peace. But, at the end of the day, a pawn in a game was still only a pawn.
He folded the paper again, sliding it back into the envelope. Then, he slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.
How very fortunate then, he thought, that fate should bring this letter to him of all people. He tapped the pocket of his jacket. How very fortunate, indeed.
28
The Eleventh Day of Hi-summer,
Imperial Year 2332
Winterburne's head pounded like a farrier's anvil. As he raised his hand to his forehead, a stab of pain fired through his shoulder too and he groaned; he couldn't tell where the hurting ended and his body started. A rough bandage had been wrapped around his head and he was lying somewhere moderately comfortable, more comfortable at least than...then he remembered the cold water and he opened his eyes.
Above and around him, thick canvas moved gently in an outside breeze, but the air inside the tent wasn't at all cold. Thick, heavy, woven blankets covered him and, on the floor to his left, were his boots and clothes. They looked dry. He lifted the blanket and looked down; someone had dressed him in some undergarments that were not his. At least they were warm, though, he thought.
The flap of the tent opened and a man stepped through. He was dark haired and rough looking to Winterburne's eye, and he made his way across to the table next to the bed.
'Aha!' the man said, looking over at Winterburne. 'The stranger awakes.'
Winterburne turned his head towards the man.
'Where is this?' he tried to say, but then coughed, causing spikes of more pain to wrack through his body once more. He laid his head back on the pillow, and allowed the aching to subside for a moment before trying again.
'Where is this?'
'The Hills,' the man replied, adding no more detail.
'How long...?'
Winterburne's head swam. He had taken a big hit, he knew, and even this small amount of concentration was causing his head to hurt again.
'How long have you been here?' the man asked. 'This is the third day.'
Winterburne raised his eyebrows in surprise.
'Three days?'
'You was lucky,' the man said, 'or unlucky. I guess that depends on what we decide to do with you.' He smiled. 'We don't usually send anyone that far down the river, but it was your turn to be fortunate, I guess.'
Winterburne heard the sound of water filling a mug, and the man stepped across to the side of the bed.
'Here's some water,' the man said, 'but if I was you I'd take it steady. You've taken a bit of a banging, and if you haven't already realised it you're in a bad way. Reckon it'll take you a couple more days to get even close to being strong enough to get up.'
Winterburne struggled to sit himself up enough to take the cup and he sipped some of the cool water. After the stuff he'd swallowed in the river, this tasted like nectar.
The man pulled a chair across to the side of the bed and sat. He watched Winterburne finish the drink and then took the cup back.
'What you doing out in these wilds, anyway? Not the kind of place you'd find yourself by accident, least not in my books anyhow.'
Winterburne lowered himself back onto the bed, exhaling as the aching continued its torture.
'I was trying to cross the Hills to get over the other side. Trying to get home.'
'Was you crossing left or right? I mean, to the Empire or the Commonwealth.'
Winterburne guessed that the answer he gave might be important. Who knew if this man held allegiances to either side, and the wrong word could mean his death, despite the man's outward friendliness towards him.
'Makes no odds, to me,' the man added. 'I hate both sides, in case you were wondering.'
Winterburne made up his mind and plumped for the first thing that came into his pained mind.
'The Commonwealth,' he said.
'I see.' The man nodded. 'Where you going?'
Winterburne only knew the names of one or two places within the Commonwealth and with his banging head, only the name of one place sprung into his mind.
'Bishop's Abbey,' he said.
It was a main stopover on the road between White Haven, the capital of The Commonwealth and Brunswick, on the Empire side of the border. Winterburne had never been there and he dearly hoped that the man hadn't either, and that there were no further questions.
The man nodded. 'I try to keep away from the cities and towns if I can.'
'I've been away for a long time, myself,' Winterburne said.
'Right,' the man said, watching him. 'And what do I call you, stranger?'
Thomas Winterburne almost crossed his lips, and then somehow he remembered that it may not have been a good idea to say that.
'Richard Smyth,' he replied.
'Ah,' the man said. 'An' is that your real name, Richard Smyth?'
'Yes,' Winterburne replied, although he felt sure that he saw the man frown at him for a second. Had he believed him? he wondered.
