Page 98 of The Infernal Battalion

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.”

“That’s a little difficult to stomach when you have a pistol in my face.”

“Would you have spoken to me if I didn’t, or just called for the guard?”