Randgriz-May 14, 1836
"When's the last time you went into town, Sergeant?" Lieutenant Landzaat asked.
"The 147th has not yet been cleared for leave," Edel said stiffly. "However, I am aware that Sergeant Wolffe and some other non-commissioned officers have done so, sir."
Landzaat smiled. "Well, you'll be glad to know that the regimental commanders have been authorized to send small groups into the city for leave. Go have a good time for once, Sergeant."
"Sir." Edel saluted. This really wasn't his idea of fun, but. . . "I appreciate it sir."
That night, Wolffe and Cheslock were sneaking out of the palisade in civilian clothes when Edel loomed up behind them. "Where do you think you are going?"
Wolffe whirled. "Oh, Edel? We were just . . . ah . . ."
Cheslock cut in. "Going for a walk."
Edel smiled hugely. "Well, have a nice time. I'm going into Randgriz, and I think I'll take a look at all the popular bars and hotels. I won't see you there then?"
The duo's sickly smiles morphed into identical horrified grimaces.
Wolffe stuttered for a moment. "B-but Edel, you're not allowed to go! The 147th isn't on leave!"
The staff sergeant waved a pass under his nose. "Oh? I am."
The sharpshooter exchanged a despairing glance with Cheslock. "I'll see you later then."
"Oh, come on," Edel said, finally taking pity on the hapless pair. "You have to show me where the best bar in town is. I haven't been, after all."
The two under-officers exchanged disbelieving grins as the staff sergeant propelled them in the direction of Randgriz.
Edel sat on a bar stool, looking at the menu scrawled on the board above the bar.
"Come on, Edel!" Wolffe laughed. "Order a drink for once!"
"You haven't lived 'til you've gotten a hangover that made you wish you had died!" Cheslock added.
Wagner considered. The staff sergeant hardly ever went on leave, and so had a considerable amount of back-pay on his person. He sighed. "Very well. Bartender!" he called.
"What can I get you Sergeant?" the man asked.
"Yes . . . Ah, do you have any wine?"
Cheslock and Wolffe had already ordered a round of the house lager and were swigging it down.
"Erm..." the bartender said uncomfortably. "We have . . . this." He took a slender bottle of clear liquor, scrutinizing the label.
Edel surveyed the object in the bartender's hands for a long moment. "Isn't that vinegar?"
"Err..."
"Just give me what they're having," he sighed.
"Right-o sir," the relieved man said.
By the time Edel got his drink, the others were already in a poker game at a nearby table. "You know gambling is against regulations. . ." he remarked threateningly as the two looked up. ". . . Deal me in," he said, pulling back a chair.
Wolffe's eyebrows crept toward his hairline. He had never seen Edel act so . . . normal before.
Edel picked up his cards. An instant later, his face lost all trace of expression. "I'll raise you another forty ducats," he said, pushing bills into the center of the table.
"Uhhhh . . . No. I fold." Cheslock tossed down his cards and waved for another pint glass. "Better miss on some potential fun than be cleaned out first round."
"What's the matter Cheslock? Scared?" Wolffe laughed.
An hour later, Edel sat at the table with the contents of everyone else's pockets stacked in front of him. Not bad for an hour's work. He waved a finger under Wolffe's horrified gaze. "I hope you learned something about gambling, sergeant," he said as he raked the pot into his pockets.
"What did I tell you guys? Cleaned out, down to your socks!" Cheslock guffawed.
Wolffe stood up. "Well, I'm broke, so I guess I'll head back . . . Unless someone is willing to cover another round."
"Not a chance," Edel replied flatly.
The sharpshooter paused as a commotion broke out near the counter.
"Get your stinking darkie hair out of my face!" a very drunk man shouted as he shoved a Darcsen serving maid. Glasses shattered, throwing their contents over the floor. "Look at what you gone and did now, you litt-"
"Sir!" the bartender said, waving his arms. "She's an employee of mine. Apologies if yo-"
"What sort of bar has dark-hairs serving drinks? They'll-"
"Hey!" the man turned just as Wolffe smashed him into the bar.
"Wolffe!" Edel barked. "Stand down!"
The sharpshooter looked over as a half-dozen of the man's friends got up. "Let's get that Darcsen-lover!"
"Stand down my ass, Sarge!" Cheslock jumped from his seat, slipping on a set of brass knuckles.
A nearby table of sergeants waded into the fray as they saw two of their own fighting.
"Stop!" Edel howled. "Will all of you-" He stopped as the man Wolffe had punched stood up unsteadily and reached for a revolver. He caught the man's hand, keeping the pistol in the holster.
"You can't do that!" the man yelled.
"Says who?" Edel said coldly as he broke the man's wrist with a deft twist.
The would-be gunman screamed in pain and outrage. He doubled over abruptly as the sergeant kicked him in the crotch. Edel kicked him again in the face as he went down. He had only a few seconds to admire his handiwork before the room was flooded with soldiers from the Royal Guard, traditional guardians of Randgriz, shouting and lashing out with rifle butts and truncheons.
Edel watched as Wolffe struggled in the iron grip of two soldiers who had him under the armpits as they were marched back to camp and deposited before Lieutenant Landzaat.
After dressing the pair down and dismissing them, he turned to Edel. "This is not exactly what I had in mind when I told you to enjoy yourself, sergeant."
"Apologies sir," Edel said with a salute. "It won't happen again."
Landzaat laughed. "If it was serious enough got you to get into a fight, it must've been quite something. You have to tell me about it someday. Dismissed."
Edel stared in bemusement as his superior walked away, laughing as he said something that sounded distinctly like, "There's hope for him yet."