The Conscientious Objector

By Stephen Palmer

1914.

With the outbreak of war on the Continent, Erasmus Darwin finds himself caught up in a jingoistic fervour for which he feels no sympathy. Yet soon he is on the Western Front: frightened, appalled, and alone apart from a few pals who don't understand his pacifism.

Soon however he finds himself entangled in a secret mission the like of which has never been attempted, one which stretches his pacifism to the limit...

A unique and thought-provoking alternative history of the First World War from the author of Beautiful Intelligence and the Factory Girl trilogy.

The Factory Girl trilogy:
"I would highly recommend this to any steampunk lover..." SFF World
"It's a fascinating book and I very much enjoyed it." Nimue Brown
"As the first in a series this novel is pretty special... a thoroughly enjoyable and interesting read." Goodreads
"Provides an exciting ride trhough a clockwork version of Edwardian England, leading to a conclusion that brings together the various themes in a satisfying way." Amazon
"This is all good thought provoking stuff, that I thoroughly enjoyed..." Goodreads

• Language: English
• Publisher: infinity plus
• Release date: Dec 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393018933

Book preview

Some Reviews of Stephen Palmer’s Books

"A gonzo homage to the late Victorian/Edwardian British adventure yarn... imagine Michael Palin and Terry Jones’ Ripping Yarns doing a Steampunk episode with a large helping of early 70s British prog-rock psychedelia, some very peculiar flying machinora, and a chocolate train... Stephen Palmer is a writer you should read. His work is unique, original, sometimes challenging, always fresh and sometimes barking... Hairy London is strange, mad, subversive and possibly just a little bit dangerous. You won’t have encountered a vision of London like it." Amazing Stories

Stephen Palmer is a find. Time Out

Stephen Palmer has concocted a beguiling adventure that draws on some of the best sf of recent years for its basic themes... Starburst

Stephen Palmer’s imagination is fecund... Interzone

This latest novel confirms that in Stephen Palmer, science fiction has gained a distinctive new voice. Ottakar’s

Give him a try; his originality is refreshing. David V Barrett

... (a) supremely odd yet deeply rewarding experience. CCLaP

...a thrilling chase across a ravaged Europe, a burgeoning North Africa and balkanised US, interleaving excellent action set-pieces with fascinating philosophising on the nature of consciousness. A gripping read to the poignant last line. The Guardian, on Beautiful Intelligence

Palmer is a writer of unique and remarkable imagination. Teresa Edgerton, SFF Chronicles

The Conscientious Objector

Stephen Palmer

Published by

infinity plus

www.infinityplus.co.uk

Follow @ipebooks on Twitter

copyright © 2019 Stephen Palmer

Cover © Tom Brown,

with design © Stephen Palmer

No portion of this book may be reproduced by any means, mechanical, electronic, or otherwise, without first obtaining the permission of the copyright holder.

The moral right of Stephen Palmer to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

Books by Stephen Palmer

Memory Seed

Glass

Flowercrash

Muezzinland

Hallucinating

Urbis Morpheos

The Rat and The Serpent

Hairy London

Beautiful Intelligence

No Grave for a Fox

The Girl With Two Souls (Factory Girl, book one)

The Girl With One Friend (Factory Girl, book two)

The Girl With No Soul (Factory Girl, book three)

Tommy Catkins

The Autist

Contents

The Conscientious Objector

About the author

More from infinity plus

Dedicated to all my friends at SFF Chronicles,

especially,

Susan Boulton

Teresa Edgerton

Mike Franklin

Toby Frost

Tim James

Kenneth O'Brien

Juliana Spink Mills

Brian G. Turner

Bryan Wigmore

Jo Zebedee

The London Times

12 October 1911

BLACKMORE DEAD, FACTORY IN TURMOIL

Industrialist Confirmed Dead As Leading Figures Negotiate.

