Sir Thursday(21)

‘Who?’

‘I don’t give a raised rat’s whisker who he is.’

‘Bad for morale, sir. Can’t be done. Is that all, sir?’

‘I accept delivery of one Recruit Penhaligon, sir. With medical advice.’

Arthur heard footsteps, then the sound of the elevator doors closing. But he still didn’t dare to move, though now the itching sensation on the bridge of his nose was almost unbearable.

‘Stand at ease, Recruit!’ barked Helve.

Arthur relaxed, but he still didn’t scratch his nose. He had a vague memory of his much older brother Erazmuz – who was a major in the Army – talking about the things that movies always got wrong about military service. One of them was the difference between ‘stand at ease’ and ‘stand easy’. Unfortunately Arthur couldn’t remember exactly what the difference was. Staying still seemed to be the best option.

‘Feet this far apart, hands behind your back, thumbs crossed, head straight, eyes straight ahead!’ shouted Helve. He suddenly marched in front of Arthur and stood at ease himself. ‘Say, “Yes, Sergeant!” ’

‘Yes, Sergeant!’ shouted Arthur, putting all his strength into his voice. He knew about the need to yell ridiculously loudly from Erazmuz as well.

‘Good!’ shouted Helve. He stood at attention and leaned in towards Arthur. He wasn’t the tallest Denizen Arthur had seen – no more than six-and-a-half feet high – but he had the broadest shoulders the boy had seen outside of one of Grim Tuesday’s Grotesques. His face was not handsome, as was usual for Denizens, but it might once have been. Now it was marred by a Nothing-burn that stretched from his left ear to his chin. If he had ever had any hair, it had been shaved off.

Like the lieutenant, Helve was wearing a scarlet tunic, but his had three broad gold stripes on each sleeve. He also had three medals pinned on his left breast, all of dull gunmetal, with multicoloured ribbons attached. One of the medals had five small clasps attached to the ribbon, and another had a score of tiny silver star pins on its ribbon arranged in a pattern that left space for several more.

‘Lieutenant Crosshaw says you are a special case!’ bellowed Helve. ‘I do not like special cases! Special cases do not make good soldiers! Special cases do not help other recruits become good soldiers! Therefore, you will not be a special case! You understand me!’

‘I think so –’

‘Shut up! That was not a question!’

Sergeant Helve suddenly leaned back, then scratched the back of his head and looked around. Arthur didn’t dare follow his gaze, but whatever he saw or didn’t see reassured the sergeant.

‘Stand easy, Recruit. For the next two minutes I’m going to talk to you Denizen to Piper’s child, not sergeant to recruit. But you will never mention it to me and you will not ever speak of it to anyone else. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Sergeant,’ said Arthur cautiously.

Sergeant Helve reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a flat tin, from which he took a cigarillo, which he didn’t light. Instead he bit the end off and started chewing. He held out the soggy end to Arthur, who shook his head and then took the opportunity to rapidly scratch his nose.

‘It’s like this, Penhaligon. You shouldn’t be here. There’s something political going on, isn’t there?’

Arthur nodded.

‘I hate politics!’ said Helve. He spat out a disgusting gob of chewed tobacco for emphasis. ‘So here’s what I want to do. It’s not strictly legal, so you’ll have to agree. I want to change your name. Just while you’re here. That way, you can get on with the course, the other recruits won’t be distracted, and we won’t have any trouble. It’ll only be on the local record here, nothing permanent. You’ll graduate under your own name. If you make it.’

‘Okay,’ said Arthur. If he had to be here, it would make sense to hide under another name. ‘I mean, yes, Sergeant.’

‘What’ll we call you?’ Helve took another bite of his cigarillo and chewed thoughtfully. Arthur tried not to breathe in. The smell of chewed tobacco was revolting, worse than he’d have imagined. If it was tobacco, and not some close equivalent from another world out in the Secondary Realms.

‘How about Ruhtra?’ Helve suggested. ‘That’s Arthur backwards.’

‘Roottra … ah … maybe something that sounds better … or less obvious,’ suggested Arthur. He looked across at the horizon, wrinkling his eyes against the harsh sunlight, so much in contrast to the lush green jungle to the west. ‘How about Ray? Ray … um … Green? I could be an Ink Filler from the Lower House.’