'Still, what you call yourself is none of my concern, in truth. I'm just nosey. What do I call you? Richard, or Smyth?'
Winterburne shrugged, and then winced as his shoulder screamed out.
'Whichever,' he said, through the grimace.
' "Smyth" it is then,' the man said. 'At least until you earn another nickname, that is, then we'll see.' He winked. 'You running away from something, Smyth?'
'You could say that.'
Winterburne searched his mind for something to latch onto, some reason to explain his presence in the hills.
'It's usually women, in my experience,' the man said, 'or something criminal. Is that the same for you?'
Winterburne nodded. 'Two women.'
In some small way it was actually the truth although he wasn't sure that his mother counted.
The man laughed. 'Good man. Not at the same time, I hope.' He winked again.
Winterburne smiled back as best he could through the pain.
'I can see you're not up to much comp'ny right now. Maybe laters and we can talk more.'
Winterburne nodded, and looked up trying to focus on the roof of the tent. He felt tired again and could feel himself close to sleep.
'We can talk about what we do with you next, Smyth. If you're running from something, then you might decide to stay. If you're the law, then...' he drew his finger across his throat.
'Ain't the law,' Winterburne replied. Not any more anyway, his mind filled in.
The man nodded. 'You don't look like the law. Least not like any lawman I ever seen, anyhow.'
'Was running away from the law.'
The man eyed him up, and then grinned.
'Well,' he said. 'if you don't min' a little bit of, shall we say, illegal activity, then you might fit in jus' fine.'
Winterburne smiled back. 'And what can I call you?'
The man walked across the tent flap and lifted it, readying to leave. At the last moment he turned.
'The name's Dieter Conn,' he said, 'but you can call me boss.'
29
The Thirteenth Day of Hi-summer,
Imperial Year 2332
Winterburne had found an ideal seat on a large flat stone, next to the fire. Not only that, but after three days with only scraps to eat he had also found his appetite at last. The remains of a wild pig, slowly turned by one of the men, still roasted over the flames and he could vouch for how good it tasted. Now, his belly was full.
Around him milled a good number of Conn's men, he had already counted over forty, and they were busying themselves around the camp and clearing the debris after another night in the hills. He rested his plate on the stone next to him and leaned back, grimacing as the muscles in his arms and shoulders still protested a little.
'Looks like you enjoyed that, my friend.'
A large figure, not quite obese but getting that way, leaned in and took the plate from beside Winterburne. The man's beard and moustache looked like something from one of those travelling wild-man shows that came to Highport on occasion, bu
t his pate was bald.
'I was starving,' Winterburne replied.
'Verkade,' the man said, wiping his large hand on his apron, and then reaching out to shake Winterburne's. 'I'm the closest thing these dogs get to a cook.'
Winterburne held out his own hand.
'Smyth,' he said.
'What you doing in this wasteland?'
Verkade returned to his pottering, slipping a sideways look over at Winterburne between scraping bones and other waste into a wooden box.
'Running away, I guess,' Winterburne said.
'From what?'
Winterburne smiled, noticing that the man was watching him closely as he worked. 'It's a long story, my friend. There aren't enough hours in this day to explain it.'
'Well,' Verkade said, 'your business is your own, I guess. I was just making small talk.'
'Did Conn ask you to find out more about me?'
Verkade chuckled, and pointed at Winterburne with a dirty knife. The deep boom of his laughter stopped as he said, 'You're quick, I'll give you that.'
'It's not difficult to work out. I'd have done the same myself.'
Verkade picked up two mugs of something hot and steaming and walked over to Winterburne, handing him one. There was enough room on the rock for both of them and the man lowered himself down with a groan.
'A few friendly words of warning, Smyth,' he said, before taking a swig of the hot liquid.
'I'm listening.'
'The boss is loyal. To a fault, some would say. But don't take the piss. He don't like piss-takers. And, another thing, he expects every man to pull his weight.'
'I understand,' Winterburne replied.
Verkade continued, 'But in reply, he pays well, relatively, and he gives everyone a fair chance.' He dug Winterburne in the ribs with his elbow. 'Even strangers.'
