This is not an official Annal of the Black Company. Please read the Disclaimer. This is also a long article (yes, I'm fond of those), so I've chaptered it for your convenience.
I must have wasted books of paper trying to get this started. Zeke, our new quartermaster, was mightily pissed. Threatened to make me pay for all of it. If he wasn't my best friend, I might have taken him more seriously.
It's hard to know what to tell in these Annals. I'm used to listening to them, not writing in them. I'm sure you'll miss my predecessor's poetic phrasing. I'm much more of a tell-it-like-it-is kind of guy.
So let me tell it like it is.
Let me start by getting over the introductions. I'm Shoup. I had another name once. But I never liked it and have pretty much forgotten it now. It was one of those embarrassing names parents place upon their kids for a joke not thinking that the new-named kid is going to be scarred for life. And a pretty miserable life. Let's just forget it, eh?
I've told you about Zeke. Let's move on to the command structure. Looks like this:
| T h o r n (captain) |
|||
| Booker (lieutenant) |
Conn (lieutenant) |
Magic (useless wizard, couldn't drop a rock and hit the ground) |
|
| Zeke (sergeant, quartermaster) |
Bones (sergeant, doctor) |
4 other sergeants (dont' know their names yet, I'll explain why later) |
yours truly (Annalist) |
| Mily (corporal, standardbearer) |
17 other corporals (ditto) |
That chart looks a little misleading. Zeke and the doc are actually both in Booker's division. Mily is in Conn's. The other officers are divided up equally. And Magic kind of has his own special forces unit thing going on. He's got a mini-squad of magicians he takes care of, including two new recruits, brothers- not just of the Company now, but actual blood relations. They're named One-Eye and Tom... something or other. Tom-Tom, that's it. Comes from the little drum he always is pounding on. Talk about a weird neurosis.
Magic's a good asset to have around as he likes to remind us. But there's no way he's ever going to have even a squad of his own. His loose unit of wizards is pushing it. He the kind of guy who gets interested in something and forgets about it a minute later. Good thaumaturgist though. Not a kind of guy you'd salute. If anyone did, they were either drunk at the time, making fun, or both.
And though I officially hold a rank of corporal myself, I don't do much ordering around. And nobody much pays attention when I do. Not unless I threaten them with leaving them as a fart in the pages of history. Then they behave. But mostly what I do, now, is this. Write.
So you got about two thousand men (and three women who almost don't count as women, but we'll let that go for now) in the Company now. Was a lot more. I never thought I'd get done with recording the dead.
Now I got all that down, you're probably thinking back to the fact that I don't got all the names of the guys in charge. That's cause I'm new to this. I was in the second division (Conn's) before we got our asses handed to us back at Sham. We'd have been a lot better prepared for battle if our would be allies hadn't bolted on us. But we made sure they got theirs. After we finished off the bastards from K'Hlata, we found out another horde was on its way. Seeing as the city fathers of Sham obviously didn't want us around, we took off. I think the captain forgot to tell them that. Too much shit on his mind, I guess.
The K'Halatians must have forgotten about us too. Or maybe they were just tired after sacking Sham. Nobody came after us. We figured we were safe when we saw the fires in Sham sputter and die after the third day we left.
"Hey, Wake up, Shoup! Wake your lazy ass up. The Captain wants to see you."
Too bad. I didn't want to see him. We never got along when we were in the lines together. I never figured out any reason to change my opinion of him. He's a mean, bitter man who's only grown more sour as the years of command have worn him down.
I observed this fact out loud. The sergeant doing the honors of rousing me agreed and then tossed me off my comfy cot. Morning is not my best time. But if you ask around, you'll probably come to the conclusion that no time is my best time.
"All, right! I'm up dammit. What's so damn important he's got to see me so..." I looked outside. It wasn't yet morning. The bastard hadn't even let me get a full night's sleep. Those are rare for me. I was going to have to think of a way to get even with him. I'm not sure who him either.
The sergeant was probably a mind-reader. He finished my sentence for me. "You're supposed to have a roster of the Company infrastructure." I perked back my ears and gave him a raised eyebrow. That was a pretty big word for a sergeant. Not that any of us crew are university dons anyway. Maybe I ought to say, then, especially for a sergeant.
"Right, right. I'm on it." Literally. I've been berated by Thorn before for not taking proper care of the Annals. He can be quite ingenious in his displeasure. So I'd taken to sleeping over the Annals to make sure no hostiles got to them unless over my dead body (Thorn was most affirmative about that point), no critters feasted upon the pages unless over my dead body, and so forth unless over said dead body.
Bastard.
Light was breaking over the horizon as I was finishing arranging my things to take over to the Captain. I got another visitor before I lit out. A one-eyed black man we'd recently recruited stuck his ugly mug in my tent flap. The Captain rates a tent to hisself. The only other tent that doesn't have a few smelly, dirty men sharing it is that which holds the Annals. And the Captain couldn't think of a way to separate the Annals from the Annalist.
"Hey, uh... One-Eye." I don't know why I couldn't instantly think of his name. Not likes it's not readily apparent. "Not to quick with names are you?" Everyone's a mind-reader.
