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*****

My initial thought had been that, clinking and pouring notwithstanding, I was about to deal with some feral furs. I was not that far wrong; it was Schweink and Bagoum, who by either some unerring instinct, or by the means of observing the merchants making deliveries, had discovered a fresh cask of ale.

Bagoum, for his part, was about to extend a large, meaty paw into the icebox when he was forestalled, largely by the door coming close to slamming on said paw. Assisted by my foot.

Schweink was looking around the kitchen with an approving air.

"Find any dead bodies, lad?"

I admit I did a violent double-take at that question, which caused the porker to chuckle.

"Never found one myself, but a few officers ago, I had to clean up after one of those Winter Solstice parties. You know how those can be. Well, they'd been looking around and around for one of the regimental herbalists, and I found him, eventually, in a cucumber frame, sleeping off a fine old booze-up. Claimed he could have been doing research, he was, though it was more like enjoying a nice nap in the winter sun. I've done a kip in those cucumber frames, and they can be nice and warm after a blizzard. Aye, they don't make officers like the old days. Years ago, why, you'd have an officer polish off a whole demi-cask of strong spring wine, and not even lose a half-step on parade. They've broken the mould."

Whether it was the mention of cucumbers, or moulds, Bagoum was shiftily eyeing the icebox again. I felt that it was more expedient to steer the conversation out of the kitchen and into the main room.

"No, I didn't find anything remarkable, unless you count extras for three-quarters of my officer's kit. I can't think what his old batman..."

I didn't get much further than that. Schweink and Bagoum had stopped in mid-guzzle, and were looking at each other, and then at me, with a wild surmise.

"Eeee, lad, whay art tha got tha ooficer's kit, then?"

I showed them the table, and the extra uniforms in the armoire, including the ones still wrapped in the tailor's packages. The look of delight on both the ram's muzzle and pig's muzzle was a mystery to me.

"My officer told me to try to fill up a few items he's missing, and get what I can for the rest..."

"Got tha list, lad?"

I handed the list to Bagoum, who gave it a quick once-over, and then passed it to Schweink, who pocketed the list and nodded to me.

"Bring out all of the stuff you're flogging to the verandah. Oh, and the cask of ale."

"Und tha bread und a bit o' jam."

"What for?"

I got a broad wink from Schweink, who said nothing, but opened the front door, stepped out onto the verandah of the bungalow, put a trotter in his mouth, and gave a peculiar, multi-note warbling whistle.

I had just finished placing the cask next to the pile of surplus kit when the first squaddies started appearing. Some were wearing bulging jackets, the others toting sacks of various shapes and sizes, and there was one with a wheel-barrow toting an ant-saddle. A number had steins as well. Empty, but not for long, as they quickly spotted the cask.

Bagoum had mysteriously appropriated the bread and jam for himself, and was in the midst of scarfing the lot.

After about fifteen minutes, the verandah, the steps to the verandah, and most of the small front yard were completely full of squaddies, who had looked over what I had an offer, and what others had. The noisy babble fell quickly silent when Schweink raised a trotter and belched.

"Right, lads. Cash and the reading list here for Winterbough's man. All else, get what you can."

He poured out a small ration of lamp oil into a dish, and lit a wick, which produced a guttering flame.

As soon as the flame started, quick as a wink, every bit of kit on the table, and the spare uniforms, vanished into a squabbling, babbling mob. The negotiations must have been fierce, because not even the nearby presence of an ale cask interrupted them.

I had difficulty following what was going on, what with all of the mysterious hand, muzzle and tail signals, plus the mysterious, rapid-fire passing of possessions from one squaddie to another. The only item I could track was the ant-saddle, which went through at least a dozen sets of paws in the space of two minutes.

Bagoum's role, aside from eating the bread and jam, seemed to be keeping some sort of order, including the herding back of a few furs who wanted to leave while the proceedings were still going on.

Eventually, with a last spasm and then a gout of smoke, the makeshift oil lamp gave out. Schweink gave a shrill whistle, and the babble stopped. Furs shook paws, a last few drained the cask, and in short order the street, yard and verandah were once again quiet in the gloaming. The only sign of their recent presence was an abandoned fan-backed wicker chair, which Bagoum wrestled up to the verandah.

"Eeee, by goum, lad, were that tha fust Batman's Bazar?"

I nodded, dumbly, and looked at Schweink.

"It's how the Imperial Army works, lad. Much easier than doing up the paperwork."

"By Fuma's musk, does everyone have my problem?"

"Nooo, sooma that fell oof a quattamasta wagon, eh, Schweink?"

Schweink gave another broad wink at me. "Don't you worry, lad. The Q.M.'s forever short of this, that or t'other, and it's a good way to clear out the backlog. I've seen them get rid of a whole cart full of orphan left-pawed gloves that way."

Bagoum waddled up to the empty table and began to empty his pockets. From out of them poured a shower of silver and copper, and even some gold.

My relief was noticeable. "Eeee, lad, tha were on one side t'day. T'marra, tha on t'other side."

The swine, who had settled himself on the wicker chair like a king taking his throne, agreed.

"A batman that tried to cheat some other fur at a Bazar would be found out quickly. They always come to a bad end. Remember last year, Bagoum?"

"Eeeeeee! That were a right jolly bit o'justice, that were."

"You see, there was one fellow who tried to palm off a dodgy lot of foot-wrappings. Probably Lowfolk make. Anyway, by the time the Bazar was over, he found himself standing naked as the day Fuma made him."

