages.”
“And you were with Kollowrath,” Winter said. “Before the shooting started.”
He frowned. “You killed two of my men.”
“And your men killed three of my friends.” Winter swallowed. “It was a mistake. Your captain is to blame, if anyone is.”
“How did you get inside?”
“We’ll get to that. You’re Sergeant Gorchov?”
He nodded slowly.
“I’m Winter Ihernglass. Please believe me when I say I don’t want to hurt anybody here.”