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Valentine put out the light. Time passed, then Ahn-Kha was at the door.
"My David. The men are waking up. The review is in two hours. It would be best if we ate now."
"Coming."
Valentine put on the pistol belt. Ahn-Kha's ears went up in surprise when Valentine opened the tent flap.
"You still haven't shaved, my David? It's not like you."
"You're right, old horse. Let's hit the sink before breakfast."
Post was up already, shaving in a basin. Valentine took one just like it, filled it at the spigot and went to one of the shards of some greater mirror that the men looked into when cleaning their teeth or shaving. Valentine soaked his head for a moment to clear the cobwebs, and then shaved his face and skull.
"My David, is all well?"
"Right as rain, my friend."
"You've nothing to regret," Ahn-Kha said. "What happened was out of your control. Narcisse has spoken to the Smalls. They understood."
Post watched them for a moment before abandoning the officers' washroom. Valentine was glad of it; he was in no mood for his pity.
Ahn-Kha checked to see the room was empty before continuing. "You haven't been sleeping well. You're hardly eating."
"We have a review this morning. Let's look the part, old horse. Put a tent or something around you. I don't want to present one of my best men in just a loincloth."
"Tell me what holds your mind in such a grip."
"Hell, Ahn-Kha, things are looking up. The men are-armed. Clean clothes, good food, they're getting healthier every day. All courtesy of Consul Solon. There's talk that in a few weeks we'll be transferred across the river. Once we're in the front lines ..." He left the rest unvoiced.
"You have another agenda."
"Nothing for you to worry about."
* * * *
He brought Styachowski her breakfast as the men turned out, sergeants checking the polish on their weapons and the state of their shoes. She'd been making herself useful in her tent with paperwork, since she could not move without aid of her crutch for weeks yet. Her cast was one blue-black smear of signatures and well wishes.
"Think you can hobble out for the review?" Valentine asked.
"I suppose."
"I want to introduce you as my second in command."
She frowned. "I've never been a line officer. The only command action I've ever seen was on the big bugout."
"Technically, you outrank Post and you're known better around here. You're familiar with the Ozarks. He isn't."
"Does he know you've decided this?"
"He's the one who suggested it. He wanted you in front of the troops, too."
"Well, the number-one uniform they gave me has never been worn. I didn't want to spoil the pant leg with the cast. Want to get busy with a scissors?"
Getting Styachowski dressed was something of a comic opera. Valentine tried to ignore the graceful shape of her small breasts under the white cotton T-shirt as he forced the leg of her pants up and over her cast. All at once the material slid over in a rush; he stopped himself from pitching head-first into her belly by grabbing her thigh.
"Sorry," he said.
"That's all right. Thanks, sir, I can finish the rest."
