Guns of the Dawn by Adrian Tchaikovsky Read Free Book Online

injury,’ Emily decided. ‘I don’t want them putting my leg on the fire.’ She handed the axe back to Mary. ‘Is there
anything you need from Chalcaster? Poldry’s going to take me in so that we can buy provisions, or at least whatever we can. Last week the market was almost bare. Everything’s going to
the war. We will have to tighten our belts.’
    ‘Ma’am?’ Jenna had come round the side of the house to find them. Emily expected the girl to stare, seeing the two elder Marshwics about such a task, but she seemed already
full of astonishment over something else. ‘If you will, Mrs Salander, ma’am, there’s a girl at the door.’
    Emily stood up. ‘Please be more specific, Jenna.’
    There was a peculiar look on the maid’s face as though laughter was bubbling inside her, just below the surface. ‘I really don’t know what to say, ma’am. You should come
see for yourself. It’s mighty queer.’
    That promised a diversion at least. Emily and Mary followed Jenna to the kitchen, where the maid’s behaviour was adequately explained.
    There was indeed a girl at the kitchen table, lounging in a quite indecorous manner with a half-eaten apple in one hand. At least, from her face, Emily took her for a girl. It was not wholly
clear.
    Someone had dressed her up in uniform, just as though she were a soldier. She had the red braided jacket exactly like a fighting man, and shiny black boots and white breeches that showed her off
scandalously, as though she was a stockinged actress in some louche revue. There was even a silvery helm with a swept-forward crest beside her on the table. Her coppery hair was cut short, and her
green eyes crinkled with amusement as she saw Emily’s obvious shock.
    ‘Good morning. Mrs Salander and Miss Marshwic, I take it?’
    Emily approached her cautiously. The girl had a sabre in a polished steel and brass scabbard, slung beside and behind her in the style of a cavalryman.
    ‘Emily Marshwic at your service . . .’ she began uncertainly. There was little in her books of etiquette to cover this. ‘Miss?’
    ‘Soldier-at-Arms Penny Belchere of the Royal Messenger Corps at your service, Miss Marshwic,’ the girl informed her, with a sharp salute.
    ‘Messenger Corps?’
    ‘That’s right, miss,’ Belchere said cheerily. ‘On account of all the men in the Messenger Corps sent to be lancers at the Couchant front, they’re taking in us
ladies now. Anything for the war effort, eh, miss?’
    ‘I suppose so . . . soldier.’ Emily exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Mary and gave the woman another look over. She was no older than Alice and looked like someone from a
mummers’ company, some tragic heroine playing at being a boy in order to follow her lover. ‘Then to what do we owe the pleasure?’
    ‘Message for you, miss,’ Belchere explained around a fresh mouthful of apple, producing a sealed parchment from within her jacket.
    ‘Is it from the front?’ Emily asked eagerly, thinking of Rodric, who had last written to say that his training was complete and that he was heading for the Levant in earnest.
    ‘No, miss, more important than that.’
    As the girl handed the paper over, Alice descended at last from her beautifications upstairs and stopped in astonishment on seeing the apparition that had invaded their kitchen.
    ‘Why good lord, Emily, what on earth is it?’ she said, not without some cruelty. ‘Is it a costume party?’
    Belchere gave her a very sharp look indeed, but Alice couldn’t care less. ‘Or is it the theatre?’ she asked. ‘We could do with a little relief. Things have been awfully
dull here recently.’
    ‘Miss . . . Soldier Belchere has brought us a message.’ Emily held up the note, only to have it snatched from her by her sister.
    ‘Will you have tea, perhaps, before you go on your way?’ Mary was asking Belchere politely, but Alice had the letter open by then and let out such a squeal that Emily thought perhaps
it contained a dead