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"Yes, sir," the gate escort said.
"Hello, Major," the man in the purple said, flashing whiter-than-white teeth. "D.C. Marvels is the name. Dazzling cavalcades of marvels is my game. You've heard of me?"
"Not until recently."
"Then I'd like to extend a personal invitation to the show. You're aware that soldiers are entitled to a ten percent discount at my circus; twenty percent on food and beverages? For parties of three or more, that is."
"How can I help you, Mr. Marvels?"
"There's been some sort of misunderstanding. A few of your gallant comrades rented an attraction of mine, poor benighted Grogs I've taken under my wing, saving them from river dredging or worse. They never returned, and I'm due in Mountain Home by the end of the week."
Valentine was beginning to look forward on this. "I don't see where I fit in. Were they men under my command?"
Marvels planted his feet. "Didn't say you were responsible, Major.
The soldiers in question said things got rather out of hand at your party, and they had to leave my attractions behind. Grogs can't be left in the hands of amateurs. They'll sicken and die, poor things."
I'm afraid they've quit your circus, Mr. Marvels. They've enlisted with Southern Command."
"You're kidding, right? They're not competent. They're mine and I want them back. I'm trying to be nice here, but I'm perfectly willing to take legal action."
Valentine crossed his hands behind his back. "So am I. Get off this post."
"Corricks," Marvels said out of the side of his mouth.
The muscle inflated his chest. "Ford! Chevy! Bee! Here now!" He pulled a whistle from his pocket and the trilling filled the company tents.
Valentine felt the whistle as much as he heard it. It gave him a headache.
"Shut your man up, Marvels."
"When I see my property!"
Valentine hurled a ripe tomato at Marvels, striking him just under the yellow tie. He drew a rotten onion from his other back pocket. The whistling didn't stop until he bounced an onion off the handler's head.
The big man took a step toward him and Valentine matched his move, more than half hoping Marvels would throw a punch.
"That's assault! You've assaulted a civilian. I'll have your commission for this," Marvels said, extending his shirtfront as though it were a warrant for Valentine's arrest.
"Then I might as well enjoy myself," Valentine said, aiming an onion for his head. Marvels ducked under it.
"The gate's that way," Valentine said, throwing another tomato. This one hit Marvels square on the buttocks as he turned to run.
* * * *
The expected summons to Colonel Seng's office came that very afternoon, courtesy of Seng's messenger, Tiddle. Tiddle reminded Valentine of the White Rabbit, or maybe the Road Runner, always in a hurry to get somewhere. He either ran or used a light motorbike rigged with tires for cross-country driving. His hair normally looked as though he'd had a recent close encounter with a live wire.
Valentine washed up with some of his French soap and put on his best uniform. Lieutenant Colonel Jolla didn't look particularly jolly.
"That Marvels fellow just left. He's in quite a temper."
Valentine shrugged. "Is he getting his Grogs back?"
Seng's frown deepened. "No. I pointed out that the practice of chattel slavery is against the law and is in fact a hanging offense. He said I could expect a letter from his lawyer. I don't need these headaches, Valentine."
"Sorry, sir. He had two of those Grogs in what amounts to a bear-baiting pit. Customers paid to throw fruit at them."
"Says as much about some of the customers as it does about Marvels," Jolla said.
