"Have any of you not fought orcs before?" asked the Sergeant.

     Loach didn't answer. He thought it probably wasn't a good idea to draw attention to himself. It was the right move, he decided when the only people among the crowd of conscripts to raise their hands were a pair of teenage brothers with sandy blonde hair. They were looking scared, which surprised him. Young men going off to war for the first time, having no idea of the horrors waiting for them, tended to be excited, he'd thought. Thrilled at the idea of winning honour and glory for themselves. Maybe the orcs were just too familiar in this society, he thought. They'd been a fact of life in human society for nearly a thousand years and those two youngsters had been hearing tales of how dangerous and terrible they were since the day they'd been born.

     The Sergeant walked over to stand before them. They stood straight and looked him in the eye, their fingers tightening around the shafts of the standard issue spears they were carrying. The Sergeant studied them for a moment or two, then nodded. "You'll be okay," he said. "Stay close to an experienced fighting man and watch his back. Take a stab at an orc whenever you get the chance but otherwise keep your heads down. Remember that a dead man can't protect his loved ones." They nodded back at him, then glanced at each other, almost trembling with fear. Loach saw them wanting to hold each others hands and fighting not to do so.

     A gust of cold, winter wind blew across the top of the city's outer wall, making pennants billow and clothes flap against arms and legs. The Sergeant went to the edge and looked out over the crenelated parapet at the countryside below. Everything looked peaceful for now and he returned his attention to his group of conscripts. "This city may be coming under full scale assault at any time," he said. "Our latest reports have the orcs gathering in large numbers near Duffield which, as you know, was attacked about a month ago, along with several other small towns. Anyone here from Duffield?" A couple of hands went up at the back. "Well, no doubt you'll be wanting revenge for the deaths of your townsfolk," the Sergeant continued. "You may get your chance very soon. Word has been sent to Lendaron and the King has ordered the army to come to our aid. If we can hold out for ten days, and if the army can defeat the orcs in battle, then the danger will be over."

     "Did you see Watt Fletcher?" another recruit whispered to one of the men who'd raised his hand. "What was he like?"

     "Silence please," said the Sergeant, not unkindly. "We've all heard the story, the man who killed a chieftain. It's nonsense. A single human cannot kill a chieftain hand to hand. If you see one, leave him for the archers. Don't think you can win glory for yourself by doing what Watt Fletcher's supposed to have done..."

     "Begging your pardon Sergeant," said one of the men from Duffield, "but it's no story. I saw it. I saw him stand face to face with the beast and cut it to pieces. We all saw it."

     Murmers of agreement came from the small crowd and the Sergeant waited patiently for it to die down. "Well if that's true," he said, "then I can only think that it must have been injured earlier in the battle. Whatever the case, don't try to take on a chieftain with a sword or a spear. Leave it for the archers. Understand?" The conscripts nodded silently. "All right then. When the orcs come, they'll do what they always do; bring armoured seige towers to the wall. This is how you fight them..."

     The Sergeant spent the next two hours explaining the basics of how to defend a medieval city while Loach listened with growing impatience. Every able bodied man in the city was supposed to be having this training, but he knew that only a handful of Badger's enforcers were going to attend. The crime boss wanted most of them doing what they were doing now while the battle waged on the walls; defending his various gambling and prostitution establishments from anyone who might want to take the opportunity to steal from him. When the attack was beaten off, as it probably would be, he wanted to be able to carry on with his business as if nothing had happened. If he didn't contribute to the city's defence, though, then the police would know and they would use it as an excuse to raid his premises, so Loach and a couple of others were offered up as a token gesture, for the sake of appearances. Loach gritted his teeth in annoyance. He didn't mind the training so much. It would be good fun in other circumstances, but it was getting in the way of his rising higher in Badger's organisation.