Leading Sheffield figures last night confirmed that Sir Tantalus Blackmore, the seventy-six-year-old engineer, tycoon and entrepreneur, is dead. It is also reported that his great Factory, which this year began producing horas at a rate too fast for the nation to cope with, has scaled back production. Mr Frank Darwin – son of the esteemed Charles – alongside Sir Herbert Spenser and Sir George Taubman Goldie, and Mr Darwin’s young nephew Erasmus, are all presently negotiating with automated individuals of the Factory interior – the so-called Duloids – in the hope of bringing about a negotiated truce. The British Army, sent in on the orders of Prime Minister Asquith, has been stood down. Mr Simon Blackmore, eldest son of the deceased industrialist, last night spoke out against what he called unwarranted interference from Mr Darwin and his cohort, going on to name Mr Darwin as the prime mover of a plot to take the Factory away from him. It is reported from Sheffield that the details of the truce may include hora manufacture, the rate of production, and the overseeing of Factory protocol.

1914

CHAPTER 1

Erasmus! You’re eighteen. A young man. Think of your country, think of your Queen. Sometimes we chaps have to fight to defend our honour. The call has come and every man has a duty to perform.

"But Frank! The call has not come."

D’you think it won’t? Think it’ll pass you by? Think you’re special, eh, is that what it is? Because of all that damn Factory business I suppose, yes, of course, with all your new friends hanging on your every word. Well I call it something else – cowardice.

Erasmus leaned back in his chair. In the stifling kitchen of Peak View House they sat opposing one another, Frank at the far end of the table with a slew of newspapers before him, Erasmus isolated, a mug of tea in his hand, a serving hora at his side.

Uncle, that is surely an accusation too far.

Frank ignored him, rustling his copy of the Yorkshire Post then raising it, so that his face could no longer be seen. Erasmus stared at the headlines.

BRITAIN DECLARES WAR ON GERMANY

German Army Violates Belgian Neutrality

British Expeditionary Force Already Moving

He sighed. At the back of his mind a similar scene played out, so long ago it seemed; a small drawing room in Frank’s club, he, Frank and Sir Spencer taking tea and scones, the discussion turning to matters of a war in Europe.

Sir Spencer insisting: Belgium will remain neutral, don’t you worry, Erasmus. Besides, the British Navy towers over it all. The Boche won’t dare let things slide to the extent of a blockade... Frank blustering: So what if there is a war? Would be rather excellent, don’t you think? Hordes of British cavalry galloping across the pristine fields of France, the clang of swords against swords... honour upheld and the Boche and all his damn allies sent back into their rabbit holes. Indeed, could hardly see how we could fail to win any war... Then Sir Spencer smiling at Erasmus: Your uncle is correct. There won’t be a European war... If there is it will be jolly quick and done with scrupulous virtue...

Frank?

Frank lowered the newspaper. What now?

Will there be conscription?

Not immediately. But thousands will enlist. Hundreds of thousands. Queen expects all men to do their duty.

Erasmus shuddered. He had read much discussion in the press about how it would all be over by Christmas, but the comments which stayed in his mind were from those who predicted an endless war of horror.

"You expect me to enlist, don’t you?"

Frank uttered a gasp of frustration. Expect you to do your duty to the country which raised you! All true British men will. No place for cowardice.

I do so wish you would not use that word.

Frank glared at him. No other word for it.

Again Erasmus sat back. He felt trapped. As his mind returned to the events of three years ago he said, Do you remember when those crooked men attacked your house?

Mmm, eh?

You gave me a buckshot pistol and told me to be a man. But I felt then that it was wrong for me so to act. Why do men have to settle their differences with weapons?

Frank gave a snort of contempt and raised his newspaper again. Can’t you feel the excitement in the air? he asked. Can’t you feel the enthusiasm?

Indeed I can, Erasmus replied, acknowledging the truth of the matter. And I can smell the blood too.

That blood, Frank muttered, will be stinking Boche blood. The damn Kaiser started all this, but we chaps will end it, and the French and the Russians too. For the last time, Erasmus – by next year we’ll all be sipping schnapps in Berlin.

