Ontogeny

Chapter 11a

"Now would be a good time," said Harper, leaning over to whisper in Malone's ear.

Malone grimaced, but nodded his reply. He looked over at the Brigadier, sitting a little way apart from the others. Brooding, the way he had been the whole five days since they'd left Tollbine with the precious bag of dried bluecap mushrooms tucked safely in Quill's saddlebags. The others were concerned by this uncharacteristic behaviour. Their commander was never the most conversational person at the best of times. He liked to keep his own counsel. He almost never engaged in gossip and small talk. Since parting ways with Parcellius, though, he'd become even worse.

There was clearly something bothering him, and the men had been discussing it quietly among themselves every time they stopped on their journey back east. They were disturbed by it. The Brigadier was well liked by his men and they'd tried several times to get him to talk, without success. He would respond to every enquiry with a grunt or, at most, a monosyllabic answer that shut off the conversation, then return to his brooding. Malone had known him longer than any of the others, though, and had gained a close familiarity with him that enabled him to say things that none of the others could. That morning, as they'd been getting ready to set off, the men had gathered around and urged him to speak to him, their voices unusually serious. Malone hadn't needed much urging, though. He'd already made up his mind to do just that.

There hadn't been the opportunity at the time, nor had there been when they'd stopped for their midday meal, but they'd now made camp for the night and the men were staring at him and nodding in the Brigadier's direction. Malone gave their stew one last stir and spooned a generous serving into a pewter bowl. Then he took it over to where the Brigadier was sitting.

"Here you are, sir," he said, placing the bowl and a spoon by his side. The Brigadier glanced down at the small pieces of chicken meat floating amongst the globs and pieces of chopped vegetable, gently steaming in the cool, evening air. Then he nodded and picked it up. Malone waited, but the Brigadier just spooned the meat into his mouth without a word.

Malone looked back at the men, who urged him on with hand gestures. He sighed again and tried to think of something to say, just to open the conversation. "I assume we'll be passing through Radiant territory again."

The Brigadier gave no sign that he'd heard, though. Just kept spooning the stew into his mouth. He gave no indication that he was enjoying it either. It was as though eating was nothing more than a necessary task, like fuelling a machine. It could have been the ambrosia of the Gods or rancid, week old leftovers and he would have reacted just the same. It would keep his body going, and that was all that mattered.

"Because we need to get back as fast as possible and we made it last time," pressed Malone. "Pretty much. Except for poor Smithy, of course."

Still no reply. The Brigadier was staring straight ahead, his forehead creased in a frown, his eyes on the hilly horizon where the sun, huge and red, was sinking into a layer of cloud.

"Brigadier? Sir?"

Malone looked back at the men, whose unease was deepening, and an uncharacteristic anger began to steal over him. "Brigadier!" That did it, and the head snapped around to stare up at him. "What's come over you? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he replied, looking ahead again, the stew forgotten. "Just thinking things over."

Malone waited, but the Brigadier didn't seem inclined to say more than that. "What things?" he asked. "What's on your mind?"

"Just things. The road ahead. There's dangerous territory between here and home."

Malone didn't buy it. This all started back with the archaeologist, he thought. Those books he found. No, the statue. The deformed woman with the half raised child in her arms. He'd given a start as if it meant something to him, and the books had added to it, but what?