     At least Randall seemed to be making good progress. People were talking about Watt Fletcher all over the city. The hero of Duffield. The people's champion who was going to bring the aristocrats to heel. Make them bring taxes down to a manageable level and make them shed their share of blood in defence of the city. And not just the knights who made a sport of it. Putting on armour and fighting for their own glory. All the aristocrats. All of them who were young and healthy enough to hold a weapon. The people flocked to Randall's rallies and demonstrations and the police always turned up in force to 'keep the peace'. It was only a matter of time before they tried to arrest him, and if he resisted or slipped away he would be officially labelled an agitator and that was when the fun would really begin.

     The Sergeant finally dismissed them and Loach and the others left to make way for the next batch of trainees. Along the wall Loach saw other groups of conscripts making their way back down the steps to street level, on their way back to their normal lives until they were called back for their next training session. Some of them were grumbling to themselves, or to anyone close enough to listen. "I already know how to use a spear!" One man was saying to no-one in particular. "A sword too! My pa been teaching me since I were old enough ter hold 'em!"

     "You an everyone else," said an older man walking beside him. A baker, Loach thought. He still had flour in the sleeves of his tunic, but he had the look of an experienced fighting man. A look he recognised from his days in the Atlantic States army. "We all know how ter fight orcs. Fighting one on one, that's the easy part. You got an orc in front of you, you stick him before he sticks you, but what if there's a dozen orcs and a dozen of us facing 'em? We got to learn how to fight 'em without getting in each others way. We got ter learn how to obey orders so fast that we jump before the Sergeant's even opened his mouth. That's how we survived the last incursion, twenty years back. I were only a kid back then, no older than them two strawheads, but we fought 'em back by fighting together, as a unit, so when the Sergeant tells you ter do something, you do it. Understand?" The other man nodded silently.

     Reaching street level, Loach paused before the news wall and scanned his eyes across the latest headlines, newer ones overlapping older ones, the whole thing protected from the rain by a tiled overhang. The three wanted posters of himself, Randall and Jane, featuring hand drawn images of their faces that thankfully bore little resemblance to the reality, had been partially covered by a notice of advice from the Mayor to conserve food and water in case the city came under seige. Sealed water storage jars were available from the nearest supply warehouse for those who didn't already have them, it said, and all wells needing to be re-dug or purified were to be ready to draw water before the end of the week. Anyone caught raiding the granaries or root cellars would be summarily executed. Anyone conscripted into the defence of the city who failed to report for duty when required would also be executed. Agitators would be executed and public gatherings were banned for the duration of the emergency.

     Pretty run of the mill for a city expecting to come under siege, Loach thought. At least they didn't have to worry about enemy spies and saboteurs. Any orc that tried to enter the city on such a mission would be chopped to pieces by the first people who saw it. There was no need to check the identities of unfamiliar people, something that would have made life very difficult for the hibernators. Every person in the city was a friend and an ally just by virtue of being human.

     Randall was holding court in the delivery yard behind a brickworks, standing on a pile of fired clay bricks to talk to the fifty or so people crowded around him. He was putting on a limp, gained, he said, while in battle with the orc Chieftain, as an excuse to avoid being conscripted for war duty. As a refugee from the twenty first century, he was quite possible the only man on the planet who was completely untrained in the use of a weapon, but he would have found a way to excuse himself from any coming battle even if he'd been the greatest warrior on Earth. He wasn't going to be cheated out of his destiny as master of the solar system by a lucky strike from some random orc.

     "I have seen the brave men on the walls preparing to defend this beautiful city and the people in it," he said, one arm spread out towards the south where the wall was nearest. "Butchers, bakers and candlestick makers. All prepared to lay down their lives in defence of their families and their loved ones. Every man among you is ready to take your place among them if the orcs attack. Every one of you has the courage to stand the wall, among men who will become closer to you than brothers. Men with whom you will share a bond that no outsider can understand. Men in such different trades that you might never otherwise have met. Blacksmiths standing alongside tailors. Road workers standing with carriage drivers. Oilers standing a watch with hall boys. But you know who you will never see standing on the wall, shedding his blood to defend the city?"

