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'General Matheson is no longer...relevant,' Bass said, leaning back in his seat. He tapped his fingers absently on the table, timing it to the thump of his heart. 'Neither are his opinions on negotiating with Georgia.'
Along the table the inner council of the Republic traded looks uncertainly. It was Jeremy – who else – who cleared his throat.
'How...not relevant...is he?' he asked. 'Are we talking brief mental health break to somewhere quiet? Or more of a shallow grave in the desert situation.'
Bass gave the other man a cold look.
'We're talking a “do as I tell you” situation,' he said. 'I will deal with General Matheson. You push those Georgian farmers back over the Republic's borders. However you have to. Understand? General Matheson is not in a position to disagree.'
******
Jeremy slouched on Kip's couch, his feet braced on a coffee table. A bottle of beer – real beer, before beer – was cradled between his hands. He scowled and shook his head.
'You heard him,' he said. 'Miles is no longer “relevant”. You see Miles agreeing to that? Ever? Man's dead.'
Kip poked another log into the fire, making it spark and spit. He sat down opposite Jeremy, giving his boots a scowl, and popped the top of his own beer.
'I ain't saying I'd bet against Bass in that fight,' he said. 'But it would have caused a helluva lot more property damage than we seen.'
'Unless it was -' Jeremy freed one hand and mimed a stab that was vaguely kidney height, adding a wet, slicing sound effect. 'They ain't agreed on shit lately.'
Kip chewed his lower lip, but he didn't have another idea.
*******
The brush ran through Julia's hair in long slow strokes. She tilted her head and enjoyed the sensation, even as her mind worried at this latest bit of information. Matheson gone? That unbalanced everything, and opened up all sorts of opportunities for a talented man with a smart wife.
'Why would Matheson leave?' she asked. 'The Republic is his as much as Monroe's.'
'More,' Tom said. He put the brush aside and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder. His breath was warm on her throat and it had been her shiver. It had been months since he was home long enough to do more than kiss and ride out again. He seemed content to just hold her, though, and until she found out what was troubling him, Julia was willing to wait. 'It was Miles who came up with the idea first.'
'Why leave then?'
'A woman?' Tom said. 'One of the young officers in the militia disappeared at the same time. A Clayton, something Clayton.'
'Nora?' Julia suggested. She made a point of noticing the young women in the militia. There weren't many of them – that M stood for misogynist – and those that did enlist could use an established woman's help at times. And later, they could pay her back. 'Likes to blow things up, good skin?'
Neville shrugged. 'Could be. Once it's run its course, he'll be back.'
Settled in his mind he realised that her neck was right there, unkissed, and remedied that. Julia tucked her new secrets away for later and tangled herself around her husband.
***********
Aaron marched a dripping Charlie and shame-faced Danny back to the house.
'Fighting,' he said succinctly, pushing them through the front door. 'On the bank.'
Frustrated, already, Ben glared at his children. 'What now?' he demanded.
Charlie scowled and wrung her braid out, dripping water on the floor, before flipping it over her shoulder. 'Nothing.' Even though he knew there was no point, Ben looked to Danny. 'Nothing,' the younger boy parroted loyally.
'Go to your room,' he snapped.
A scathing teenage glance and Charlie was gone, stamping her way through the house like her feet were made of lead. Danny, always more practical, stopped long enough to grab a couple of rolls from the kitchen before following.
Ben sighed and shoved his hand through his hair. 'I swear, she's going to be the death of me.'
'Try teaching her,' Aaron said, wiping his wet hands on his jeans. He brightened up suddenly. 'Have you heard the latest news from the militia?'
The mention of them made Ben's stomach twist, but he couldn't put his head in the sand. Even if he didn't know that he could stomach news of his baby brother's latest atrocity.
'General Matheson's dead,' Aaron said gleefully. 'They're trying to hide, pretending he's just gone on some retreat, but everyone knows what happened.'
Ben stopped his legs buckling by the simple expedient of leaning against his door. Simple grief of his brother jostled for space amidst guilty relief that it was over and fear for what would happen next. He crossed his arms and picked Aaron's brains for information, trying his hardest to look only just the right amount of interest.
That night and every night for a week he sent Maggie to bed without him and sat outside staring at the stars. Just when he was about to give up, a dark, scruffy man came limping out of the shadows. He looked older. Ben supposed they all did, but it was in Miles' eyes.
'I heard you were dead.'