Dust of Dreams

days.’
    ‘Corabb not back yet?’ Smiles shook her head. ‘He had two heavies with him on the round. They might’ve got lost.’
    ‘Someone will find ’em,’ Cuttle said, climbing to his feet. ‘I’ll check in on the sergeant again.’
    Smiles watched him step out of the firelight. She sighed. ‘Ain’t had me a knife fight in months. That stay in Letheras made us soft, and them barges was evenworse.’ She stretched her boots closer to the fire. ‘I don’t mind the marching, now the blisters are gone. At least we’re squads again.’
    ‘We need us a new scam,’ Tarr said. ‘You see any scorpions?’
    ‘Sure, plenty,’ Smile replied, ‘but only two kinds. The little nasty ones and the big black ones. Besides, we try that again and people will get suspicious—even if we could find a good cheat.’ She mulled on the notion for a time, and then shook her head. ‘It’s no good, Tarr. The mood’s all wrong.’
    He squinted across at her. ‘Sharp. You’re right. It’s like we’re past all that, and it’ll never come again. Amazing, that I should feel nostalgic about Seven Cities and that miserable, useless march. We were raw, aye, but what we were trying to do, it made sense. That’s the difference. It made sense.’
    Smiles snorted. ‘Hood’s breath, Tarr.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Cuttle’s right. None of it made sense. Never did, never will. Look at us. We march around and cut up other people, and they do the same to us—if they can. Look at Lether—aye, it’s now got a decent King and people can breathe easy and go about their lives—but what’s in those lives? Scraping for the next bag of coins, the next meal. Scrubbing bowls, praying to the damned gods for the next catch and calm seas. It ain’t for nothing, Tarr, and that’s the truth. It ain’t for nothing.’
    ‘That fishing village you come from was a real hole, wasn’t it?’
    ‘Leave it.’
    ‘I didn’t bring it up, soldier. You did.’
    ‘It was no different from anywhere else, that’s my point. I bet you wasn’t sorry to get out from wherever you come from, either. If it was all you wanted, you wouldn’t be here, would you?’
    ‘Some people don’t go through their lives searching, Smiles. I’m not looking, because I’m not expecting to find anything. You want meaning? Make it up. You want truth? Invent it. Makes no difference, to anything. Sun comes up, sun goes down. We see one, maybe we don’t see the other, but the sun doesn’t care, does it?’
    ‘Right,’ she said, ‘so we’re in agreement.’
    ‘Not quite. I’m not saying it’s not worth it. I’m saying the opposite. You make worlds, worlds inside your head and worlds outside, but only the one inside counts for anything. It’s where you find peace, acceptance. Worth. You, you’re just talking about everything being useless. Starting with yourself. That’s a bad attitude, Smiles. Worse than Cuttle’s.’
    ‘Where are we marching to, then?’
    ‘Fate’s got a face, and we’re going to meet it eye to eye. The rest I don’t care about.’
    ‘So you’ll follow the Adjunct. Anywhere. Like a dog on a master’s heel.’
    ‘Why not? It’s all the same to me.’
    ‘I don’t get you.’
    ‘There’s nothing to get. I’m a soldier and so are you. What more do you want?’
    ‘I want a damned war!’
    ‘It’s coming.’
    ‘What makes you so sure of that?’
    ‘Because we’re an army on the march. If the Adjunct didn’t need an army, she’d have dissolved the whole thing in Lether.’
    ‘Maybe, maybe not.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
    ‘I mean, maybe she’s just selfish.’
    The dung burned down to layered glowing chips. Moths spun round the licking flames. Silence descended on the two soldiers, who had nothing more to say to each other. At least for this night.
     
    Cuttle found his sergeant lying on the floor. A jug of rum lay on its side close by. The confined space reeked of puke with the rum’s heady layer settling on it like sweet sap.
    ‘Dammit, Fid, that won’t help your gut.’
    ‘I ain’t got a gut no more,’ Fiddler replied in a slur. ‘I tossed it up a bell ago.’
    ‘Come the morning, your skull’s gonna crack open.’
    ‘Too late. Go ’way, Cu’ll.’
    The sapper drew one edge of the cot closer and settled down. ‘Who was it, then?’
    ‘Iz all changed, Cu’ll. Iz all goin’ bad.’
    ‘That’s news to me? Listen, this fast march—I’ve already worn out one pair of boots—but it’s got to