He winked, and stood, walking back to continue with his chores.
Winterburne thought everyone too friendly. It was all too easy to let down his guard.
After a few moments of his tinkering Verkade stopped and looked over at him.
'You any good with horses?' he asked.
'Fair, I'd say.'
'We need someone to join the crew that looks after 'em. Reckon if you were up for it you'd find it a good place to get your feet under the table. Get to meet some of the men too. What do you think?'
'Reckon so,' Winterburne replied. 'Anything I can do to help might give me something to think about and stop me moping. I can start paying back all this hospitality.'
'That's exactly what I was thinking,' Verkade said. 'No rush. When you're ready, o' course.'
'Might make a start now.'
He was feeling better, and in all honesty, the tedium was starting to get to him.
'Where do I go?' Winterburne asked.
Verkade waved his hand across to the far side of the camp.
'It's that way. Past the tents and follow the path around to the left, you can't miss it.'
Winterburne couldn't help but notice the smirk that Verkade held on his face but thought no more of it, setting off in the direction that the man had indicated.
'I'll see you later,' he said.
The cook raised his hand and then went back to his work.
oOo
Just as Verkade had said, the walk was not far and Winterburne followed the path around the bend, before long coming to a large expansive clearing between two steep scree slopes. Four men hung around near the mouth of the opening and he approached the first who turned and waved him over.
'I'm Huber,' the man said, 'the horse-master. And this is yours.'
Huber held out a metal-bladed shovel, the handle worn and cracked. It had clearly been left out in all weathers, and looked as if it might snap at any time.
'Verkade mentioned he might be sending me someone,' he added.
Winterburne took the shovel from the man, the meaning not lost on him.
'So, what now...I'm a shit-shoveller?'
Huber laughed. 'Hey, boys!' The other three men in the team looked around. 'This newbie just realised his true station in life.'
All the men laughed, except Winterburne. He was not happy. So, now they'd put him out of sight, and away from everything. Great.
'It's where all the new men start, no offence,' Huber said. 'There's bound to be other new people soon enough, there always are. If you're lucky, and you work hard, you might even graduate to washing dishes for Verkade some time this year.' He glanced at the others and then back to Winterburne. 'If you live that long.'
The men laughed again, but this time one of the number broke off and made his way towards Winterburne. He clapped him on the back as he reached him.
'Come on,' he said, 'I ain't bin 'ere more 'n a few weeks, neither. Still waitin' for my own graduation. Was wond'rin' how long it might take for me to go up the peckin' order. Looks like t'days the day. Ain't I lucky?'
Winterburne silently followed the man along the track. Up ahead he could see the trail bend around to the right as it hugged the cliff face. As they turned the corner the extent of the problem revealed itself. A herd of horses, fifty or so at a guess, pulled hay from damp bales that had been stacked along the side of the path. One or two of the beasts were saddled but most were tied to logs placed in front of the bales. Winterburne looked along the rumps of the horses where an almost continuous line of manure sat on the stony ground waiting to be collected.
'That is some pile of shit,' he said.
'You better believe it,' his companion replied.
Surprisingly, to Winterburne, as he worked away the morning passed quickly and he'd learned a few things, too. For starters, there was plenty of food every day, plenty to drink, and pay, although there was nothing to spend it on but you couldn't have it all. There were the jobs too. Not the day to day tasks such as he had been doing today, but the jobs, although his shovelling companion, Kraig, was too new to the group to say what the jobs were. He would only say that once you knew what they were then you didn't talk about them. That was something to wonder about. Apparently, he would be wise to leave asking about them, also. "If you only learn two things today, Smyth," Kraig had said, "it's to keep your head down, and do as you're told''.
As he walked back towards the camp at the end of the day, he passed Conn's billet. The tent was a little bigger than the others but not massively so, certainly not so much bigger that you could accuse the man of acting flamboyantly in front of his crew. Nonetheless, it did make a statement of sorts.
Just as he reached the tent, Conn stepped out through the flap, smiling at him.
'Ah, Smyth,' Conn said. 'Settling in, I hear. Feeling any better?'
'Much, thank you.'
