CHAPTER THREE: WHERE WOLVES HIDE IN THE COMPANY OF MEN

The skies dumped their grey acidic refuse on Austrarcene like a giant dying sigh at three in the morning and awoke the whole camp as slick viscous fluid splattered loudly on the tin roofs. Thomas, who was curled up in a damp twisted ball with Ryllis and Rose and ragged blankets, was startled immediately and, upon realising what the noise was, groaned spectacularly. His shifting woke up Ryllis, who haphazardly turned over in the ropey blankets and tried to see him in the suffocating dark.

"Tommy?"

"We're digging trenches in this weather?" Thomas whispered irritably. Ryllis sat up and blindly rearranged the tangled bedding, making sure that Rose didn't tumble off the bed. The little girl was half awake but too drowsy to speak and lay quietly where she was, hiding under a pillowcase from the frightful noise. Ryllis snuggled back under the tepidly sticky covers and put her arms around Thomas.

"You don't have to go then, dear," she suggested to his collarbone.

"No, I need something to do," Thomas murmured reluctantly.

"Your arm'll get infected," Ryllis warned, now concerned.

Thomas kissed the top of Ryllis' head in reply and tried to go back to sleep.

The rain didn't stop for five hours, and drowned Austrarcene in a thick grey mush. That morning after Thomas slopped through mud with a shovel and lunch pail to the departing trucks, Ryllis put in a request for any brightly coloured paint that could be obtained to make the camp less drab before she went stir-crazy. Darcy replied silently by handing her a burlap-wrapped package containing, among the other items, three brand new bars of dark Hershey's.

Ryllis was pleased.

--

Thomas felt lightheaded after an hour of being coated in heavy muck and continued shoveling hard sludge rather deliriously, bumping against the other irritated men who wanted nothing more than dry clothes and their sweethearts to assuage their poor timing. Uniformed soldiers, just as miserable in the frigid mud, stumbled against the walls of the slowly developing trenches along with the civilians, dying for a hot drink.

Thomas had quickly taught himself to shovel steadily predominantly with his left hand, as his right arm was too weak to deal with any considerable weight for any considerable amount of time. He was aching and couldn't stand straight.

They finally started putting planks against the muddy walls long after Thomas had stopped caring about the time. Darcy, who was overseeing this slippery operation, called down to Thomas from the level ground above.

"You'll be switched off in a few days, old chap."

Thomas glared without seeing. He was numb from the waist down and filthy, and his coherent thought was far gone.

Getting back to his house was an amusing trial- a bevy of mud zombies filtered slowly into the camp, tracking the drying gunk everywhere. Upon seeing them from afar, Ryllis ran back inside to get the few towels they had brought with them from home and dunk them in a basin of boiling hot water. Rose watched in intrigued silence as Ryllis found Thomas' extra clothes, and was mildly startled when the door swung open. There was the ever cheerful Darcy supporting a very dead-looking Thomas.

"Hello!" Darcy said. "Just dropping this one off. Poor thing had a bit of a rough day."

"Piss off," Thomas said, to no one in particular.

"Clothes off! Get 'em off, Tommy, I'll not have mud all over the house," Ryllis commanded. Thomas gave her a look, but it softened and he chuckled weakly. Darcy smiled.

"I'll see how you are later, then?" he asked, ducking out of the doorway.

"Come back for tea," Ryllis invited, then shut the door and stripped Thomas down. The young man, shivering violently now, awkwardly wrapped himself in the hot towels and sat, knees to chin, on one of the chairs. Ryllis looked amused and kissed his forehead before putting a steaming hand towel over it. Then she set about making tea, as Thomas' teeth started chattering violently.

As the towels cooled and Thomas' body returned to a normal temperature, Ryllis took the remaining dry towel and got him to dry off and redress and curl up in bed under every cover they owned. Rose, who had nowhere else to go, sat on the mattress and watched Thomas shiver occasionally. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

"What?" he asked, still irritated. Rose retracted her hand in fright. Silence.

"Sorry, poppet," Thomas said finally, and made a nook in the covers for her to crawl into. Rose did so and hugged him tightly.

Ryllis laughed and sat down at the end of bed against the wall with a steaming cup of tea. "I think she fancies you, Thomas."

"And who wouldn't fancy something so dishy, eh?" Thomas replied, chuckling in spite of himself.

"Ah, there's my dear," Ryllis observed, and sipped her tea. "Go to sleep, love."

Thomas did so rather quickly.

--

Ryllis had great fun playing house in more primitive conditions than at home- or whatever home that was, as they were likely never to return to the tidy third-storey flat above a pastry shop. What delightful food they used to sneak by way of the shopkeeper's boy! Ryllis vaguely remembered the fluffy danishes and eclairs and creampuffs she had had little Bailey steal for them, in return for a good toffee or movie ticket or other such things as would delight a ten year old.

Putting this at the back of her mind, Ryllis resumed boiling green beans in an old battered pot. Rose was fascinated by the steam rising in thick wisps from the hot water and reached out from her chair to try and catch it, but a grill was in the way and Ryllis pushed her back before hot oil could jump at them.

“Now Rose, you be careful,” Ryllis warned seriously, then gave her an apologetic kiss on the cheek.

