The firing range field was brown grass, last mown by push reels a month ago. Evergreens stood like a wall all around, with hay-backed targets in front of a rock-and-clay scarp. There were stands of seating to either side of the firing line, with the Leaders Booth festooned with the flag of Orange and red, white, and blue streamers celebrating the Free Lands who stand against the Union of the Door to the north and south.

Fires were dancing on the periphery, roasting skewers of steak, salmon, onions, and tomatoes for the onlookers. The smoke drifted among the pines like gray fingers brushing back the green hair of the world.

Kath scanned the gathered crowds and located Angela Belle, standing with her rough men in a shirt gaudily decorated in gold and silver discs. She looked at Beamish and Yan, who were thrusting a rose back-and-forth, arguing over who should wear it.

She took and deep breath, brushed her red curls behind her ears, and crossed the field, past the section of Coranobis gleefully readying their guns, to Angela Belle.

“This will be the test of it,” she said. It was a line she had been practicing for hours. She struggled to keep her face from betraying that fact.

“Kath,” Angela said, with a chuckle. She nodded her men off. “The test is just a formality. The old man’s idea, really.”

“Really?” Kath said. She regretted her tone immediately. “Well, he’s always looking out for the Orange.”

Angela nodded. “He is.”

They stood for a moment, glancing back and forth between the gunners and the targets.

“Looks like snow,” Kath said, and regretted that, too.

“A little early for Orange,” Angela said, “but yes. I heard it snowed a few days ago. I’m used to Roanoke weather, where it snows earlier than here. Up in the valley and all that.”

Kath couldn’t resist. “I’m quite used to Orange weather myself.” She regretted that boast, as well. The contest would decide who would know Orange better in the future. If she lost, she’d be forced to sell her niter in Nova, swarming with eager inland merchants, or in Fredericksburg or Tidewater, where she’d be competing with merchants from the sea.

Angela was nodding and grinning.

“You like one of the Orange captains,” she said. “Harun? Part of the family?”

“He is well married,” Kath said.

Angela laughed, looking at Coran’s gunners with a practiced nonchalance.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re friends, with him and his wife.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

Angela shrugged with her eyelids lowered.

“It must be embarrassing that Coranobis was chosen over Harun to conduct the test. An outsider from Nova. You’re an Orange woman. It must irk you.”

Kath lowered her eyes on the woman. She knew a skirmish when she saw one, even if it were a social skirmish. She recognized the flanking maneuver. An attempt to divide an opponent. What was this woman about?

“Coranobis is also well married,” Kath said. “To a Truslow family woman.”

“He’s not a Truslow, though?” Angela said, looking across the field at Coranobis’s men preparing their guns. She turned back to Kath. “And neither is she, really. Laura Bankhart’s father was a Tidewater man as I understand it. A merchant out of Yorktown.”

Beamish and Yan walked up. Beamish was wearing the rose, and Yan was wearing a sprig of holly.

“And, you’re a merchant from Roanoke,” Kath said to Angela. “There are a lot of foreigners at the Fort today.”

“I’m from Cornwall, across the sea,” Beamish said with a stupid grin and a slap on Kath’s shoulder. She smirked.

“I’m a Columbian,” Yan said, offering Angela a peach. “Well, from Baltimore, but still in Greater Columbia.”

Angela scowled at him. He shrugged with a smirk and handed the peach to Kath.

“We’ve got plenty of togetherness here in Orange,” Kath said. “No matter where we’re from.”

“The attendees are seated,” Angela said with a casual shrug.

Aadam and Huwaa’ were indeed in their Meeting Room chairs in the Leading Booth, Ridvan in his humble chair at his son’s side. The section leaders, including Harun and Severide, were seated on a bench in front of the Leading Booth. The colonels sat in chairs to the left side of the bench. Colonel Culver had an air of stoic detachment. To the right of the bench sat General Familius Weaver in a chair sporting a miniature flag of Orange.

