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Sallie came running at my curse. “What is it? A fire?”
“I wish.” I jerked my chin toward the two figures hobbling toward the doorway heedless of the thunder and rain outside.
Sallie crossed herself, showing the same dread on her face that I felt. “Not those two again!”
My Aldershot tavern is a haven for the British workman wearing the red of Her Majesty’s Army. Outsiders would agree that these two men had the right to frequent The Musket and Shot on the grounds of Vox populi, vox dei. But outsiders don’t have to listen to them.
The younger one limped across the doorway on his walking stick, finishing up a story. “…So I pull the bullet out of his gut, his blood all over me, and that’s when his spleen ruptured!”
The older man, bent-back and grotesque, guffawed.
Other soldiers nearby recoiled with looks of horror and disgust on their faces.
“I could take their nasty stories if each of ‘em wasn’t such a malapert.” Sallie glared. “Bringing that ugly mongoose in here and scaring off that handsome young lieutenant.”
I shrugged at that. “Officers don’t belong in here.” I gestured at the angry and frightened recruits hearing the horrific stories by the two veterans. “The real trouble is they let the youngsters know what’s coming outside the barracks.”