Well, then. She looked after the lieutenant and shook her head. Now what?

“You’ll have to get rid of him,” Cyte said as they watched the formations assemble. “I probably would have fired him on the spot. Or slugged him.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Winter said. “Being an asshole isn’t against regulations.”

“Using that kind of language to a superior officer is,” Cyte said. “Besides, I think Janus has already set the precedent when he kicked out de Ferre and his friends.”

“I’m not Janus,” Winter said. She caught sight of Lieutenant Novus, on the other side of the drill field. He looked from Winter to the men and women getting into formation and back again, then shook his head and stalked away.

“Janus would back you if Novus tried to go through channels. And if he tried anything else, you’d be within your rights to have him arrested.”

“Maybe.” Winter was only half listening, scanning the crowd that had turned up to watch the morning’s drill. “I need to talk to Sevran and see what he thinks.”

“Don’t wait too long,” Cyte said. “If Novus gets it into his head that he can run roughshod over you, there’s going to be trouble.”

“Yeah.”

Winter went stiff as she found what she was looking for. A flash of glorious red hair, in the middle of a knot of Girls’ Own spectators. She tried to catch Jane’s eye and failed. But at least she’s out of her tent.

“Okay,” she said to Folsom, who stood ready to repeat her commands. “Let’s get started.”

“Close up!” Folsom’s voice rang through the misty morning air like a clarion call. “Skirmish line, forward! Main line, loading drill!”

It was Lieutenant Vidolet’s company on the field. He wasn’t part of the noble clique around Novus, and Winter didn’t think he’d deliberately sabotage the drill. His men certainly looked as though they’d been practicing, going through the manual of arms with smooth precision. He shouted, “Fire!” and a chorus of clicks answered him.

Abby’s company of the Girls’ Own had improved as well. Their loading was faster, and they seemed more comfortable in their two-woman teams, trading off firing as fast as they could ram home imaginary musket balls. They also seemed to be more enthusiastic about the exercise. Playful shouts went up with each shot.

“Got one!”

“Take that, you damned Elysian!”

“Bagged myself a general!”

“No, you didn’t, you only knocked off his hat!”

But the next part is the real test. Winter nodded to Folsom, who took a deep breath.

“Skirmish line, fall back! Main line, prepare to pass skirmishers!”

Abby’s company turned at once and sprinted back toward Vidolet’s, where the men halted in their loading and firing and presented their muskets in a stiff line, as though they were brandishing bayonets. The Girls’ Own soldiers surged toward them, a confused mass of running, laughing women, and Winter braced herself for the collision.