“One more word out of you and, I swear to God, I’ll disembowel you where you stand. Understand me?”

IdrisPukke shrugged but wisely, thought Vague Henri, said nothing. “Grady! Fog!” the captain called out to two soldiers. “Stay close to this gobshite. And if he even looks like he’s going to try and escape, blow his bloody head off.”

10

Captain Bramley just tied the hands of the three boys and let them walk and occasionally run behind the horses. However, as a punishment for IdrisPukke, he kept him tied to a saddle and, in response to his mocking pleas to be allowed to ride in the arms of a cavalryman like the girl, administered numerous kicks for his trouble.

They made camp about half an hour before dark. Riba was left free with the cavalrymen, who were given a bad-tempered warning by Bramley not to touch her. These were hard men who had seen and done much, a great deal of it too unpleasant to tell, but the warning was barely needed for most of them. While some would happily have done mischief to the beautiful young girl, most seemed entranced by her as she chatted and joked with them, artlessly flirting and opening her eyes in amazement at the endless supply of stories that any soldier delighted in telling. Despite a number of sympathetic looks over at the boys, she had been told to steer clear of them and that any attempt to talk would mean she’d be tied up.

Instead they had IdrisPukke as a companion, all four of them chained to the axle of a carriage that had joined up with the cavalry shortly after their capture. The boys had been fed but not IdrisPukke, who was given a kick instead of bully beef and soda bread. They were starving and began to gobble the lot as quickly as dogs.

“What about sharing some of that?”

“Why should we?” said Kleist from behind a stuffed mouth.

“Oh, because I interceded on your behalf when that bastard Bramley wanted to spill your guts onto the oh-so-hungry sands of the Scablands.”

Kleist quickly finished his last mouthful.

“Sorry about that-but thanks for this afternoon.”

The other two were more gracious, even if Cale was only willing to offer his soda bread because he wanted to question IdrisPukke.

Unlike the boys, IdrisPukke took his time over the bread and the small amount of bully beef left by Vague Henri.

“Do you know anything about the killings?” asked Cale.

“Me?” said IdrisPukke. “I was going to ask you the same thing.” He took another bite of the soda bread. “Were you going to help Vipond?”

There was a pause as Vague Henri and Cale looked at each other.

“We were thinking about it,” said Cale.

“Very wise. Always think carefully before doing anyone a favor. Good advice. In your friend’s case,” he added, nodding at Kleist, “I wish I’d taken it.”

“You’d have gone without your dinner if you had.”

IdrisPukke laughed softly. “Not much of an exchange-two pieces of bread for three lives. I’d say you still owed me.”

“There’s nothing we can do for you,” said Vague Henri.

“Perhaps not. But in future I may have to call it in. I hope you’re honorable men.”

Cale laughed.

“Are you an honorable man?”

“You’d be laughing on the other side of your face if I wasn’t.”

Vague Henri thought it best to change the subject.

“What do you think they’ll do to us?”

IdrisPukke shrugged. “They’ll take you to Memphis. If Vipond lives, you should be all right.” He smiled. “As long as you stick to your story.”

“And if he doesn’t?” asked Vague Henri.

“Depends. They might put you on trial or they might just throw you in the bypass.”

“What’s that?”

“Somewhere you get forgotten about.”

“We didn’t do anything,” said Cale.

“So I gather.” He laughed again. “But don’t tell them that.”

“Who do you think killed them?”

IdrisPukke considered.

“There are lots of hooligans in the outer Scablands, but not many would think of touching an armed embassy from the Materazzi.”

“Who are they?”

“My God, don’t they teach you anything at that place?”

All three looked at him, stony of expression.

“Right. Well, the Materazzi rule Memphis and everywhere up to the Scablands and down as far as the Great Bight-which I can see you’ve never heard of either.”

“What’s Memphis like?”

“Wonderful. The greatest show on earth. There’s nothing you can’t get in Memphis, nothing that can’t be bought or sold, no crime that hasn’t been committed, no food they haven’t eaten, no practice… ” He paused. “… unpracticed. You’re in for a treat as long as they don’t kill you or forget you-and of course as long as you have money.”

“We don’t,” said Cale.

“Then you must get it. If you have no money in Memphis, there’s no point to you. And if there’s no point to you in Memphis, someone will soon find one for you.”

“What do you-”

“Enough questions. I’m sore and tired. We’ll talk in the morning.” He winked. “If I’m still here.” And with that IdrisPukke turned over and within five minutes was snoring.

They assumed he was joking as he so often and so puzzlingly seemed to be, but next morning when they woke up IdrisPukke had gone.

Captain Bramley was furious and gave all three boys a good kicking, and though it did make them feel considerably worse, it didn’t seem to make him feel better. Riba had rushed over and begged him to stop.

“Why would they help him to escape and stay behind themselves?” she pointed out desperately. “It isn’t fair!”

The boys, being old hands at unfairness, stoically kept their mouths shut and tried to keep their more tender portions away from the point of Captain Bramley’s boot. Fortunately for them he was a railer and a flailer rather than one of the skillful sadists they were used to. Unfairness was as familiar to them as water, not least because a beating was often preceded by a reference to the Hanged Redeemer’s direst warning that anyone who hurt a child would be better off being cast into the sea with a millstone around his neck. When the boys first arrived they were frequently told stories and parables about the kindness of the Holy Redeemer and his particular regard for the young, whose care and happiness were always being recommended to those around him. At first the fact that they were often beaten for no good reason prior to these homilies of love and kindness, and often afterward too, was the cause of bewildered resentment. Over the years, however, the contradictions ceased to exist and the words of comfort and joy went in one ear and out the other. They were just words, bereft of meaning to all concerned.

Having worked out his initial burst of rage on the boys, Bramley turned to his sergeant and corporal, who stood by with weary patience for their turn.

“You!” he shouted at the sergeant. “You big fat sack of shit. And you!” he said, looking at the corporal, a much smaller man. “You scrawny little sack of shit. Get ten of your best men and find that bastard IdrisPukke. And if you come back without him, and alive, you bring your dinner, both of you, because when I’ve finished with you you’re going to bloody need it.”

And with this he stamped off toward his tent.

“Keep interrogating the prisoners,” he yelled over his shoulder.

The sergeant let out a deep breath of disdain and patient irritation. “You heard what the man said, Corporal.”

The corporal approached the three boys, now backed against the wheel of the wagon, knees drawn up to protect themselves.

“Do you know anything about the escape of the prisoner?”

“No!” yelled back a furious but frightened Kleist.

“The prisoner says no,” reported the corporal calmly.

“Ask him if he’s sure, Corporal.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Kleist. “Why, in God’s name, would he tell us where he was going?”