'Good, good. I hear you found yourself in, as it were, deep shit today.' Conn chuckled.
Winterburne forced a laugh.
'Don't worry,' Conn said. 'We rotate the worst jobs each week, I bet they didn't mention that. Everyone takes their share. Even me.'
'Even you?'
'Course,' Conn replied. 'Can't expect you lot to get your hands dirty if I don't myself, can I?'
Winterburne was surprised. Everyone had had their share of fun at his expense today, but in all honesty, from what he had seen of Conn so far, the man seemed like a good leader.
'It's not my turn for clean up duty for a while though,' Conn said. 'And I can't cook either so Verkade won't let me help out over there, which means, in theory, that I've got an easy week.'
Conn laughed, and then pointed over to the cooking area where a fire burned in the pit and Verkade seemed to be flapping around in his own personal domain.
'Go get yourself some stew,' he added, 'before everyone else eats your share. There's a delivery coming later and we'll need all hands for that job.'
'A delivery?' Winterburne asked.
Conn nodded, and then tapped his finger on the side of his nose.
'Get some food,' he said.
Winterburne got the message and decided it was best to leave the questi
ons for another time. Perhaps all the advice was right and it really was best to keep his head down, for now.
He left Conn and made his was across to Verkade's kitchen area.
oOo
'How can there be all of this organisation? The food? The horses? Where does it all come from?' Winterburne asked Verkade, as he took back his dish.
'Gold, Smythie,' Verkade said. 'Gold.'
'Really?'
'Gold will get you a long way in this world, if you know who to throw it at.' He winked. 'Or if you find the right people to throw it at you.'
'Like who?'
'That's not a question you should be asking of the wrong person, my friend. But you're new, and you don't know any better, so we'll say no more about it.'
The friendly look had left his face, and for the first time since he had arrived Winterburne had been left in no uncertain doubt that he was on soft ground.
'It's one of those things that's on a need to know basis,' Verkade said, 'and you don't.'
'I was just curious, I didn't mean any offence.'
'I know, and there's none taken,' Verkade said, 'but there's some questions you don't want to be asking, that's all I'm saying.'
Winterburne knelt on one knee and washed his dish clean in the trough of dirty water that was situated at the edge of what passed for Verkade's kitchen. As the water sloshed about, an awkward silence developed, and he didn't know what to say next but as if on cue, a cow-bell shattered the quiet and Winterburne looked up in alarm.
'Don't worry,' Verkade said, smiling, 'you ain't been found out or anything. It's just the warning to say that the supply caravan is coming.'
'A caravan?'
'It's where all this comes from,' Verkade swung his arms around him. 'I told you, if you know where to throw your gold, Smythie, then magic happens.'
A string of ponies, lead by a man that Winterburne didn't recognise, and loaded with panniers and saddle bags made their way into the camp, the hooves of the beasts kicking the stones as they came closer. The men who mostly had been sitting around eating their food and chatting, put down their plates and rushed across to take one each. Winterburne got up and walked over to help unload the packs, and as he lifted the leather flap of the bag on his allocated animal he was astonished to see that money sacks had been stuffed inside.
He untied the bags and lifted them off the saddle. They were heavy as he carried them over to the pile on the far side of the camp. One of the more senior men, whose name he did not know was opening the bags and counting out piles of the gold coins onto the floor.
As Winterburne watched, one of the men who had been tasked with leading the ponies into camp handed a satchel to Conn and he thanked him before turning and disappearing into his tent. Winterburne frowned, it was another secret that he would most likely never even get close to understanding.
When the unloading was done, the ponies were turned around and led out of the camp, back down the path along which they had arrived, and a sense of expectation filled the air around the place. Conn returned from the tent and walked across to a chair that had been dragged next to the pile of bags. He stepped up onto the makeshift platform.
'Listen up!' Conn called. 'Quiet!'
The men became still as they watched him looking around the group.
'Guess what? Today is pay day!'
The men cheered, but Conn cut the men short as he patted them down with his hands, beckoning for quiet again.
'Today, there is something else, too.'
There was a murmuring around the camp but then the men fell silent again.
'Today,' Conn added, 'we have