LITMIR.BIZ

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to shoot from a moving horse or keep their heads cool in a tight situation.

      ‘Now you look shocked, and well you should to hear me speak so of a fellow officer. But there it is; it is how I have judged him, and though I pray to the good god that I may be proved wrong, I fear I shall not. I have seen the horses he bought for his cadets. Pretty little things, all of a size and colour, that will doubtless look well in a parade but would jolt a man to death on a long day’s ride and die after two days with no water.’ My father paused abruptly and took a deep breath. I do not know what else he had thought to say, but whatever it was, he seemed to change his mind.

      ‘I think that your uncle was correct when he said that Colonel Stiet has little love for the sons of the new nobility. I wonder if he has any love for the cavalla at all. We are expensive, if all a man looks at is the flow of coins it takes to keep us horsed and equipped and does not reckon up the lives that would be lost if we did not. He does not understand our place in the military; I think he believes we are but a showpiece, an entertainment and a spectacle, and thus he will build his career on fostering that image of us.’ He drew breath again, and then he said what I think he had hesitated to say before. ‘Remember that he is your commander. Respect and obey his orders. Do things as he wishes them done, even if you think you know a better way to do them. Perhaps especially if you think you know a better way to do them.

      ‘Stay true to your upbringing. Avoid bad companions and remember that you were born to be a soldier. The good god has granted you that. Let no one steal it from you.’

      And with those words he embraced me tightly. I knelt for his father’s blessing. I know I must have watched him get into the carriage and drive away, and certainly we must have waved farewell to one another. But all I recall is standing on the edge of the drive, looking after the departing carriage and feeling more alone than I had ever felt in my life. I felt suddenly cold and hollow, and nearly queasy as I turned and hurried back to my new quarters.

      My fellows awaited me, and let me know that my father had left a fine impression. ‘There’s no mistaking a cavalry man; it’s in his walk. Your father is the genuine item. I’d wager he’s spent as many hours in the saddle as he has on foot in his life.’

      ‘More, I think,’ I replied to Kort’s compliment.

      We spent the rest of the early afternoon settling ourselves into our room. Three fellows from across the hall came and introduced themselves. Trist, Gord, and Rory were all the sons of new nobility. Gord was a slab of a boy, pale and fat, his neck bulging over the collar of his uniform and his brass buttons tight on his belly. He stood, smiling awkwardly and saying little, at the edge of our group. Trist was tall and golden, with the bearing and charm of a young prince. Even so, it was squat affable Rory who claimed all our attention. ‘I heard that they put us all together a’purpose,’ Rory told us solemnly.

      ‘Because we’re not good enough to associate with the soldier sons of the old nobility?’ Kort was both astounded and offended.

      ‘Nar. So’s we won’t make their lads feel bad.’ Rory grinned as if it were a fine jest. ‘They may be soldier sons, but they h’ain’t been raised by soldiers like we were. Half of them never had a leg over a horse, save for riding a pony in the park. You’ll see when we get to drill. My uncle’s soldier son was fostered with us, ’cos that’s how we do it in our family. First sons always give their soldier sons to their soldier brothers to raise, so the boy gets a good start on his training when he’s still a little feller. My cousin Jordie was through the Academy four years ago and wrote me letters every month about it. So I’ve got a pretty good idea what to expect here.’

      That brought us clustering around him. For the next hour or so, we sat at the study tables in our common room, and Rory held the floor with tales of strict instructors, cadets working off demerits by mucking out the stables, hazing from older cadets, and every other Academy tale that he could dredge up for us. He was a born storyteller, swaggering as he spoke of young officers and cowering as he mimed us junior cadets. He held us spellbound when he theatrically warned us of ‘cullings’. ‘Commander declares one, anertime he feels like it. Could be a drill exercise, could be a jography test. Every cadet who falls lower’n a certain score, Whist! He’s gone. Culled like a spindly lamb. They send you home, with just a note that says “failed to meet Academy standards, thanky all the same for sending ’im.” And you know what comes after that for a soldier son. It’s goodbye officers’ mess, hello chow-tent and life as a foot soldier. Only thing a soldier son can do if he fails here is go for the common enlistment. Those cullings are murder, and they give no warning a’tall. It’s one way t’keep us on our toes with our noses in our books.’

      He spoke with a Kenty twang that I secretly found amusing. At the time, I did not know that several of the others thought my ‘plains drawl’ just as humorous. More cadets drifted in from the other rooms on our floor to join us as we listened to Rory’s tales, until there were eleven of us there, almost our full patrol. We were a mixed lot, but all sons of new nobility, as Rory had predicted. In a short time it seemed as if we had all known one another for years instead of hours. Oron had red hair, large teeth and a pleasant, contagious laugh. Caleb joined our group with four Penny Adventure folios under his arm, which he immediately offered to share with us. I had never seen one before, and the lurid covers on the cheap booklets were a bit shocking. Caleb assured me they were mild compared to others that he owned. Jared had only one older brother and six younger sisters, and claimed he wasn’t accustomed to talking much as he got so little opportunity at home. He said it would be a huge relief to have only male companionship for a while. Trent was a slight youth with an anxious air. He had arrived with three trunks full of clothing and household goods and seemed very particular about his wardrobe and bedding. He bemoaned the limited living and closet space allotted to him. In the midst of our yammering, a twelfth cadet arrived to round out our dozen. His name was Lofert. He was a tall, gangly fellow who seemed a bit dim. He didn’t have much to say beyond his name. Gord helped him find the last empty bunk in their room and they soon rejoined us. Every one of them seemed like a good fellow to me and I felt a sudden elation that my first year of Academy was off to such a good start. But I am sure I was not the only one listening anxiously for the dinner bell. Somehow I had missed the noon meal and by the time the longed-for bell finally clanged I felt cramped with hunger.

      Hungry as hounds, we rushed down the stairs together, only to be thwarted in our headlong race by a flood of other boys pouring out from the lower floors onto the same staircase. Obviously, more students had been arriving hourly while we conversed upstairs and we were forced to descend sedately, a single riser at a time.

      ‘I hear the food’s bad here. Same stuff every day,’ Gord observed brightly. He was breathing loudly through his nose, as if even going down the stairs was an exertion.

      I could think of no reply, but Rory said, ‘If it sits still on the plate, likely I’ll eat it. Bet you will, too. You don’t look like you’ve been too picky in the past!’

      Several of the others laughed aloud and I grinned. Even Gord smiled sheepishly. I took another step down and resisted the urge to push past the cadets in front of me. Even when we finally reached the ground floor, we could not race off to the mess hall. On the walkway in front of our dormitory, we found older cadets – red sashes and striped sleeves proclaiming their authority – who sternly reminded us to keep to the paths and not jostle one another, and move in unison to our goal as befitted military troops. These supervisors who bunched us into groups were Academy students one year ahead of us, Rory informed us before he was ordered to stop talking in the ranks. They formed us up by floors, which suited us well, and our shepherd, Corporal Dent, marched us off in our new patrol. Dent put Gord next to me. The portly cadet puffed as we marched, lurching along as he strove to stretch his stride to match our pace.

      We were not at the very end of the line as we filed into the mess hall, but close enough to it that it taunted my hunger. We could smell the food, and I heard Gord’s stomach rumble loudly. Within the hall, Dent herded us to our laden table and directed us to stand behind our chairs until each table was granted leave to sit down and begin eating. There were covered tureens of soup, platters of sliced meat, thick slices of dark bread, and heaped bowls of boiled beans on each table. Even when

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