“Someday, that will come back to haunt him. See if it doesn’t,” Spink said angrily.
But as with all risks that Trist took, it never seemed to take a toll on him. Trist remained a favorite with the lad in the early months of our schooling, often inviting him to our rooms and making time for him, for all that the boy irritated the rest of us. I soon came to share Sergeant Rufet’s attitude toward him; I found Caulder annoying and presumptuous. He seemed to think himself a small extension of his father, for whenever he encountered a first-year, he was very outspoken in giving his opinion of him. Even when Corporal Dent was marching us in formation to one of our classes, if we encountered Young Caulder on the way, the lad felt free to tell Rory that his uniform shirt needed tucking in, or criticize the shine on Caleb’s shoes. Spink, with his ill-fitting garb, was often a target of the boy’s snide criticism. Spink did not take kindly to it, and often righteously seethed that Dent never told the lad to be off about his own business and leave us alone. Caulder always had a cheery and comradely greeting for Trist, almost as if he wished to be sure that we knew he favored the fair cadet.
Worst was when the boy chose to invade our living space, often under the guise of delivering a message or issuing some unnecessary reminder to us. I soon learned that we were not the only house troubled with his visits. He patronized all of us, new nobles and old alike. Some cadets muttered that he was spying for his father, looking for hints of drinking, gambling, or women in our barracks. Others, more accurately I felt, pitied the boy, saying he sought from us the companionship his father did not offer him, for never had we seen him treat the lad as anything other than a small soldier. It was said he had two younger sisters and a mother, but as yet none of us had ever seen any sign of them. He had no friends his own age that we ever saw. He lived in the commander’s quarters on the campus, and was tutored in the morning hours. In the afternoons he seemed to run free, and often into the early evening he could be seen wandering about the campus alone.
He did seem to be in search of something. Young Caulder began to seek Trist’s company, often invading the sanctuary of our upstairs common room. Trist would share contraband sweets with the lad if he had them, and unlikely tales of encounters with Plainsmen and their beautiful women when his pockets were empty. It was a tactic that seemed to pay off, for as Trist had bragged, he was one of the first cadets invited to share the commander’s table in his own quarters, a rare honor that Colonel Stiet extended only to those he considered of glowing potential. It did not escape my notice that Trist was the only new noble son to be thus distinguished, even though the dinner invitations were handed out on a regular basis. It singed my competitive soul that I was not so honored, and yet I stoutly refused to compromise my pride or my friendship with Spink by courting the little boy’s regard.
Due mostly to my father’s foresight in preparing me, I achieved solid marks in my academics as the year advanced toward winter. Not all my fellows fared as well. Spink continued to struggle with his mathematics. His faulty arithmetic foundation was an added hindrance to him, for even when he mastered algebraic concepts, his answers still depended on his ability to calculate accurately. Rory struggled with his drafting, Caleb with language. We all helped one another from our strengths and learned there was no shame in baring a weakness to our friends. Despite the chafing between Spink and Trist, we became, all told, a tightly knit group, just as our officers had intended we be.
For myself, I most enjoyed our afternoon class in engineering and drawing. Captain Maw seemed to me to be an even-handed instructor who paid no attention to old noble or new noble differences. He seemed genuinely fond of Spink, who made great efforts in our class, but I quickly became something of a favorite with him as well. My tasks on my father’s holding had given me a generous dose of practical engineering. I glowed with pride on the day Captain Maw referred to me as “a muddy boots engineer like myself,” meaning that my skills had come to me with practice rather than from books. He often enjoyed setting us tasks that demanded nonstandard solutions, and he often threatened us that “there may come a time when you must throw up earthworks without shovels or create a bridge without lumber or worked stone.”
I distinguished myself one afternoon by constructing a model of a raft built from “logs” and string alone. Captain Maw created a set of rapids on a water table from a bucket of water poured down a ramp. Mine was the only raft to successfully negotiate the rapids and bear its cargo of lead soldiers to a safe landing at the bottom. I earned high marks for the class that day and was still flushed with success when he asked me to stay after and speak with him for a moment.
