Ucho’s chest visibly swelled, his face going even redder. Now it was a rich crimson. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing?’

One of the men, the one facing Ucho, answered, looking up from his task, his face earnest. ‘Sir, you said to bring you everything from the scene.’

Ucho went from crimson to an ugly shade of purple. ‘I said bring me all the evidence! What the bloody hell is this? What’s in those bags?’

The man looked up, turning pink, and gulped. He was chubby, with a round nose in the exact centre of a face that at any other time might have been dubbed jolly. Right now he looked like a clown that was about to cry. ‘The—the bodies, sir.’

Ucho looked at him incredulously. ‘The bodies …’

The man began to go from pink to white. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘You mean the dead bodies.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘The ones from the tent.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Are you telling me, soldier, that those bags you have brought me contain the bodies from the crime scene?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the man miserably.

The purple was now black. ‘Are you out of your bloody mind?’

‘Yes—I mean, no, sir.’

‘Get out!’ screamed Ucho. ‘Get out! Get out, and take that bloody bag with you!’

There was silence for a few moments as the men endeavoured to turn around, a process made more difficult than it was by the fact that the other man—the one who had so far had his back to Ucho—seemed unwilling to move. Perhaps the fact that the planned manoeuvres involved him facing the commander was what spurred his reluctance.

Ucho stood there staring at them, his face getting darker and darker, as the men struggled for a minute or two, before finally coming to a sort of tacit compromise that involved them both shuffling sideways. They watched as silently, still bearing their heavy burden, the men left sadly.

Ucho’s mouth seemed be alive—it was twisting and moving, seemingly of its own accord. Or maybe he was just trying really hard to prevent himself from swearing. He looked down at the shapeless grey sack on the ground and then looked up again.

‘Come get this one too, you bloody maggot-brained morons!’ he shouted at the partition as they exited, and started forward, tripping over the body on the floor in the process. He regained his balance and began to bellow, and then stopped himself, his face contorting, an ugly look coming into his eyes. Then he stormed out through the partition. Even his back looked angry.

Colby whistled. ‘Oh boy,’ he said. ‘The commander’s really riled now. Those two are in for it.’

‘I think Ucho is discovering that he was far fonder of Castor than he ever realized,’ said Father, looking at the floor.