She went about frying sliced potatoes and wanting a bit of salt or butter for them afterwards. Oil spat and crackled on the flat grill as Ryllis carefully pushed around potatoes with a spoon so they would not fall off the sideless pan. Rose, standing up on a chair next to the stove, watched her in typical silence.

“Poppet, will you hand me that tin?” Ryllis asked, pointing at the metal dish on the table. Rose blinked in confusion for a moment but figured out what she was being asked for and wrapped her arms around the dish, holding it up. Ryllis giggled and patted her on the head before wrapping the grill handle in a rag and deftly turning all of the potatoes into the tin with one flick of her little wrist.

“These’ll be so delicious, won’t they?” she asked, finding a fork in her apron pocket and stabbing one of the slices, blowing on it before taking a bite. “Oh, I was right. Have a taste, dear.”

Rose tried the food exploratively, delighting in the slickly hot starch.

“Good, isn’t it?” Ryllis reaffirmed. “Excellent. Let’s see… we’ll leave those on the table for now…”

She took the pan, covered it with the handle rag, and leaned over Rose to set it back on the table. Then she tried a green bean.

“Oh, they’re a bit overcooked! Here, love.”

Ryllis popped the rest of the bean in Rose’s mouth and set about getting the beans into another bowl, leaving the hot water where it was. A bit of fried meat was already waiting in another covered plate by the potatoes, so Ryllis declared herself finished with cooking for the evening and found eating dishes. After getting everything ready she turned up the wick on the kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling and sat with Rose in her lap on the bed, singing frilly nursery rhymes.

Thomas, on the other hand, was falling asleep in the back of a truck, thankfully not covered in mud this time but equally as exhausted. He had spent three days in the trenches wishing to anything holy that his time would pass and he’d be able to function again; today he had been switched to laying bricks and this was less backbreaking but similarly monotonous and entirely unfulfilling. He was in one of those moods where he hated everything and anything and wanted very much to collapse on something stationary.

Thomas limped home, occasionally stopping to rest against the front of a shack here or there, as did the rest of the men working with him. All were blinded by a hunger sickness.

“Tommy, now, really, do take tomorrow off,” came Ryllis’ voice. Thomas looked up from the ground to see his girlfriend standing in the doorway of their little house, hands on hips. “Come inside, then, I’ve got supper.”

They shared another look before Thomas, completely delirious, laughed weakly and hobbled inside, immediately heading to the mattress. Ryllis helped him get his shoes and jacket off, giggling all the while at his built-up helplessness.

“Not used to hard work, are you?” she asked, bouncing down next to him with a bowl of food and a fork.

“Belt up,” Thomas replied, too tired to be upset about anything. He ate slowly and couldn’t recall a more delicious meal melting away in his mouth; both he and Ryllis ate very rapidly but Thomas didn’t have the strength to do so at the moment. He was excessively pleased.

“So how was it?” Ryllis asked, feeding Rose another slice of potato as they all huddled together.

“Bloody awful,” Thomas replied simply. “I’ll sleep forever tomorrow, I warrant.”

“Good! Finish up and you can get started on that.”

They were done and ready for bed ten minutes later, teeth brushed and nightwear on and all. Thomas fell asleep as soon as he lay down and Ryllis rather roughly pushed him over against the wall to make room for herself and Rose. The latter was drowsy-eyed again and curled up without a fuss.

Ryllis surveyed the entire room with an overly critical eye, then, satisfied, she turned down the lamp wick and climbed into the bed, bestowing kisses on her boyfriend and little daughter, and felt overall very happy with the situation, as if she knew no other feeling. But that would change.

--

Sitting at one of the crowded desks in the administrative building, Darcy received a telegram from the shady eyed Mikolai Damrosch, one of Larissa’s cousins. They looked at each other, both raising an eyebrow as Darcy opened the note and read it silently.

“Oh!” he said. “That’s… that’s very interesting, I can’t believe it…”

“I didn’t think it was true either, but we can go see if you’d like,” Mikolai offered. He was the bodyguard type and looked imperious standing over the little, lithe Darcy, like a bulldog and a kit fox.

“Bribing me with Eleanor…” Darcy mused, leaning back in his chair. “Never thought I’d see that girl again.”

He smiled to himself, almost hungrily, as he remembered his pretty little Irish lass, fiery of temper and quick to betray anyone but him. Eleanor had gotten carted off to a work camp after having a very temperamental fight with her lover, and in his irritation Darcy had failed to track her down. Now she was back, and being offered as part of an otherwise monetary deal to leak information as he had done before. Darcy was a betrayer, and comfortably so: he went with the winning side as he pleased, scruples gone after losing the innocent girl he had taken a strong fancy to for years and the rest of his family to a combination of disease and violence and negligence.

Darcy came back from his reverie and stood up, suddenly business-like. “Alright, I’ll take them up on the offer.”

“I thought you would,” Mikolai said knowingly. “Should I get the others ready?”

“Yours, yes,” Darcy replied, thinking. “What a pity… I end up killing so many people…”

“Are you going to get Ryllis out?”

“Ryllis! Yes. It’d be such a shame to lose that one. She’s too much like Elodie. Too happy, you know. Too happy without hiding anything. That type is always so intriguing.”

Mikolai shrugged.

“You want to go now?”

“Sure,” Darcy said passively, and collected his papers. They slipped out of town in a battered truck to go see the Esca, guilt barely able to touch Darcy’s cold conscience.