"Only with those people I care for."
"Ha. And more ha." He made a few nasty gestures and rude noises appropriatte to my comment. After a few more witty rejoinders on both parts, he finally admitted the Captain had wanted him to come over and get me to my meeting.
Camping out a couple thousand guys takes up a lot of territory. One-Eye and I had a brisk walk to the Captain's quarters, via One-Eye and his brother's still. Gotta make sure all in order there. I don't know where those chuckleheads found all the parts necessary, and really, I don't much care. I'm more interested in the final product. A couple belts of Tom-Tom's elixir and I was ready to face our dread lord.
Ugh. I hate meetings. I especially hate meetings that drag on unto eternity and have nothing important involved. I understand the problems the captain faces and why he wants a detailed inventory, but I don't think a staff meeting is the place to air out the whole seven-page, dinkiest damnest print, bloody document.
I think his eyes are going and he won't admit it. I hate it when people won't own up to their failings.
I, of course don't have that problem.
One interesting point- the only interesting point?- is that we have a new prospect for employment. Yeah, knock me over with a feather. I didn't think anyone would want us after Sham. But this part of the world is never at a lack for anyone in our profession.
"Tonk."
I'd been sharing a generous portion of Tom-Tom's elixir and playing with the brothers (by relation not merely Company). Both scowled. It was my second hand in a row. Something of a rarity for me. I'm almost as bad as One-Eye at it. Which is saying something. I rolled in my winnings. The spiritchasers hadn't had any money, only being hired just recently and not having partaken from the spoils of our campaigns in Sham. So they put up the next best thing: their brew. Fine with me, I'll take all I can win.
Y'know, that's something I just will never understand. I, and almost no other brother, had ever heard of this game before. Ri said she had, but she's one of those who has done everything and seen it all. Maybe she has played before. She throws down some mean cards.
That's one thing that gets me. The other is that we were mostly introduced to this game by One-Eye. Now how in the whole wide world a man who shows the game can't win it is beyond me. But leave it to One-Eye to figure out a way.
"Anyone want my seat?" I was hanging around Zeke's toon. There was some sick topics being discussed. I didn't much care to hear anymore of it. I was disgusted alreay and the night threatened a bigger storm of shit.
A soldier I didn't know grabbed the seat, eager for some of the liquid gold. It was then I saw Payne and Danna (from the bandanna he always wore. There a not particularly interesting story about that.) I knew who had started floating the brown poo around. Paynes a good guy to have at your back, but he thinks up some of the wickedest (literally) shit (not literally). And Danna just goes along with things. Agreeing with really getting involved in teh converstion. Something wrong with both of them.
They were talking about how low they would go on a woman. Age-wise. "How about you, shoup? What's your limit?" Payne was asking me. I didn't want to reply, but knew I wasn't going to get away without looking like and asshole or a poof if no reply was forthcoming. And it had to be quick. Payne would stick one in your mouth faster than his own tongue could fly sometimes.
"I don't know. I guess it depends on the woman. How 'bout you?" How's that for a good political answer. Turn the takes back on him. Make him uncomfortable.
"Like you say, depends on the girl. Though we got Danna down to fourteen. Sick bastard."
"Fuck you," Danna shot back. "You asked. I replied. And I said, she's got to be mature."
"Oh, that makes it so much better." And he laughed like he was telling a gutbuster. "At least she's mature when you're deflowering her."
I interjected a comment. "Do you know how sick you guys sound?"
Danna and Payne both grinned. "Yeah, we realize it. I think our good brother Payne here enjoys it. Thrives off it. Die if he couldn't ask you some uncomfortable question."
"That so?"
"Shit you not. How about you ask him something that would make him uncomfortable." Danna was asking Payne to ask me. Thanks, Danna. There you go from the Annals. I wasn't sure if I liked him. He sometimes seemes like a good guy, but he'd go crazy. Like, really crazy. One of those mood swings kind of guys. Never can tell which way he's gonna jump.
"Something that would make him uncomfortable. Well we can't make it too bad. Give him nightmares." He thought for a minute. I just about figured he couldn't think of anything. I heard One-Eye cursing in the background. Another hand and bottle lost. I made ready to leave. "Hey, now. you never did tell us how low you'd go."
"That's a good question." Danna. "Hell, man, I don't know. I guess sixteen." I knew lots of girls back home pregnant and married (or not married as the case often was). That sounded like a safe age to state.
"Sixteen, huh. Wow, Shoup, Danna has you beat by two years. Sure you wouldn't go lower? I'm sure I could find a willing partner for you just a little younger."
"No thanks." Emphasis on that one.
"No? C'mon. I'd pay you. Yeah! I'd pay you. How low would you go for say, 10000 reneces?" The renece being the monetary unit around these parts.
"What?!"
"Yeah, I bet you'd go alot lower for that much. How about ten? Would you molest a ten-year old for that much money?"
I just looked at him. To have said anything would have been twisted. So I just said, "You are a sick mother-fucker, Payne."
And of course, he grinned.