Chapter 23: The Nine

Severin reached the training room before first bell and found that six of the others had beaten him there.

A man about Severin’s age stood against the wall, dark hair refusing to lie flat. He pushed away from the stone when Severin came in.

"Martin Keller."

"Severin."

"Hale. Neumann made sure we knew that much yesterday."

The young one who had talked too quickly was doing it again near the window. The woman with the ring listened while he explained something about the room numbers on the schedule. She gave him enough attention to keep him going and no more. The broad laborer stood apart with his arms folded. Near the door, the man with the rolled cuffs was reading the same schedule Severin had given up on the night before.

Two more arrived before the bell, with Neumann close behind.

He carried no register this time. "Everyone to the main hall. Now."

Nobody needed telling twice.

The wooden swords had been cleared from the floor. Timber frames and waist-high barriers divided the far half of the hall into a crooked route. A canvas litter rested near the first chalk line with three sandbags strapped across it. Beside it sat a square field case with iron corners and two handles.

Neumann waited until all nine were around him.

"Listen up," Neumann called. "You have about four weeks of training ahead of you. You’ll learn about the filthy things we deal with every day and how to keep them from killing you. At the end of it, those who still think they’re cut out for this go to Gravewatch and test their luck."

Severin glanced at the litter; a month had sounded longer over breakfast yesterday.

Neumann pointed at the route. "Today I want to find out how well nine random bastards can move two things across a room."

The young man smiled nervously. Nobody else did.

"Keep the litter level. If there were a wounded man on it, I’d rather he reached the other side alive. The case stays with you. You can put it down in the marked squares, nowhere else. Step over the black chalk and you start again."

A hand went up. The man reading the schedule.

Neumann nodded to him. "Peters."

"Are resets recorded, sir?"

"Of course. Everything’s fucking recorded."

Peters lowered his hand. He did not look pleased by the answer.

Neumann nodded toward Severin. "Careful with the heavy end. Don’t make the healers nag me."

Severin opened his mouth. "But I can-"

"Fifty push-ups."

He shut his mouth and gave up.

"Good. Seems you’ve learned something already."

A few people laughed. Neumann stepped back and checked the clock.

"You have two minutes to work out how you’re doing it."

The man with the rolled cuffs moved first. "Four on the litter. Two on the case. The rest clear the route and change over where needed."

His Aethermerian was clean and careful, with an accent Severin could not place.

The broad laborer studied the first narrow turn. "Case won’t go through there flat."

"It will if we take the corner wide."

"No, it fucking won’t."

The other man glanced at him. "You’ve measured it?"

"Don’t need to. I’ve got fucking eyes."

Severin checked the case against the gap. The laborer was right. The iron corners would catch the timber if they tried to keep it level.

The woman who had sat with her hands folded yesterday crouched beside the litter and tested one of the straps.

"If this is meant to be a casualty, somebody at the head end needs to know how to keep it steady."

"You?" the young man asked.

"I used to be a nurse. Anna Richter." She pointed at him. "You’re with me. What do I call you?"

"Paul Weber."

"Try not to talk while we lift."

He blinked. "I can do that."

Beside him, the woman with the ring smiled. "Paul, was it?"

He nodded.

"Madeleine LeBlanc."

At the case, the broad laborer took one handle. "Thomas Bennett."

The rolled-cuff man answered without being asked. "Rafael Montoro."

"Right."

Montoro looked at him for half a second, then turned back to the route. Severin liked Bennett a little more.

Neumann called time, and the first lift was ugly.

The litter rose unevenly because Paul pulled half a beat before Anna told him to. The front pair corrected. Behind them Bennett and another man lifted the field case.

Montoro walked ahead, watching the turns. "Left side first," he said at the opening.

Bennett grunted. "Told you."

They angled the case, but it caught anyway.

Paul started explaining how much space they had on his side while Anna told him to stop moving his hands. Peters asked whether the rear of the litter could be lowered. Someone behind Severin said they were blocking the next turn.

"Back it up," Montoro said.

"There’s nowhere to back it," Bennett replied.

Severin was standing outside the load because Neumann had told him to stay off the heavy end. From there the problem was obvious.

"Turn the case."

Bennett glanced over. "We are."

"On its side, you daft bastard."

They had just started lowering it when the other man stepped backward across the black chalk.

Neumann’s whistle cut through the hall. "Start again."

Several of them groaned.

"Reset means you fucking reset," Neumann said. "Back to the line. Now."

They carried everything to the beginning.

On the second attempt, Montoro turned to Bennett before giving any instructions.

"You were right about the corner."

Bennett seemed almost disappointed to hear it.

Montoro pointed at the field case. "Put it on edge before the turn. Hoffmann, you call the rear clearance. Hale, stay where you can see the route."

Severin stared at him. Somehow, Montoro had found a way to give him a job that sounded like an order to stay out of the way.

Martin Keller passed on his way to the front of the litter. "You two are going to get on brilliantly."

"Fuck off."

"See? Already sharing interests."

Neumann turned, and Martin faced forward immediately.

This time Paul waited for Anna’s count before lifting. The litter came up level. When they reached the first turn, Bennett and Hoffmann set the field case down inside the marked rest square and tipped it carefully onto one side.