Kath scanned the field, noting Coran’s men stepping up to their mark, a row of logs half-buried. She took in the crowds gathered in a rough semi-circle behind the mark, laughing and chattering, many of them holding steaming skewers. She turned back to the Leading Booth to see Harun glance at Ridvan over his shoulder. The old man nodded at him blankly. Harun nodded back, then stared at his boots with a wry face.

The regular men were in bleachers opposite the Leading Booth, all glaring at Coranobis and his men gathered at the firing line. Kath noted Locksley among them in his red-and-black jacket. He was making a grand show of sharing his comrades’ contempt, even though he could not possibly understand the politics of the field sections.

Kath turned to the wives and children, gathered in a group near the Leading Booth. She noted the beauty of the bunch, Marina Truslow, glancing with worry toward her husband Harun. Was she concerned he would speak out of turn, spoil the test? Harun was passionate, unpredictable. Before Marina, he was a whirlwind of uncontrolled emotions and bad decisions. She stilled him, kept him in check. Kath dreaded to think what he would have become without her.

Near Marina were the girls. There was the strong-willed pair, Holland and Justice. Holland was pretending to listen to some green-haired genetic girl who was yammering obliviously. She kept glancing across the field. Kath followed her eyes. Locksley, who was busy glaring theatrically at Coranobis. Kath chuckled at the drama of youth. She saw Justice follow Holland’s eyes as well, seeing the same thing Kath had. Justice elbowed Holland with a sly grin. Holland sneered at her, then stared at the ground in the shame of her preadolescent obsession.

Kath saw her niece Alexandra, standing with the servants in a cluster next to the regulars’ bleachers. Chief maid of the household, she should have been maintaining the decorum of her maids. Instead, she was scanning the crowds, like her aunt. But, with a purpose in her eyes.

Kath scanned the crowds. What was missing, hidden, lost? She did not see Benjamin Black. Surely, the boy was not forced to work the chimneys, clockworks, and lightning rods during the contest. Where could he be?

She turned to the Leading Booth and caught Jeddy Ridvan staring at her. Had he followed her eyes to Alexandra’s eyes and ferreted out the drama? So many layers. He confirmed her notice of him with a nod, then a second, deeper nod with closed eyes. Was he reassuring her of something? That Benjamin was okay?

She turned away from the old man, suddenly nervous. She knew he was wise, but was he really that capable of ferreting out one’s thoughts from a few glances? Kath’s mind battled itself. She had ferreted out the drama among Holland, Justice, and Locksley. And, she had ferreted out Alexandra’s concern. Jeddy Ridvan could very well be one step ahead of her. Perhaps one step ahead of everyone, even in this contest.

Beamish and Yan were arguing whether they should trade, rose for holly sprig.

“A rose is but for a moment,” Beamish said. “Holly is evergreen.”

Yan scoffed. “Not once it’s cut.”

Kath touched her red hair. Was she the rose, but for the moment in Orange’s good graces? Was Angela the evergreen holly? Had Jeddy Ridvan judged her a fading flower of commerce?

“Both are cut from a living bush,” Beamish pontificated, his face held high. “But the uncut rose bush will still fade in winter, while the holly bush remains green.”

A light snow began to fall on the crowds. Kath looked up into the gray sky. Snow in Orange. She had been right.

Yan shrugged and traded his holly sprig for Beamish’s rose.

Kath risked a look at Jeddy Ridvan, who was staring serenely toward the targets with the slightest of grins.

—

Justice caught Holland glancing across the field at Locksley. She was unsure at first, but Holland looked dutifully at the yammering, green-haired girl before allowing her eyes a quick dash at the boy.

Justice chuckled and elbowed her friend.

“That’s rude,” Holland said with a sneer.

“Rules, rules,” Justice said. “You like him.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Holland said. “He’s in field school now. I’ll never see him.”

“You don’t know the rules of field school?” Justice said.

“What rules?”

Justice grinned wide. “They have to camp outside of the Fort once a month.”

Holland bounced on her heels. “No they don’t!”

Justice nodded. “Not right outside the Fort. The sections with the boys camp down in the valley. To keep the boys from sneaking back inside at night.”

Holland was breathless. “How do you know this?”

“Why do you care?”

Holland glared at her. Justice grinned and elbowed her again.

