Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 9

when Fairview and I had entered the General's tent. Men crouched wearily over campfires or simply slept on the ground. Thanks to the General's slowness, they'd been fighting every day now for a week and had received precious little time to sleep. Since most of the men had lost their greatcoats, they had nothing warm to lie under at night. Many of the men wore the same clothes, unwashed, that they'd worn since they crossed the Potomac a second time.
    All of this I'd expected. What was missing was one man who could be guaranteed to be at the center of our camp, complaining loudly about our conditions.
    "Doyle," said Fairview, having reached the same conclusion I had while I mused. "Where is he?" He pulled out his spy-glass, which he always kept close at hand, and swiftly used it to give the camp a sweeping inspection from all angles.
    "Somewhere making trouble," I surmised. "Let's go find out where."
    Our search eventually took us to our tent, where our two soldier-servants were sitting cross-legged on the ground, smoking as they played dice with each other. They scrambled to their feet as we arrived.
    "Where is Doyle?" Fairview demanded.
    Fairview's soldier-servant looked blank. "I don't know, sir. I've been in the tent, putting your belongings in order."
    "Canton?" I addressed my own soldier-servant, who had a guilty look on his face.
    "Sorry, sir. I didn't realize you'd assigned him work, sir. He went by a few minutes ago. He was headed toward the bushes." He pointed to the eastern edge of camp.
    "The bushes?" I said blankly. Doyle was not the sort of man who bothered to hide his private parts when he made water.
    Fairview, quicker than I to catch on, asked, "With whom?"
    The guilt increased in Canton's expression. "Your messenger-lad, sir."
    "Canton!" I shouted.
    "I'm very sorry, sir." My soldier-servant indeed looked almost green with guilt. "I thought . . . since it was a member of another battalion . . . and you were with the General . . ."
    I caught Fairview's look and sighed. "Canton, next time you see Doyle making trouble, either deal with it yourself or find his sergeant."
    "But he's your pet." Stiles mumbled it under his breath.
    Fairview gave his soldier-servant a cool look. "What was that you said, Stiles?"
    Stiles took a deep breath before saying, "We were given to understand, sir, that Private Doyle was under your special protection. Was that incorrect?"
    "Protection?" I roared.
    Fairview put a hand on my arm. "Colonel Rook and I recruited Doyle, Stiles, but he receives no special privileges. If anyone else is under that misapprehension, please correct them. Rook, we shouldn't waste time here." He pulled me away from the scene.
    "Protection!" I muttered as we headed toward the bushes. "Pet! Bloody blades, he's as sweet a pet as a sea nettle. The number of stings he has given us—"
    "Shh." Fairview slowed as we reached the bushes. It was easy to tell which was the correct bush. It was rustling.
    On a nod from Fairview, we both darted in. Fairview emerged holding Davey gently by the arm. I emerged clutching Doyle's back collar.
    "What the bloody blades do you think you're up to, Doyle?" I shouted. "Taking a messenger – an apprentice of sixteen sun-cycles – into the bushes with you!"
    Doyle looked blank for a moment, and then brightened. "I was showing him my guidebook."
    I began to swear at him. Fairview, perhaps to shield the lad from my language, took Davey aside and began speaking quietly to him.
    "You and your bloody guidebook!" I concluded, shaking Doyle. "The number of times on this campaign that you've used that guidebook as an excuse for ill behavior—"
    "Oh, but it was important, Colonel!" As usual, Doyle managed to maintain a guileless expression. "I found in the book an ancient monument my old boat-master once told me about—"
    "You cannot read !" I shouted it in his face.
    Doyle gave his expression – well-perfected – of an innocent child being hurt. "It's a picture. My captain had described the monument to me. See?" Right on cue, he thrust the book at my face.
    Fairview returned without his messenger-lad. "No harm done. Davey was too innocent to understand Doyle's motives. I've solemnly warned him against going into isolated places with men who promise to show him their guidebooks or etchings or whatever else they have on hand."
    "My guidebook, yes!" Doyle eagerly thrust the book toward Fairview's face.
    "Doyle . . ." I said in a warning voice.
    "It's no good, Rook." With a grin,