The men affected a militarily homogeneous air, the lot of them wearing top to bottom gray-green wool, with bands of red encircling their arms at the biceps and black sashes cinched about their waists. As they drew nearer, however, Lucy could see that the cut and style of each man’s outfit was dissimilar to his fellows’: one wore long trousers, another knickers with tall boots; one sported a shearling collar, while his neighbor trailed a scarf. Even their rifles were dissimilar, the lengths of the bayonets varying drastically. It was as though they had each of them made their own garments in the privacy of their homes, with but the vaguest aesthetic prescription to guide them. Only their unshaven, haunted faces were alike.
Lucy was afraid of these men, naturally, for they carried themselves so grimly, and it seemed they intended to set upon him and for all he knew bring him to harm. But when at last they reached him they merely stood there, breathing in and out, and watching him as though he were some part of the scenery. They were looking at him but thinking of their own lives, and not of his.
A man stepped from the rear of the pack, and from the moment Lucy saw him it was clear he was one apart from the others. While the rest possessed the swollen-eyed expression of malnourished desperation, this man’s skull wore the hunger well, and his gaze described intelligence and the most natural manner of confidence. He was, in fact, exceptionally handsome, so that Lucy could not look away from him. The man was perfectly serious as he stepped closer, and when he spoke, his deep voice denoted no hostility, only a measure of import, as though time were a pressing consideration for him.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Lucy.”
“Lucy?”
“That’s my name, sir, yes.”
“What’s all this with the stones, Lucy?”
“I was trying to strike the bell.”
“And why?”
“I’m eager to gain entrance to the castle.”
“And why?”
“That I might begin my appointment there. Also because I’m cold.”
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.” He pointed down the valley. “Do you come from the village?”
“No, I come from Bury.”
“What’s Bury?”
“A location, sir. I come from there.”
The exceptionally handsome man puzzled a moment, as one completing an equation in his mind. “So you are Lucy from Bury, is that what you’re telling me?”
“I am.”
“And you mustn’t tarry, as you’re in a hurry?”
“Yes.”
“Because you’re chilly?”
“I suppose that’s all correct, sir, yes.”
The soldiers were stifling laughter, as was the exceptionally handsome man, and Lucy stood by, considering the enigmatic nature of charisma. If he could change a single thing about himself, it would be to possess that atypical luster certain people were blessed with. The exceptionally handsome man was rich with it, and in witnessing and identifying this, Lucy experienced both covetousness and admiration. He watched the man whisper into one of his soldiers’ ears; the soldier nodded and saluted before hurrying away into the woods. Now the exceptionally handsome man spoke again to Lucy, only all of the playfulness from the moment before had gone:
“Do you have any food?”
“No.”
“A biscuit, perhaps? Or a piece of cheese?”
“Nothing whatsoever, sir, no.”
“Any money?”
“I have a very small amount of money.”
“May we have it?”
“It’s all I’ve got, sir.”
The exceptionally handsome man stepped closer, gripping his bayonet, and there entered into his voice an emotionless, droning tone. “May we or may we not have the money, Lucy from Bury?”
Lucy handed over his small purse of coins, and the exceptionally handsome man emptied it into his palm.
“This is all you have?”
“Yes.”
“This is all you have in the world?”
“Yes.”
The exceptionally handsome man returned the coins to the purse, sulkily stuffing this into his coat pocket. He appeared to take Lucy’s insolvency personally, and a cumbersome quiet came between them. Lucy was casting about in his mind for some bit of chit-chat when the soldier who had gone on scout returned, whispering in the exceptionally handsome man’s ear. The exceptionally handsome man received the news, then addressed the others, who stood at attention, ready to receive his instruction. “All right, we’re heading back to base camp in a single push. The bastards are up to something or I miss my guess, so let’s stay on our guard. Are we up for it, yes or no?” The soldiers called back in a single voice that shocked Lucy with its volume and alacrity: “Aye!” And then, just as quickly as they’d come, they departed, with their leader bringing up the rear.
Rounding the corner of the castle, he ceased walking, as though plagued by an unknown anxiety. Turning, he leveled his rifle at Lucy; his expression was stony, and Lucy once more found himself concerned for his own safety. But there was no danger; the rifle was raised higher, and higher still, and now the exceptionally handsome man took aim and fired his weapon. The bullet ricocheted off the hip of the bell and the peal pulsed in the air, this mingling with the echo of the rifle’s discharge. As Lucy was standing under the bell itself it was as though the noise created something physical surrounding him, a chamber of vibration and sound. Looking upward, he watched the bell’s slow, circular sway. When he looked back down, the exceptionally handsome man was gone.