Free Aleksey's Kingdom by John Wiltshire

and show them the route I planned for us to take. First of all, though, before maps could be produced, I asked Major Parkinson simply, “What is the aim of this mission, sir?”
    He chewed the end of his moustache for a while, then nodded. “Good question, sir. Very good question. You have observed, no doubt, we are a very small force. Certainly won’t be seeing off a rebellion single-handedly, no sir. I’ll leave that to you sort of chaps. Rum business that. Very rum. We’re on an exploratory mission, I suppose you would call it.”
    Aleksey interrupted. “We’re on a rescue mission. We’re going to find everyone and rescue them.”
    “From cannibals?”
    “Cannibals?” The three officers stared at me. The man of God paled and glanced anxiously at his wife.
    I regrouped. “I apologize. I was being…. So, we go to the fort, confirm the desertion of the—”
    “Strong word, Doctor.” My eyes swiveled to Captain Rochester. “No one is speaking of desertion.”
    “An abandoned fort rather speaks for itself, no?”
    Aleksey’s eyes were flicking between us. I had not told him of my thoughts on the fort, as I knew he would also object to such a thing. His own sense of honor would lead him to believe no other man could behave in such a manner. I found it entirely reasonable to assume being stuck in a ramshackle fort in the middle of the biggest wilderness known to man, obeying orders from a country thousands of miles away, would lead any man worth his salt to look around and think… why? As to the colonists, I assumed once the fort was abandoned, they also decided to leave. What kind of life could they have made where they were, facing the French and the allied tribes? For all we knew, they were all on their slow way back to the seaboard. We might even bump into them on this ridiculous trip.
    Poor Aleksey. He wanted mysterious disappearances, strange emanations, writing on walls, abandoned meals, something exciting and even frightening. He was going to get a pile of abandoned logs or a soggy group of people who had decided living unguarded next to the most ferocious tribes in this area was not very pleasant. But I wanted to be sure that is what we were going to do, just confirm the place was empty, make a desultory search in case they were all lying a close distance away and slightly wounded or some such other very unlikely event, and then return—Major Parkinson to report the situation to his superiors, and me to my necessary routines to prepare for winter.
    Captain Rochester leaned closer to me. “If the place is abandoned, then they were set upon and murdered by the foul dregs of humanity that lives in these woods.”
    I frowned again. “Englishmen? You think they were murdered by Englishmen?” I had enjoyed many years’ practice annoying Aleksey; this man was no match for me.
    “Indians! Sodding heathens!”
    Major Parkinson made a half-apologetic, half-embarrassed kind of cough, glancing at Mrs. Wright, who rose and left the table, but Captain Rochester ignored this and added in a low voice, “I am aware that not everyone shares my view of the heathen scum, but if you had ever met any, sir, you would be of my opinion on them.”
    I was on tricky ground here. I had not only met them but lived as one of them (indeed, still thought of myself as one of them and coming more and more to that belief the longer we lived back in this land), and we would indeed have made very short shrift of a small fort such a long way from its headquarters—and all the colonists. I would have probably gone in first, a lost European child crying piteously for my mother…. Not such good memories now that I reflect upon it and have lived amongst European people again.
    Aleksey seemed to divine my thoughts, for he attempted to lighten the conversation with some of his theories. He was always amusing, but when he was actually trying to be funny he was irresistible. He soon had all three officers laughing at his enthusiasm to