The Breton Boys

Chapter Sixteen: The Soldier's Mistake | 2

"Then, Imeric chopped the fence in half, he was so angry!" Oliver recounted to Duncan as the three boys headed home from the Academy that evening. They walked through the early winter darkness flanked by their guard: the young alresse with the short, fair hair and an older soldier, a short man who was beginning to bald. Fluffy snowflakes were falling thickly, making it hard to see very far up the trail, even with a lantern.

"So, Reid won his duel!" Oliver went on eagerly, his face illuminated by the lantern's glow. "Duncan, are you listening? Reid beat Imeric."

Duncan really didn't seem to be paying much attention, his brow slightly furrowed and his eyes fixed straight ahead as if he were concentrating hard on something else entirely. Reid chimed in anyway.

"I don't think the duel really counted, Oliver. I didn't even use my sword, and Imeric just stomped off. You heard what Captain Pitchblende said..."

"What did he say?" Duncan asked, quickly turning his attention to the boys.

"That I need to become a good sword fighter," Reid said.

"Too true," Duncan agreed. "And what did he say about Imeric?"

"Nothing," Oliver replied. "Just that he'd take care of him later."

Duncan readopted his troubled expression.

"Imeric's been toeing the line since Eleska became a squire," he mused, as if he was working out the answer to a difficult riddle. "He should've been discharged thrice over by now. I've seen squires get expelled for less."

"His father's probably paying Pitchblende to let him keep training."

"No," Duncan answered, frowning.

"Bet he is."

But Oliver could not carry his argument further because at that moment, they arrived at the Bretons' cottage. Duncan dropped the boys on the doorstep and bade them a good night as their escort and the soldier who had been standing watch at the back door headed for the front of the house to change the guard.

The boys had barely crossed the threshold when they were met with shrill screams. Their mother was on her knees on the kitchen floor, washing a wailing Adelaide in a small tub. She scrubbed the slippery, squirming toddler's back with a cloth in one hand, trying to keep her from escaping the tub with the other. Damp linens and clothes hung all around the kitchen, giving Reid the impression that his mother's wash basin had exploded, though he quickly understood that it was too cold and wet outside for the wash to dry on the line.

The fire in the wood stove began to hiss wildly as whatever their mother was preparing for dinner began to boil over into the flames, causing Reid to jump. In the same instant, Bart leapt onto the kitchen table where he dug his claws into a dangling shirt, causing the entire line to collapse in a soggy heap across the kitchen. Adaline looked torn between throttling the kitten, hollering at the top of her voice, and falling asleep on the spot.