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*****

The weather cleared up the next day, so after breakfast for the platoon (potato flour cakes) and a few apples and morning service for me, most of us went out on a "yomp" in the area around Mossford. I did leave behind a few squaddies to keep watch over the supplies and the barracks, in case we had visitors.

I found, to my surprise, that there were no detailed Royal Survey maps of the immediate area, a point that was later confirmed to me by the Mr. Burrows who was the mayor-notary-what else. It was a simple question of no demand for it, and Albric Tor/Persoc Tor had other things on their mind. It was therefore up to me to start in on a sketch-map of the area.

The Mill River was the most prominent feature of the area. From the high, heavily forested hills to the northeast of the hamlet, the river came burbling down gently. It was, it seemed, the border between the Empire and the United Cities, at least for about ten miles. When we approached it later, I could see a set of regular, weathered stones set firmly into the ground on the south bank the bore the still-visible arms of a long-subsumed realm.

On the Empire side, moving from the northeast to the southwest, there was a high hill, its top obscured by trees, and then a pair of smaller hills, on a diagonal. Each of the smaller hills was about forty or so feet high at the summit, and overlooked the river as it flowed about fifty yards away. The summits themselves were about fifty yards from each other.

Given the fact that the temperatures, while nippy, were still well above freezing, the terrain surrounding the hills on the north, east and west sides was muddy and slippery, save for where a narrow path wound its way through the hills toward the river. This reached a point in the river where rocks, heavily coated with green, allowed one to cross the river mostly dry-shod. Hence, no doubt, the hamlet's name. This seemed to be the only area where one could ford the river in any numbers, barring any pontoon bridges, for some distance.

I could see that the path carried on deeper into the United Cities' territory on the north bank of the river, widening slightly. On the north bank, the terrain was mostly flat, gently sloping down. Anyone crossing the river to come south would have a gentle climb up, and would be easily visible from the two hills.

One did not need the experience of the Marshal to realize that the two hills were nice places to have under your control.

The areas to the east and west of the ford, on our side of the river, were heavily forested and the terrain was a bit uneven, as evidenced by a few of the squaddies taking missteps and sliding down headfirst into a boggy, muddy patch of terrain. The sole squaddie that was an otter seemed to take this quite placidly, while the others howled and cursed in surprise.

The farms of the area seemed to start along the road to Flourford, which left Mossford going south-west. There were not many of them, probably no more than seven or eight holdings of about forty acres each, scattered to the southwest, south and south-east of the village. Seen in better daylight, it was evident the farmhouses and barns had been there for a very long time, and were built of rough stone that seemed many inches thick, even at a distance.

To the east-northeast of Mossford, and only visible when you approached it was we did walking from a point southeast of the village, we could see that the highest point in the area had a small group of stone buildings at the summit.

"'at," said Hedgeton, pointing with a meaty finger, "is wheyah th' munks is."

Interesting information. I asked what they did up there. Hedgeton scratched his chin.

"I fink, they pray for Fuma's blessin' on these 'ere lands."

Millwright was not impressed. "Tell 'em to pray harder, it hasn't worked so far."

It was mid-afternoon by the time we got back to barracks, and there was a mad rush to both clean off accumulated mud and have a brew-up. I went to my room to change into a fresh tunic.

On my desk, both the roster and the pay-book were open. The signature, in the proper place, of Lt. Kedgeay, S. 559218 was there in fresh, dark ink. There was also a courteous note thanking me for letting him know about the boots. I stomped out to confront the furs that had been on guard, and each insisted that no one had passed their post, and no, they had not had a brew-up or a look-in at the kitchen.

A few minutes later, I was consulting one of my volumes of Gramerye, checking if there was anything in there that related to Wards of Ingress. There were a few different ones in there, and after testing them out on my desk drawer and closet, I put a good one on the door of Lt. Kedgeay's room, as well as Sgt. Crater's room for good measure.

The rest of the afternoon was taken up with more correspondence, including cleaning up the last wreckage left by Kedgeay. I cancelled the order that had originally been for a Metal Spoon (Eating). I included one in the requisition chit I sent to the Major in Flourford, which included some simple surveying equipment, some carpentry and woodscraft tools, and some map-making equipment.

My burst of activity had the platoon scratching their heads, though in light of the fact that their rations had improved, and that there was some money to buy a pint or two at the public house, there did not seem to be too many questions asked. Plimsoll told me that his ant was getting restless with all the work, and I appended my requisition order to add a loaf of brown sugar for Lightning, which apparently was the ant's name.

