Page 51 of Swords of Soul and Shadow
“Medics.”
“In the middle of a war.”
The sun fell below the horizon casting them into twilight. Ezekiel stood and stretched. “Don’t let the papers hear you say that. They wouldn’t want to report the truth.”
Harlan pushed himself to his feet and straightened his jacket. Ezekiel started for the encampment, Harlan following. The day and the swigs of whiskey caught up with him on the way. Each footstep weighed a thousand pounds. He needed sleep, though he knew it would evade him for hours yet. He needed to clean his uniform and flashpistol, though the latter hardly saw any action.
“We get leave in a few weeks, I believe?” Ezekiel asked, turning a little to see Harlan.
He nodded. “My mother’s asked me to come home for at least a week of it. As if there’s anywhere else I’d like to see.”
Aurelia Shackley wasn’t his real mother, but she insisted he call her as such. He supposed it was nice.
Ezekiel paused, waiting for him to catch up. He slung an arm around his shoulder. “What if you come round for dinner at the townhouse? Get away from that stuffy old manor for a bit?”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“Course you don’t, but Rose dearly wants to meet the man who’s kept me sane the last few years. I might even persuade Lessie to join us. She’d be coming to the capital soon anyway with winter upon us. I’m determined to see to it that she finds some suitor to put up with her at last. ‘Twas old Pa’s dying wish, may his soul rest among the stars. I could use some assistance in that endeavor.” Ezekiel shot Harlan a quick glance before letting his arm fall back to his side. “Besides, this is the first time we’ve earned leave at the same time. Humor me.”
According to his friend, the Lady Celeste Fairchild was rather opinionated and scholarly, two traits which had put off two betrothals in kind. Harlan was unsure how his presence was supposed to solve either of those issues.
Judging by the stories he’d heard, he had an inkling that the Lady Celeste was running off potential suitors on purpose. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be her next target.
Still, he owed his friend at least a cordial acceptance. Surely he could figure a way out of it before the time came.
What else did he have to do on his leave? Sit in Shackley Manor with his adoptive mother and avoid all conversation relating to the daily life of a military surgeon? That left them with precious little to talk about.
“Fine. But none of your silly card games after dinner. I refuse to trounce you in front of your wife. It’d be rude.”
Ezekiel just laughed. “No worries about that. She destroys me at Stars and Blasts every chance she can.”
“Merciless.”
“It’s why I married her. And bless her, but she hasn’t lost any of her skill in the years since.”
Ezekiel dug in his pocket and pulled out a small leather wallet, flashing the tiny portrait of his sleeping twin boys as if he hadn’t shown them to Harlan a dozen times before. “Still can’t believe they’re nearly five now.”
His voice took on that melancholy tone that came over him whenever the influence of drink and talk about his family mixed. Harlan coughed to fill the awkward space and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Didn’t you get to see them last year around the holidays?”
Ezekiel put away the portrait. “No amount of leave can make up for the fact that I’m missing them grow up.”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing you only have a year of service left, isn’t it?”
His friend smiled, his good humor returning. “And then maybe I’ll get around to making your life easier out here.”
“I’d expect no less.”
The camp came into view. The rows of tents were like wayward autumn leaves. No wonder the Cerls were gaining ground. The military had grown lax in recent years, drunk on their victories and false peace. Harlan focused on finding his own tent. He might be able to sleep a little if he kept his mind fixed on their upcoming leave, not on the events of the day. Amputations always stayed with him a little longer.
Ezekiel bid him goodnight before heading to his own tent another scattered row over. As Harlan entered his nearly barren living space, he focused firmly on the future.
It would truly be nice to get away from the stench of death and blood for three weeks. It was the longest stretch of leave he’dearned at once since he’d joined up nearly thirteen years prior. Part of him worried Major Gibbons wouldn’t be up to the task of managing the patients without him, but Harlan forced himself not to dwell on that. That was not his problem. Yet.
Harlan loosened the buttons on his jacket, spent a quarter-hour cleaning the stains on the sleeves that had been exposed over his apron, and laid it neatly across his trunk. The whiskey still buzzed in his veins, and his stomach swam as he settled on his cot, staring up at the blank canvas above him. He’d take a quick break, then get to cleaning his weapons.
Three whole weeks in the capital. He’d be glad to eat fresh food that didn’t taste like tree bark. His mother would make sure he ate a few meals consisting of chicken pot pie, a favorite of his. It’d been too long since he’d had a good one. Of course, he had a small apartment in the nicer part of the lower city that afforded him a little comfort, but it was rather sparse. He was hardly ever home. No time to accumulate unnecessary knick-knacks and baubles just to decorate a dusty, rarely seen shelf.
Part of him was jealous of Ezekiel. He had a family to go home to, even if it was difficult to be away from them. It was different for Harlan.
