walked, propping himself upright on a chair and then catching himself on a table. He glared with glazed eyes at Sergeant Bentley.
“That’s my—hic—my daughter what you be fondlin’,” the man said. “Dee, get off and get home!”
“I’m workin’, Daddy!” the girl yelled in the man’s direction.
Sergeant Bentley didn’t move. He made a deliberate effort to hold the girl on his lap. “And who are you?” he said.
“Henry Zaster, metalworker here in Dust.” The man paused to burp. “And you ain’t got no right touchin’ my girl.”
Corporal Bosco laughed. “Henry Zaster,” he said. “That must make you Dee Zaster?”
“Yeah,” said Dee, “what of it?”
“We don’t need none of your kind round ’ere makin’ ruckuseses,” Henry Zaster said, pointing unfocusedly in the sergeant’s direction, as if he could see two of him and wasn’t sure which one to aim at.
“You do realize, sir,” Sergeant Bentley said, his jovial nature disappearing, “that you are addressing a Digger.”
“We don’t want none of yous round ’ere,” Henry Zaster said.
“Yes,” replied the sergeant, “I think you’ve mentioned that already.”
“Well, why don’t you leave?”
By this stage the noise in the pub had dropped to a dull roar as people turned to watch the unfolding entertainment. A Digger was here, in their pub, and Henry was drunk. Squid could almost taste their anticipation.
Giving Dee a small nudge to get up, Sergeant Bentley stood. Henry Zaster looked at the Digger in front of him.
“You should just leave,” Henry said. “Digger or not, people got a habit of disappearin’ round ’ere.”
“Sergeant,” Lieutenant Walter said in a low stern voice, “you shall desist.”
The room had fallen completely still now. The musicians attempted to begin to play, but someone told them to be quiet. Squid was measuring the distance to each exit by counting the number of floorboards: twenty to the front door, thirty-two to the side door. He considered the table layout too, trying to decide which route would make for the quickest escape. His palms were sweaty and he was held on his stool by just a sliver of his thigh.
“Yes, sir,” Bentley said as he moved toward Henry. “One moment, please, Lieutenant.”
They were both big men, but where Henry looked large and unwieldy, Sergeant Bentley moved with a graceful ease.
“I think it is you who should be leaving, friend,” Bentley said.
“Nobody tells me to get out of me own drinkin’ hole!”
It was over in an instant. Squid imagined that anyone who happened to be walking past The Dust Bowl at precisely that moment would have witnessed a most unbelievable sight: Henry Zaster, one of the biggest, meanest, drunkest men this side of Alice, literally flew out the front window and into the street in a shower of wood and glass.
Inside, Sergeant Bentley was dusting his hands; the crowd stared at him wide eyed.
“Well?” he said casually.
On cue the musicians fired back to life, the conversation picked up and before long the crowd had all but forgotten the flying metalworker incident—at least, they made it seem that way.
Lieutenant Walter turned to Sergeant Bentley. “You will retire for the day,” he said. The sergeant looked at him for a moment but did not reply. He breathed deeply through his nose, nodded with a barely perceptible movement of his head, and walked out the door. Walter sat back down beside Uncle. Squid was still staring at the hole in the front window.
“I apologize for that,” Walter said to Uncle. “A long journey can get on the nerves of even the most gallant soldier. Where were we? Ah yes, I did not come here to convince you to allow us to recruit your nephew.” Walter turned his attention to Squid. “Where are your parents, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Squid was too scared to speak.
“Murderers and thieves,” Uncle said. “I’d prefer if you don’t bring it up again.”
Squid fingered the key
“That’s my—hic—my daughter what you be fondlin’,” the man said. “Dee, get off and get home!”
“I’m workin’, Daddy!” the girl yelled in the man’s direction.
Sergeant Bentley didn’t move. He made a deliberate effort to hold the girl on his lap. “And who are you?” he said.
“Henry Zaster, metalworker here in Dust.” The man paused to burp. “And you ain’t got no right touchin’ my girl.”
Corporal Bosco laughed. “Henry Zaster,” he said. “That must make you Dee Zaster?”
“Yeah,” said Dee, “what of it?”
“We don’t need none of your kind round ’ere makin’ ruckuseses,” Henry Zaster said, pointing unfocusedly in the sergeant’s direction, as if he could see two of him and wasn’t sure which one to aim at.
“You do realize, sir,” Sergeant Bentley said, his jovial nature disappearing, “that you are addressing a Digger.”
“We don’t want none of yous round ’ere,” Henry Zaster said.
“Yes,” replied the sergeant, “I think you’ve mentioned that already.”
“Well, why don’t you leave?”
By this stage the noise in the pub had dropped to a dull roar as people turned to watch the unfolding entertainment. A Digger was here, in their pub, and Henry was drunk. Squid could almost taste their anticipation.
Giving Dee a small nudge to get up, Sergeant Bentley stood. Henry Zaster looked at the Digger in front of him.
“You should just leave,” Henry said. “Digger or not, people got a habit of disappearin’ round ’ere.”
“Sergeant,” Lieutenant Walter said in a low stern voice, “you shall desist.”
The room had fallen completely still now. The musicians attempted to begin to play, but someone told them to be quiet. Squid was measuring the distance to each exit by counting the number of floorboards: twenty to the front door, thirty-two to the side door. He considered the table layout too, trying to decide which route would make for the quickest escape. His palms were sweaty and he was held on his stool by just a sliver of his thigh.
“Yes, sir,” Bentley said as he moved toward Henry. “One moment, please, Lieutenant.”
They were both big men, but where Henry looked large and unwieldy, Sergeant Bentley moved with a graceful ease.
“I think it is you who should be leaving, friend,” Bentley said.
“Nobody tells me to get out of me own drinkin’ hole!”
It was over in an instant. Squid imagined that anyone who happened to be walking past The Dust Bowl at precisely that moment would have witnessed a most unbelievable sight: Henry Zaster, one of the biggest, meanest, drunkest men this side of Alice, literally flew out the front window and into the street in a shower of wood and glass.
Inside, Sergeant Bentley was dusting his hands; the crowd stared at him wide eyed.
“Well?” he said casually.
On cue the musicians fired back to life, the conversation picked up and before long the crowd had all but forgotten the flying metalworker incident—at least, they made it seem that way.
Lieutenant Walter turned to Sergeant Bentley. “You will retire for the day,” he said. The sergeant looked at him for a moment but did not reply. He breathed deeply through his nose, nodded with a barely perceptible movement of his head, and walked out the door. Walter sat back down beside Uncle. Squid was still staring at the hole in the front window.
“I apologize for that,” Walter said to Uncle. “A long journey can get on the nerves of even the most gallant soldier. Where were we? Ah yes, I did not come here to convince you to allow us to recruit your nephew.” Walter turned his attention to Squid. “Where are your parents, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Squid was too scared to speak.
“Murderers and thieves,” Uncle said. “I’d prefer if you don’t bring it up again.”
Squid fingered the key
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