The Radiant War

Chapter 16b

     The Brigadier was spared from having to engage in conversation, though, when they came across a pair of brothers going the same way as them. Farmworkers by the look of them, dressed in the turbans and long, flowing robes of poor, country Carrow folk. They emerged from a side road right beside the two Helberions, who had only dismounted a few minutes earlier and so had nearly a full hour to go before they could mount their tired horses again. The Brigadier considered doing so anyway, since associating with Carrow civilians ran all kinds of risks, especially when his companion was so fond of talking, but the Carrowmen turned out to like talking just as much as the Private and they were in a conversation almost before he knew what was happening. He sighed in resignation. He would just have to hope that his companion had enough good sense not to give away their true identities.

     “Our farm dried up and blew away,” said the first Carrowman, brushing the long, grey hair out of his eyes with a thin, bony hand. “The maize didn't even live long enough to set seed. Just shrivelled up and died before it was up to our knees. We tried irrigating, until the creek dried up, but the water didn't help much anyway. Fouled by the steelworks to the north. We got no money left to buy seed stock, and no sign of the drought ending even if we did, so we’re off to find work in the city.”

     “I passed through Lutton on the way here,” replied Grey. “We're both looking for work too, but there was none in Lutton, even with most of the men drafted into the army. Factories are shutting down, all except for the munitions factories. They’re busy enough, churning out arms and ammunition for the army, but they've already got all the men they want, so we're going south. They told us there's work in Sunby and the Venwell area.”

     “There’ll be something,” the second agreed. “There's always work for men who are willing to work. We may be old, too old for the army, but there'll be someone who needs a strong back and a willing heart. We'll find something.”

     “Aye, and things'll be better when the war's over, when the army brings all the food and money back from Helberion. Everything they stole from us over the years...”

     “What did they steal?” demanded Grey, and the Brigadier gave him a sharp nudge with his elbow.

     It was too late, though. “What did they steal?” said the first Carrowman. “How about half the bloody country? All the best farming land! We’re starving and they’re living high on the hog, selling our own food back to us for three times what it's worth! They've had this coming for a long time and now they’re getting it.”

     The other Carrowman nodded wisely. The first one looked at Grey suspiciously. “How come you're not in the army, anyway? Fit, young man like you.”

     “His lungs,” said the Brigadier hurriedly, drawing upon Malone's description of life in Farwell’s working class districts. “He worked in a factory making medicines before the war and breathed in too much bicarbonate. He’s fine so long as he doesn’t exert himself, but any heavy exercise and he coughs ‘till he bleeds. He offered to join up anyway but they wouldn’t have him. Said he'd slow down the whole company. Poor man's still upset about it.” He patted Grey's shoulder comfortingly and the other man gave him a grateful smile.

     “Too bad,” said the first Carrowman doubtfully. He clearly suspected Grey of cowardice, but the Brigadier didn't mind that. They'd be parting ways soon and they'd never see these two men again. So long as they didn't discover the truth, it didn't matter what else they thought.

     “And what about you?” The other Carrow man asked, though. “You're old, but not that old. I reckon you could still hold your own on the battlefield. You got bad lungs too?”

     “I was in the last war,” replied the Brigadier truthfully. “I could tell you some stories, show you some scars. I've done my bit. Time to give the younger folk a chance.”