"What, they stripped him?"

"No, lad, they made deals with him! Now, it was his fault he wasn't paying attention." Schweink chuckled and shook his head. "I'll wager he had the devil's own job explaining that to his officer. How much is there, Bagoum?"

As it turned out, the equivalent of 23 gold, 9 silver and 8 copper. Judging from what I had seen in the market, as close to reasonable as no matter. I thanked the duo, who both waved it off.

"Eeee, lad. It's a right bit o'fun, a Bazar, is."

"That's right. Batmen save up all sorts of things, looking for a fine old trigger. Usually when an officer passes on. We had one back on the old Thirty-Ninth. There'd been a battle, and he was reported missing. Didn't spot him for days, and figured he was done for, so his batman flogged his kit to send the proceeds home to his mate. Every last thing, down to his spoon and body linen, as we used to say. Well! Wouldn't you know it, the officer turned up alive, after all. He wasn't half cheesed to find he might have to spend the rest of the campaign in what he got out of the marshes in."

"What happened?"

"Oh, nothing. I mean, he knew how the Imperial and Royal Army worked, so he squared his jaw and stuck through it. Grand old elf, he was, tough as leather. Worth a half-dozen of his type today."

After the duo left, cheerily, I replaced the table, put the empty cask out for collection, and went through Chitterleigh's bills. The proceeds, as far as I could tell, would go a long way toward getting things on an even keel.

As it was, the Lieutenant made an early night of it. My initial thought was that there musn't have been a 'do on, but the expression on his face indicated otherwise. He sat on the newly acquired verandah chair, put his swagger stick and his cap on his lap, was immediately lost in thought. It was only absently that he accepted a cup of tea, and it took a second one before he came out with a slight start, and seemed to notice both his batman, and the fact that he was sitting in a new (or rather, newish) chair.

"Held a Bazar, then, Winterbough?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ahh. How'd we do?"

"I believe sir, we can pay off all of the merchants except for the tailor. You'll still owe him four gold and change."

Chitterleigh winced, and then sighed. "Well, that's better than most officers, anyway. You'd think he'd be more understanding. Well, perhaps I can convince the old man to come across with the rest..."

He lapsed again into silence, fingers drumming against the wicker arms. It was quite some time before he appeared to take notice of me, again.

"Court-martial in the offing, Winterbough."

"I see, sir."

"Chap came up to be put on a charge in the orderly room. Ghastly business, y'know. Article Four of the King's Regulations."

I saw what had been disturbing the Lieutenant. All recruits have the first Ten Articles drummed into them the first week of training. Article Four was a particularly feared one.

Any elf caught in a falsehood was to be expelled not just from the Imperial Army, but was to be denied fire and shelter. A death sentence, in other words, and a slow, deeply painful one.

"Young damn fool squaddie. Of all things, an accusation over a shove-copper game."

"In a FAFI, sir?"

Chitterleigh looked up at me in surprise.

"By Fuma's claws, how did you know?"

"I saw the event, sir." I told him what I had seen and heard in the FAFI, up to and including the corporal's warning to me. The Lieutenant furrowed his brow, and then looked up.

"What do you think, Winterbough?"

"I don't think he did it, sir. Not for a game of shove-copper, and not in public like that. There's something else about it, sir. I can't put a hoof on it, but there's something odd."

There was some more drumming of fingers against the wicker. Finally, he smacked the side of the chair with the flat of a paw.

"No, dash it, you're right, Winterbough. I saw the lad when they read out the Article to him. Scared as anything." He looked at me. "You ought to testify, Winterbough."

I recalled my instructions to stay unobtrusive, and came to the conclusion that testifying in an Article Four proceeding was not going to be explicable to Sergeant Wing as following those orders.

"Well, sir, it's like this. I don't think a Court is going to take a squaddie's word for a great deal. But what about an officer like yourself, sir?"

"Dare say I don't think there were any officers in the FAFI that night, Winterbough. Not exactly officer's country. But hang on...there is a way...yes, blast it, there is! Oh, damn. Forgot. Don't have a copy of the Judicial Manual, do I?"

I coughed. "Yes, sir. We got one tonight, at the Bazar. Shall I fetch it? It's in your bedroom..."

Chitterleigh bounded up with a swirl of squirrel tail, and shortly strode back, quickly turning through the scroll, chittering to himself.

"Now, come on, come on. It's in here somewhere...where the blazes...ah!"

The Lieutenant read through a passage, and then snapped the scroll-case shut. "Yes, by Fuma's sacred pink nose, that's the ticket!"

"What is, sir?"

"Why, defend him, Winterbough. The lad's innocent, or I'm a...well...I'm something or other that I'm not. Anyway, there's a whole procedure for being a 'friend in court,' and he didn't have one tonight. And I'll wager they'll have a job finding one for him. Well, actually, they won't. Winterbough, my hat. Off to the orderly room. Be back in a jiff."

Before I could open my muzzle, he was off down the street toward the parade ground, tail waving high over his head and footpads working with a purpose.

Mark you, I thought the squaddie was innocent, but proving it and stopping him from being expelled from elf-kind was quite another. I myself was lost in thought, when I heard Bagoum clump up the verandah stairs.

"Eeee, lad, fancy a match o' shove-copper?"

I think he was quite startled by the speed and eagerness with which I accepted, and offered him a bit of cheese and bread.