"Clear," Hoffmann said.

He checked behind everyone before they moved, not just himself.

"You done this before?" Severin asked as they squeezed through the gap.

"What? Moving furniture?"

"No. Bossing people through doorways."

Hoffmann gave him a quick look. "I used to be a watchmaster in the Imperial Police."

"Why’d you leave?"

"I reported a case my superiors wanted buried."

Wonderful. More fucking police.

At the next barrier, the litter had to be lowered beneath a timber crosspiece. Anna stopped Paul before he bent too quickly.

"Keep your damn end up."

He grunted. "I am."

Paul adjusted his grip and raised his end until the litter leveled out.

Madeleine carried the front left corner. She shifted her grip without complaint. "Either we lower together or we drop him. I’d rather not drop him."

Paul nodded too fast.

Severin moved ahead and watched the handles clear the timber. The case behind them was the bigger problem. Montoro wanted it brought through immediately, but Severin could see Bennett had nowhere to turn once the litter occupied the next square.

"Wait."

Montoro stopped.

"Get the case through first. Then the litter."

"He said both stay with the group."

"Then stay with the case while they move it."

Montoro checked the route and the space beyond the crosspiece.

"Case first."

Bennett smirked. "He can be taught."

Montoro ignored him.

The second run was still clumsy. Peters counted steps aloud through the narrowest section until Madeleine asked whether he intended to count all the way to Gravewatch. Paul laughed, lost his grip for a moment, and Anna swore at him with enough precision to shut him up.

But nobody crossed the chalk, and they reached the final line with the litter level and the field case upright.

Neumann checked the clock. "Too slow."

Nobody seemed especially proud.

"But it’s better than I expected," he added. "Now put it back."

That took another fucking ten minutes.

By the time they reached the dining hall, Severin’s knee had begun to ache from the stopping and turning rather than the weight. He worked it straight beneath the table while Martin dropped onto the bench opposite him with a bowl of stew.

Bennett sat beside Severin. Montoro ended up across from him.

"Of course," Bennett muttered.

Montoro heard that. "You know there are other tables."

"Does that mean you’re moving?"

"No."

"Then there aren’t."

Martin tore a piece of bread in half and smiled. "This is going very well."

Paul arrived carrying too much at once, nearly lost a cup, saved it against his chest and sat beside Peters.

"I thought he was going to make us do it until we got the time down."

Peters looked at him. "He probably will."

Paul stopped with the spoon halfway to his mouth. "What? Today?"

"No. Not today."

"You sure about that?"

Peters took a mouthful of soup. "I fucking asked."

Madeleine sat at the end of the table with Anna. Before touching her food, she closed one hand around the ring on her finger and bowed her head for a few seconds. Nobody interrupted her. When she raised her head again, Bennett was watching Montoro.

"You went to a proper school, didn’t you?" Bennett asked.

Montoro broke his bread. "Yes."

"They taught you sword fighting too?"

"Yes."

Bennett gave a quiet snort.

Montoro looked at him. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No. Just sounds expensive."

Martin stopped chewing. Paul looked between them.

Severin knew the tone. He had heard it in pubs when a man with clean cuffs used the wrong word around dockers.

Montoro did not rise to it. "Then I was lucky my family could afford them. Mind your own business."

Bennett stared at him, perhaps waiting for something uglier, but Montoro only went back to his bread.

Martin pointed his spoon at Montoro. "That makes you the bastard we can rely on to understand the schedule."

"It’s perfectly clear as it is."

Severin raised his head. "Ugh. I’m starting to hate this one."

That got a laugh from Anna and, after a second, Madeleine.

Montoro nodded at Severin’s marked-up paper beside his tray. "You cannot read it?"

"No. I wasn’t as lucky as you were."

"I can tell you what it says. Show you which parts matter."

Montoro said it like the prick was offering to pass the salt.

"Maybe later."

Montoro nodded once and went back to eating.

The afternoon started without swords.

Neumann had painted pairs of short white lines across the floor. He demonstrated a stance, then a sequence of three steps forward, two back, a turn and a reset.

"Watch your feet," he said. "If they’re wrong, the rest of you usually is too."

Severin understood the instruction, but doing it was another matter.

The first step felt too narrow. On the turn he squared himself the way he always had in a street fight and Neumann tapped his shoulder.

"Again."

Severin reset.

Two lines over, Montoro moved through the pattern without checking his feet.

Bennett did well until the backward steps, while Anna stayed careful and steady. Paul rushed the turn. Martin forgot which foot moved first and blamed Neumann’s demonstration.

"Funny," Neumann said. "The rest of us saw the same demonstration."

They went again.

Severin’s knee held. That irritated him because it left nothing convenient to blame when Neumann corrected his stance for the fourth time.

"Quit squaring up, Hale. You’re not in a fucking pub."

"Worked well enough there." ℯℯ𝘭.

"Smartass, huh?" Neumann said. "Again. And you owe me another fifty."

Across the hall, Montoro finished the sequence and reset before doing it again almost as cleanly.

Severin watched once, then Neumann pointed to his starting mark.

Montoro completed the pattern again without checking the chalk.

Severin went back to the start before Neumann could tell him to.