“Well, hard to say if it’s done us good or bad, but it’s about what you’d expect. There ain’t much of Gettys left to tell about. When word about gold got here, most all the townsfolk who could pull up and go, went. Then the orders came to bring the prisoners back as a workforce. That took the prisoners out of Gettys, and a’course their guards went with them, plus some of the regiment to escort them. My regiment was already at low strength from disease, death, and desertion. But now we aren’t even a regiment. The commander and most of the high-ranking officers packed up and went west when their orders come through. Only two companies left here now, just a token force to keep the place from falling down, and our highest-ranked officer is a captain. It’s like they went off and forgot some of us here. Told us to ‘hold the fort.’ Didn’t tell us how.”
“So…” I said, and wondered what to ask next. Would Spink and Epiny and Amzil and the children have gone west with the others? “But you’re still here?”
“Guess I been soldiering too long.” He took a bite of the corn dodger in his hand. With a finger, he poked it to the back of his mouth before chewing it, and I recalled that he’d always had problems with his teeth. He made noises as he ate now, trying to move the food around to where he had teeth to chew it. When he spoke, his words were muffled with food. “Obeying orders went past being a habit with me a long time ago. It’s in my bones now. Me and most of the old dogs, we stayed. Sit. Stay. Guard. That’s us. Played havoc with our chain of command when so many officers went back west. There’s some kind of new law, some priest thing back west about nobles and their sons. Evidently a lot of them noblemen lost their eldest sons in that plague bout they had, and they didn’t like it too much. Some of our officers that were born soldier sons heard they might get jumped up to heirs if some new rule gets approved. Sounds unnatural to me. A man should be what he’s born to be and not complain. But it’s going to mean a lot of changes if men that were supposed to be officers suddenly have to go back west and be their fathers’ heirs. ’Course, there’s a few we wish would leave! That fellow in charge now, I don’t think he could lead a troop of new recruits into a whorehouse, if we still had a whorehouse, but we’re stuck with him. Captain Thayer isn’t what you’d call beloved by his troops. But we’ll still obey old stick-up-his-arse, because he’s got the shiny bits on his uniform that says we should.”
“Captain Thayer’s the commander now?” Nausea roiled through me.