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and sickly. It's not a wonderful supper, gods know, but it's a supper, and any
supper is better than no supper at all."
"Well, I can't say you're wrong. I was thinking the same thing a little
earlier, in fact." Gremio didn't want to argue with Sergeant Thisbe. He
wrestled another bite of meat down his throat. "Now I know why so many men in
the company have no shoes. The drovers have been butchering them and called
the shoeleather beef."
Thisbe did smile at that, but then grew serious again. "I wonder what they're
doing with the hides of the cattle they're killing. If they're just leaving
them for scavengers, that's a shame and a disgrace. The Army of Franklin must
have plenty of men who know how to tan leather. Maybe they could make shoes,
or at least patch the ones that are coming to pieces."
"That's a good idea. That's a hells of a good idea, as a matter of fact."
Gremio made fewer bites of the rest of his beefsteak than he should have. A
couple of times, he felt like a small snake trying to choke down a large dog.
When at last he swallowed the final bite, he jumped to his feet. "I'm going to
find out whether we're doing anything like that and if we aren't, why not."
He hurried to Colonel Florizel's pavilion. The regimental commander was
gamely which did seem the proper word hacking away at a slab of meat no finer
than the one Gremio had eaten. When Gremio explained Thisbe's notion, Florizel
paused, swallowed with no small effort, and then said, "Thatis clever. I have
no idea what we're doing with the hides. We should be doing something,
shouldn't we?"
"If we have any sort of chance to, we should, yes," Gremio said. "If you
don't know, sir, who would?"
"Patrick the Cleaver, I suspect," Florizel answered. "He sticks his nose into
all sorts of things."
The other side of that coin was,I can't be bothered sticking mynose into all
sorts of things . Calling Florizel on it would have been worse than useless.
Gremio saluted and said, "Thank you, sir. I'll speak with him."
"I hope something comes of it." Colonel Florizel did mean well, as long as he
didn't have to put himself out too much. Hewas a brave leader in battle.
Gremio wished he were a better administrator, but Gremio, a barrister himself,
highly valued organization in others.
He'd never spoken to Patrick the Cleaver before, and wondered how much
trouble he would have getting to see the wing commander. He had no more than
he'd had seeing Colonel Florizel. As he had with Florizel, he explained
himself. "This is your notion, now?" Patrick asked him.
"No, sir," Gremio answered. "My company's first sergeant thought of it. H uh,
his name is Thisbe."
"It's a good notion, indeed and it is," Patrick said. "My hat's off to you,
Captain, for not being after claiming it for your own."
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"I couldn't do that," Gremio said.
"No, eh?" The brigadier eyed him. "Plenty could, the which is nobbut the
truth."
"I don't steal," Gremio said stiffly. From anyone but Thisbe, he might have.
From the sergeant? Never.
"Well, good on you," Patrick the Cleaver said. "If you're after giving this
sergeant the credit, you might also be thinking of giving him lieutenant's
rank to go with it."
"Sir, I tried to promote the sergeant during the fighting south of
Marthasville, for bravery then," Gremio said. "Thisbe refused to accept
officer's rank. I doubt anything has changed . . . his mind since."
Patrick chuckled. "Sure and there are sergeants like that. Most of 'em, I
think, are fools. The army could use officers o' their stripe better nor a
good many of the omadhauns giving orders the now."
Thisbe had reasons for declining that Patrick the Cleaver probably hadn't
contemplated. Gremio saw no point in discussing those reasons with the wing
commander. He asked, "Is there any chance of doing what the sergeant
suggested, sir?"
"By the gods, Captain, there is that," Patrick answered. "Once we're after
driving the gods-damned southrons from Poor Richard, I'll see to it. You may
rely on me."
"Thank you, sir." Gremio believed him. Patrick was one of the youngest
brigadiers in King Geoffrey's armies, but he'd already acquired a reputation
for reliability to go with his name for hard fighting. Gremio said, "May I ask
you one thing more?"
"Ask what you will," Patrick said. "I do not promise to answer."
"That's only fair," Gremio said. "What sort of ground will we be fighting on
at this Poor Richard place?"
"It's open," Patrick the Cleaver replied. "It's very open." His face, which
had been very open a moment before, all at once closed. "If I were Lieutenant
General Bell . . ." He didn't go on.
"If you were Bell . . ." Gremio prompted.
"Never you mind," Patrick said. "I've told the general commanding my
opinions, and I need not repeat 'em to another soul."
Had he stood in the witness box, Gremio could have peppered him with
questions as with crossbow quarrels. That wasn't how things worked here. A man
who tried to grill a superior not inclined to be forthcoming wouldn't find out
what he wanted to know, and would wind up in trouble.
Patrick said, "Give my compliments to your clever sergeant, if you'd be so
kind, and the top o' the evening to you."
That was dismissal. Captain Gremio saluted and left the wing commander's
pavilion. He made his way back to his own regiment's encampment. "Well, sir?"
Sergeant Thisbe asked when he sat down by the fire once more.
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