The Lost War, Karl Gallagher [recommended reading txt] 📗

Not sure. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Redinkle tried to shove the digging stick in again. Her hands slipped on the shaft. “Trade?”

“Sure.” Goldenrod stood up and started stabbing the soil. Redinkle knelt with the ladle.

“So not the kind to panic.”

Goldenrod laughed without breaking her rhythm. “Hell, no. That’s how I first noticed him. The company was expecting a visit from Corporate. All the managers were in a tizzy, rushing around and arguing. Then a machine caught on fire. Now they were yelling ‘Call the fire department’ and ‘Evacuate the building.’ Newman walked over, blasted it with a fire extinguisher, unplugged it, blasted it again, and went back to what he was working on. Never said a word.”

“Good guy to have around.”

“If he sticks around.”

“I haven’t noticed him eyeing anyone else. Crap. This one’s roots go deep. Poke it some more?”

Goldenrod gave the dirt around the stubborn plant half a dozen stabs. “Try now.”

The ladle levered out the whole plant. “Got it.”

“Newman won’t eye anyone else on a date. It’s his duty to pay attention to me, so he does. But at work he notices everybody.”

“So it’s good you’re on a date with him.”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like a trapped him into being with me and he’d have to chew off a leg to escape.”

Redinkle laughed. “Be serious. He’s never had it so good. And there’s not much competition for you even among the married women. And the single ladies—sheesh. Watching the singles pair up for the disaster makes me glad I’m married.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“That’s ‘cause you never come to the stitch and bitch. You miss all the gossip. Hey, I know. When it’s time to plant, invite everybody our age. We’ll stand around the edge of the field and put the cuttings in moving inward. It’ll be a sowing circle.”

Goldenrod kicked dirt in her face.

Spitting out grit didn’t keep Redinkle from laughing.

They both looked up as running steps sounded. “Lady Goldenrod?” called the young man. She recognized him as Bellows, an apprentice.

“Yes?” she answered.

“Master Forge presents this to you with his compliments.”

She traded him the digging stick for the new tool. The shaft was fresh-carved wood. The hoe blade was at a right angle to it. The neck was twice as thick as the one in her mother’s garden shed. The blacksmith didn’t have modern steel to work with so it probably needed the extra strength.

“Gimme some room, honey.”

Redinkle scrambled aside.

The hoe blade swung into the soil, pulling up a divot. Another swing chopped it in half, and sliced into the soil beneath. A dozen swings later the soil was more finely divided than any other spot in her plot.

She rested it on the ground and took a few deep breaths. “My thanks to Master Forge. Please tell him this is superb work.”

“I’ll do that, milady. May I keep this for the next one he makes?” The apprentice hefted the digging stick.

She nodded. He sped off.

“I guess you won’t need me any more,” said Redinkle.

“We’re going to take turns. I can’t keep that up long without a rest. But it’s a much better tool.”

She moved to the corner where she’d started breaking ground and went through it again. “So are any of the single girls eyeing Newman?”

“Oh, sure. He’s brought in more meat than any other three hunters combined. Right now that’s like captain of the football team.”

Redinkle let Goldenrod stew for a few moments before continuing.

“But being Little Miss Horticulture makes you head cheerleader, so they’re afraid to try.”

***

Master Sweetbread thought the rhino meat Newman brought back as his share would be best stewed. He chopped it up and put it in the pot with cubes of vineroot and a pinch of the precious spices. Then it went over the fire to simmer for hours.

By the smell their neighbors the Wolfheads were grilling their share.

Everyone was working on some task around the cookfire. Newman had a dozen leaf-blade arrowheads from Master Forge. Goldenrod fletched the shafts he attached them to. Mistress Tightseam patched ripped clothing.

The sound of tramping feet mixed with jingling metal told of armored men going by. The group stopped in front of the Wolfhead encampment.

Lady Stitches’ voice sounded, making an announcement. It wasn’t loud enough for anyone in House Applesmile to make out the words. Newman turned to look. The Wolfhead tents blocked his view. A royal guard stood by the corner, wearing full armor.

When Stitches finished everyone started yelling. Pernach stood up to go investigate but Sweetbread waved him back down.

The uproar became even louder. And angrier. Then Wolfhead Alpha’s voice cut through it. “Stand down, boys! Stand down!” He repeated it until everyone else was silent. He stopped. After a couple minutes of rustling and clanking the armored royal guards tramped away.

Sweetbread told his young men to let things calm down before bothering anyone for the story.

The story came to them.

Strongarm came around the corner and approached House Applesmile’s cooking fire. “May I join you?”

“Pull up a haybale,” answered Sweetbread.

One was already close enough. Strongarm sat, putting a bowl beside him.

“So what the hell was all that?” burst out Pernach.

Strongarm took a deep breath. “Their Royal Majesties decreed that rhinos being majestic, their meat shall be for the exclusive use of Their Court.”

Reactions ranged from Pinecone’s astonished cursing to Tightseam’s disappointed sigh. Newman was silent.

“But Lady Stitches graciously allowed three-eighths as a finder’s fee.”

“Thus averting a riot?” asked Tightseam.

“It pretty much was a riot. Some shoving. A broken chair. The ugly moment was when Borzhoi put his helmet on and a guard drew on him. Not a rattan tourney sword. Steel. Looked sharp, too.”

Pinecone gasped. “Damn. What did you do?”

“Nothing. I waited for orders. While holding