     He stared out across his crowd, all of whom were hanging on his every word with rapt attention. He drew in his breath, and shouted his next words so that they were heard not only inside the brickworks but inside the buildings across the street as well despite the clatter of weaving machinery. Words so strident and demanding that everyone for fifty yards along either side of the street stopped where they were and turned in sudden alarm, aware that passionate emotions were being aroused somewhere nearby and fearful that those passions might be turned upon them. Whoever that voice is issuing from, they thought, please don't let me be the target of his anger.

     "Noblemen!" shouted Randall, and a great cheer of agreement went up from the crowd. "Oh I know that some of them dress up in fancy armour and go out to fight, but they do that for their own glory, not to protect you. You never see them standing the wall. You never see a Baron or a Lord rubbing shoulders with honest labourers. You do the fighting, you do the dying, and they sit, fat and contented, in their mansions, laughing at the dirty, uncouth labourers who risk their lives to keep them safe, and every year the taxes go up and up and up. It's time it ended! It's time they were made to do their share!"

     A great roar of agreement went up from the crowd, but a young boy was running in from the street outside, shouting at the top of his voice. "Woodentops!" he cried. "There's woodentops coming!'

     Randall nodded to the boy to show he'd heard. "I shall speak to you again," he promised. "Take heart, you are not alone. When every working man in the city stands as one, we can do anything!"

     The crowd gave one last cheer, then began hurriedly dispersing, running down alleys or climbing over walls to get away before the police arrived. A man helped Randall down from the pile of bricks and then produced a key to open a back door in the building behind them. He gestured for Randall to precede him in.

     Loach ran over to join them but the man stepped in his path, one hand going for the knife at his belt. "Not this way," he warned.

     "It's okay, Deeks," said Randall. "It's a friend." He beckoned for Loach to follow him into the building. Deeks glared at him as he went past, then followed him in and closed the door behind them, locking it again.

     "Nice speech," said Loach. They were in a dimly lit storeroom, he saw. Wooden crates and sacks of grain were piled up against the walls. A cat sitting on a pile of matting opened its eyes to blink curiously at them.

     "Thanks." Randall turned to Deeks. "Thank you," he said. "I want you to organise another meeting for tomorrow. You're getting the idea now. A hidden place with plenty of escape routes."

     "One day, it'll be them wanting to escape from us," said Deeks, a fanatical look in his eye. He turned to Loach. "You sure he's okay? You can trust him?"

     "I trust him to know that his interests are aligned with mine. Go now, and thanks again. You are my most trusted friend."

     Deeks smiled with pleasure, then opened another door and disappeared through it. They heard floorboards creak as he crossed the building and another door opening and closing.

     Randall sighed with relief. "Now we can talk freely," he said. "How was defence training?"

     "Interesting," said Loach, "but frustrating. I'd pretty much secured my place as Machine's number two, then this happens. Now others are taking the chance to wheedle themselves into his good graces and when I finally get back I'll have to bump them back out. Work I wasn't expecting to have to do."

     "Well, it's not as though you'll be starting all over again," said Randall. "The lower ranks know you now. They know to fear you. They know what'll happen if they don't move aside for you, give you back the place you've earned."

     Loach nodded thoughtfully. "The trouble is, Machine pretty much knows that I want to replace him. He may even suspect me of wanting to replace Badger, which I do, of course. It's probably going to come down to which of us kills the other first."

     "If you kill Machine, Badger will have you killed."

     Loach nodded. "Fortunately, accidents happen. Even to people like Machine. Or perhaps the orcs will overrun the city and kill the lot of us first."

     "Let's hope not. Have you had anything to eat yet?"

     "An egg and a couple of rashers of bacon this morning."

     "Come and eat with me. My people have found me another safe house in Mason Street. An attic over a dyeing shop."

     "We killed a man in Mason Street a few days back," said Loach. "Small time independent operator who tried to avoid paying his percentage to Badger. We had to wait for him to come home. The smell of the chemicals made my head spin."

     "Well, I probably won't be staying there very long. Too dangerous to stay in one spot more than a day or two. Coming?"

     Loach nodded and followed Randall out of the room. From outside came the sounds of policemen searching the yard for evidence.