“Kath told me,” she said.

Holland shrugged. “Rules are rules.”

Justice frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Holland shrugged again, her eyes dancing in a forced nonchalance.

“They keep the boys from sneaking inside at night. I’ll never see him.”

—

A horn announced the contest. A ram’s horn, bought from one of the sheep ranches deep in Appalachia. Their availability in Orange made the Jewish community happy, so the commerce was encouraged by the Leading Couple. It also brought in good wool, through Roanoke.

“There are so many here,” said Huwaa’. “This should be quite the event.”

Aadam nodded. “Word will go round.”

Ridvan stood from his chair and nodded to a boy standing alongside the Leading Booth. The boy raced up the stairs to grab the Jeddy’s chair. Ridvan turned to Aadam and Huwaa’.

“I shall sit at the firing line,” he said, “to ensure everything it on the level.”

Ridvan glanced down to see Harun looking up at the exchange. He winked at his great-grandson. Captain Harun squinted in suspicion.

As he descended the stairs, followed by the chair-bearing boy, Ridvan veered toward Colonel Culver. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Stand with me,” the old man said. “Your section is in play.”

Culver nodded and followed the old man, who was strolling toward the wives and children. He honed in on Marina, who was lecturing the girls, Holland and Justice.

“Having a crush is perfectly natural,” she said.

“My lady,” Ridvan said.

Marina turned and smiled at the old man. Then, she turned back to Justice.

“You leave her alone about it,” she said. “One day, you’ll have a crush and Holland will be supportive of you.”

She turned toward the other girl.

“Won’t you?”

Holland lowered her eyelids and nodded.

“My lady,” Ridvan repeated. “Would you join Colonel Culver and I at the firing line?”

Marina looked at him with surprise.

“But, Jeddy,” she said. “Why?”

The old man turned to Culver with a grin, before looking back at Marina.

“Is your husband not also a captain of one of Colonel Culver’s sections?”

Marina grinned and nodded.

“He’s not involved in the contest,” Ridvan said, “but you would honor him, and the Company, by standing beside me as the shots go off?”

She curtseyed.

“I would,” she said, “with Colonel Culver’s leave.”

Culver groaned and rolled his eyes.

“If the Jeddy wishes.”

Ridvan smirked and nodded back at the boy carrying his chair. Marina glanced at Harun, her face alight. He was staring intently at the exchange, a smile growing as he watched his wife following Jeddy Ridvan toward the firing line.

The old man, with three in tow, walked slowly toward the Coran’s line of men. The boy set the chair a respectable distance behind the line, bowed toward the chair, and took three steps backward. Jeddy Ridvan took his seat, Colonel Culver and Marina moving up to stand at his shoulders.

“Captain Coranobis,” the old man said.

Coran turned and snapped to attention. His men followed suit.

“My Jeddy,” the captain said.

“May the contest begin.”

Coranobis nodded and turned to his men. “Twelve rounds of the southern powder!”

That was a convention Ridvan had suggested. Northern and southern, rather than Shenandoah and Roanoke. Rather than Kathleen Franklin and Angela Belle.

Three of Coran’s men stepped forward and took aim at three targets. They took careful aim and fired, one at a time. The crowd cheered.

Kath rolled her eyes at Beamish and Yan. They glanced at each other. Kath huffed.

“They can’t see the targets,” she said. “What are they cheering at?”

The three men marched to the rear of the section and began cleaning their long guns.

“Clean them well, boys!” Coranobis sang. “No lingering powder.”

They nodded at their captain.

Coran grinned, raised his hands to the crowds, and shouted: “Next three!”

Three men stepped up to the firing line.

Severide elbowed Harun.

“Coranobis is pointedly ignoring how Jeddy has honored your wife.”

Harun frowned and shook his head as the shots rang out.

“I get it,” he growled. “He had his reasons for not picking my section and he wants to make up for it by choosing Marina to observe beside him.”

“And Culver,” said Severide. “He’s placing Marina on a level with our colonel.”