Before Evesong, and while there was still a little light in the Temple (whose full name, I saw on the baptismal font, was the Temple to Fuma of the Fruitful Fields), I had a look at the organ to see whether or not Mrs. Greengrass' playing was responsible for the noises I'd been hearing, or if there was any other explanation. The organ was in need of some repairs, which seems to be a common theme everywhere in the Empire now that I think of it. Some of it was simple wear on the parts, though a gentle tapping on some parts, and the vigorous introduction of air in other parts, brought forth a shower of feral mouse nest parts and dirt. A little surreptitious Gramerye also mended some of the smaller holes and rips in the organ's bellows. After cleaning up the debris from the nests, I tested the organ, playing and singing the old familiar tune:

And did Her claws, in the Long Ago

Mould and create our valleys bright?

And did Her holy sweat descending

Create our lakes so pure and light?

And did Her sweet breath divine

Move the trees of the wood?

And did loving paws embrace

All that is fair and good?

_ _

I was quite lost in the playing, so I did not realize, as I thumped out the paean to "Fuma's shining, sacred land" that I had an audience.

One of the farmers that I'd seen at Evesong before had come slightly early, with wife and son in tow. He had been listening with head cocked and eyes closed, and when I finished, he grunted and nodded. As he passed me on his way to his seat in the pew, he thumped me gently on the shoulder.

"Tha has fair tenor, lad."

Coming back from Evesong, I had a look at Lt. Kedgeay's door. The ward was still intact, and I could see it was my ward, and not someone else's. The last thing I needed was a seeming ghost that knew Gramerye. In any event, I need not have bothered, because a polite note left on my desk indicated that Captain O'Bloom had granted him a few weeks' hunting leave. He was even nice enough to leave me a copy of the pass so I could put it in the Order Book. Very considerate spook, this.

The supplies that I had ordered came in the next day. These included the loaf of brown sugar, so presumably Lightning was happy in her little stable. Less happy were the squaddies, who were informed that they were going to be engaged in an exercise in building field fortifications, on the two hills overlooking the river.

The initial plan was to clear the brush on top of the hills, and then create a trench, lined with lumber and protected by a parapet of earth and stones. There was much grumbling over this, the creation of what they named "Fuma's Outhouse."

Millwright had brought along his lute, and began to play a tune while the others were hauling rocks up the hill and tipping dirt down the hill. I asked him what the hell he was doing.

"This is a lute. I am an elf. You are my audience. I must sing, for it is in my blood."

"Yes, well, this is a shovel. I am a corporal. You are a private. You must ________ dig, for you will get a kick in the arse if you don't."

By the end of the second day, Fuma's Two Hole had progressed to the point where it was possible to have most of the platoon standing-to, protected by a bulwark of earth and stone, and standing on a wooden floor.

Standing on each of the hills, I could see a good line of fire commanding the entire area of the ford, though what I did not know were accurate distances, and I could see that some areas on the Empire side of the river needed a bit of clearing. It was also a good idea to perhaps have a bit of a look to see how thing stood from the other side of the border. This might require a bit more subtlety, which I did not think was going to be truly available with two dozen jabbering enlisted furs.

Speaking of which, the interest of the squaddies soon was taken up by an unauthorized addition to the works, namely, a burrow in the reverse slope of each hill, supported by timbers. By crawling upon one's paws and knees, you could enter a small room with essential equipment; namely, a small fire-pit and kettle for a brew-up. Assorted wooden boxes acquired by one means or another from the general store in the hamlet served as the furniture.

Hedgeton giggled as he stood back with Millwright to inspect the work.

"'ere! It's a 'orizontal fox'ole, it is."

"Yes, but it's not complete. We need a few horizontal foxes inside. Let's ask the Corporal if he can requisition some, strictly for recreational and educational purposes, of course."

Motion voted on, with one dissenting vote. Mine. Motion did not carry.

The next day was Holy Day, which meant that the squaddies would, like as not, have a long sleep-in while I was at Temple Parade. They had earned it, so I was not about to argue with them about it. In fact, I planned to make a true Holy Day of it, and have a visit to the monastery, to pay my respects to Fuma's Little Brothers.

It did occur to me, as I drew up a sketch-map of the area, that aside from Lightning, I had nothing that could be viewed as cavalry, no artillery of any kind, and I didn't really have any indication of what, other than spears, the Thorn Platoon had for any sort of long-distance fire. Field fortifications were nice, but I did not want, necessarily to wait until any enemy came to me, first.

Lastly, of course, I had to keep up with Gramerye practice. Rather like lute and organ practice, in that you can remember a lot of things, but in order to be really sharp and quick about it, you had to keep at it. A few feral beetles served as involuntary test subjects for a variety of experiments in camouflage, freezing, and Running Into Things.

Well, so long as the enemy would consist of insects an inch long, I was set.