Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 9

Fairview took the book from Doyle. "You know he's not going to leave us alone until we look at whatever he wants us to see."
    Sighing, I let go of Doyle's collar and leaned over to glance at the picture. It was indeed a halftone reproduction of a photograph of one of the ancient monuments that litters the Midcoast nations. The frieze on the monument showed an ancient battle – I could tell that from the war chariots and from the armor that protected the soldiers. On the left side of the picture, a charioteer, accompanied by his assistant, was pointing a spear at a bearded man who already appeared dead, for he was lying motionless on the ground.
    Between the bearded man and the spear stood a clean-shaven man, weaponless. The spear pointed in his direction; the horses reared; fearlessly, he stood his ground—
    —the horses reared; I hesitated. Was Fairview dead? Was it worth my while to risk my own life for a dead man?
    The spear came closer. I ran forward, placing my body between the weapon and my lover—
    —I caught my breath. Looking up, my eyes met Fairview's. There was sweat on his face. I wondered what he had seen.
    "There!" said Doyle cheerfully. "Wasn't that worth showing off? Don't I got the right of it?"
    "Doyle." Somehow, Fairview managed to break his gaze from mine. "If Colonel Rook or I catch you showing off your guidebook to any other underaged member of this army, we will carry out our original plan to chain you up and dump you in Balmer Harbor."
    As on the first occasion he spoke these words – when we had discovered Doyle, not for the first time, pilfering supplies on the steamer where we all worked – Doyle turned pale. Our threat never failed to evoke this response from him; I suspected that, like most watermen in the Dozen Landsteads, he couldn't swim and therefore had an inordinate fear of drowning.
    By tomorrow, he'd have forgotten the threat, as he always did. But by tomorrow, we would be in battle. Please the Fates, that would keep him out of trouble for one day.
    Fairview, seeing Doyle's temporary commitment to good behavior, handed him back his beloved guidebook. "Return to your company, Doyle," he said. "Your officers have new orders for you. Your colonel and I need to head to bed."
    At these careless words by Fairview, Doyle's appearance returned to normal. He looked at Fairview, then he looked at me, and then he sniggered.
    "Go!" I roared. Doyle slipped away, stealing looks back at us. As soon as he reached another soldier he knew, he grabbed the man's arm. Faintly from the distance, I heard the words, "Colonels' bed." The other soldier looked at us and burst out laughing.
    Normally I would have winced. But at the moment I had a bigger worry than Doyle's filthy jokes about our supposed bedding arrangements. I was wondering what I should say to Fairview about what we'd seen.
    It was not the first occasion in my life when one cycle of time had touched another. Some people go through a lifetime without ever experiencing cycle forward or cycle back, but for me such moments of awareness had been frequent. Always cycle forward, always visions of my future with Fairview. It was one of the things that had often given me strength in battle: the knowledge that I had a future with Fairview. I would see him sitting beside me, or lying on the other bed opposite me, smoking his cigarette and exchanging jokes with me. On several occasions I'd seen him lying on the ground, staring dreamily up at the sky; we had apparently been having a day out getting grubby on his gunning skiff, for his beard was dirty, his shirt torn, his face cloud-dappled under a midday sun.
    Fairview said softly, "Fairview Mountain . . ."
    I looked quickly at him. "You think that battle took place near here?"
    Fairview started walking forward. "According to the halftone's caption, yes. The mountain was named after the bearded man whom the other soldier – a man named Crow – ran forward to save."
    Crow was the ancient word for Rook. I felt a shiver cover my back. "Did the guidebook say anything more about that?"
    "No. I suppose that we can do a little research when we get home. . . . Well, here we are."
    We had reached the tent. I could hear our soldier-servants inside, making last-minute preparations for our sleeping arrangements. They were joking about what re-arrangements would occur once their colonels were alone together.
    I had no doubt that the jokes originated from Doyle. He had spread his suspicions all over the