Harun sat up. A third trio of shots pounded the air. Powder smoke drifted past the Leading Booth. Huwaa’ coughed and Aadam waved his hands in annoyance.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Harun said. He looked out at Ridvan, sitting stoically in his chair with Culver and Marina at his shoulders.

Severide grinned and nudged him. Harun turned and met his lieutenant’s eyes as the final shots of the “southern powder” were fired.

“Yeah,” Harun said, “that’s a neat trick. Jeddy is wise.”

“He is,” Severide said.

Three boys ran out to gather the targets. They unpinned them, carried them to the Leading Booth, and laid them on the ground. Three other boys had run out to pin up three new targets.

“Twelve rounds to the northern powder,” Coranobis shouted. “Step up, men!”

“Men,” Angela said to her men. “He called them boys when they were firing my powder.”

“Maybe he’s a Truslow man after all,” a gruff-looking fellow with a graying red beard said.

She scowled at him.

“Let’s hope not, Sheffield.”

Shots were fired. The crowds cheered again.

“See,” Beamish said to Kath, with a tweak at the holly on his collar. “They still can’t see the targets.”

She lowered her eyebrows at him.

“Exactly. What are they cheering at? Clearly not us.”

“At the effort?” said Yan.

Another volley of shots rang out.

“You see how his demeanor has changed,” said Holland nodding across the field at Locksley.

“Since he was slapped with the red?” Justice shrugged. “I guess.”

Holland glared at her.

“Okay,” Justice said. “He is different. He’s afraid of what the men will do to him in the field.”

Holland’s face fell. Justice scrunched her lips in repentance.

“Okay,” Justice repeated. “I’m sorry. You’re right. He is taking this more seriously than he took story time.”

Holland looked up at her and smiled reluctantly.

The air shook with another round of gunfire.

“Jeddy, the crowds seem taken by the spectacle,” Marina said, leaning over the old man.

Ridvan nodded and took in the gathered people with a grin.

“The concept was sound,” Culver said. “Rational, practical, and well-thought-out.”

Ridvan gave Marina an amused look, then turned to the colonel.

“Thank you for saying so, Ronald.”

The final volley burst forth and the crowds exploded in cheers and applause. From far behind the range, celebratory gunfire erupted from the other sections.

Culver turned and scowled.

“There’d better not be any balls wasted in that.”

Ridvan waved him off.

“Let them have their fun.”

Boys ran out to retrieve the three targets. They unpinned them and carried them to the Leading Booth, laying them on the ground in front of the previous trio. The officers leaned forward in their seats to compare them. Aadam and Huwaa’ stood and leaning over the Leading Booth’s banister.

Harun glanced back at them with a wide grin. They nodded at him.

“The northern powder,” announced Aadam, “is more accurate.”

Kath spun to Beamish and Yan with a broad, bright smile.

Angela simply stared off into the hillside over the rock-and-clay scarp where the targets had been.

Ridvan glanced back at Marina and Culver, then put his hands on the arms of his chair. They stepped forward and held the back as the old man stood.

“The contest,” Ridvan spoke. The crowds fell silent. He walked slowly, purposefully toward the Leading Booth. Culver nodded at Marina and followed him. She smiled warmly at the colonel and rested both hands on the back of Jeddy’s chair.

“The contest is done,” Ridvan said. He turned and waved at Coranobis, who nodded solemnly.

Culver offered Coranobis a casual salute. It was returned smartly.

Harun groaned. Severide put a hand on his shoulder.

“And—” Jeddy Ridvan said.

His chair exploded.

Culver collapsed in a spray of blood. Ridvan stumbled forward onto his hands and knees.

Marina, and the chair, vanished in a cloud of smoke.

Men and boys rushed onto the field. Some of them crowded around their Jeddy, others around the fallen colonel. Ridvan waved at them dismissively before crumpling into a heap. Culver lay on his stomach in a pool of crimson.

Harun ran to where the chair had been. As the smoke cleared around him, a blackened patch of ground appeared, strewn with splinters and bits of gore.

Severide was suddenly at his captain’s side, scanning the burnt ground. He stomped out a lingering flame in the grass.

“Yá-Alláh,” he said.

Harun fell to his knees.