Erasmus shook his head. I heartily hope I will not be. In fact, I believe I cannot be, since I am not yet nineteen, and may not be sent abroad.

Frank growled. Disappointing, he said. "You know as well as I do that any lad over fourteen will run to enlist – and officers will rightly turn a blind eye. Fourteen, Erasmus! Think of those brave boys as you sip your tea and refuse the Queen’s call."

Erasmus felt his skin crawl at this remark. He retorted, But why should I be bullied by imaginary fourteen-year-old–

"Bullying is it? Frank bellowed, standing up. Get you out of my kitchen Erasmus! Won’t hear any more of this talk."

Erasmus also stood up. A thought occurred to him. I will tell you what I will do, he said. I will ask an expert – I will gather facts, Uncle, like a good scientist should.

Whatever d’you mean by that?

Captain Smart – you remember him, perhaps? We went to Dronfield to see him and Captain de Havilland, who was your friend.

Yes, Frank said. What of them?

I will speak to Captain Smart at the regimental depot about all this. He will tell me how things are.

Gagh! Foolishness. Well, go then, ask your questions. I hope Captain Smart tells you the damn truth, and that you listen!

Erasmus glanced at the impassive faces of the horas, then departed the kitchen.

Frank’s voice followed him out. Don’t expect luncheon here! Shall be at my club, and don’t you dare follow me there!

Erasmus muttered to himself, "No chance of that."

He strode outdoors, but stopped on the road outside the house. As he glanced back a flood of memories returned, a chaotic host of fear, dread, anguish and joy... yet so little joy. Though he had just been called a young man, he felt older. He walked on, hands in his pockets, as the cabs and carriages of Sheffield passed him by.

In the town centre he paused for thought. A febrile atmosphere already enlivened the place: every other overheard word was Boche, Fritz or Hun, and every newspaper seller shouted out the news of European war. He looked around to see excited faces – men’s and women’s – and to hear talk of enlistment, guns and the field of honour. He heard of his Queen, of his country. Yet his emotions were dead to it all. No shred of enthusiasm made his heart pound. He stood alone.

A few weeks ago he had first heard the term conscientious objector. At the time he had not known what it meant. Later, he heard the word conchie, spat out by angry men. The hatred in their faces disgusted him. Yet was he not entitled to his views?

But he knew he had to come to a firm decision on his stance before it was too late. War between Britain and Germany was less than a day old, yet he had little time to act. The press if nobody else would inflame public opinion, most likely within days. He had to know where he stood before war fever infected everyone.

He walked on.

Soon afterwards, in a wide street of shops, he stepped aside to allow a group of women to pass by, all of them pushing infants in perambulators. He raised his hat to them, but in doing so bumped into a rack of books outside a bookshop. He knelt down to return the volumes to their rack.

A single book caught his eye: small, bound in pock-marked leather, its title printed in tarnished gold – or more likely in some cheaper metal, stamped to simulate gold. Amy’s Garden & Amy’s Adventures In Narkissos, by Reverend Carolus Dodgson. For a few breathless seconds he stared at the tiny book. A rare copy of the original dual edition! It fitted easily into the palm of his artificial left hand. Though he no longer believed in signs and portents, he stood up, taking the book in his real hand to grip it tight. He knew at once that he would buy it. For Kora, this book had been a talisman – her heart, as she had described it during those final days in Africa. So it could be for him too.

He purchased the book then put it into the left pocket of his shirt. So small, it fitted there with a number of other papers: next to his heart. He walked on, a little happier.

~

Netherthorpe Barracks was a hive of activity, a palpable thrill in the air. Everywhere Erasmus saw discarded newspapers, all of them blaring war news in great black letters.

He took out one of Frank’s FRS cards, scribbled his own name on it, then handed it over to the sentry on duty, requesting an interview. The sentry clicked his heels together and smiled, then turned away. Erasmus knew without thinking that the sentry had assumed the best – another enlistment, another solider. He shuddered as he watched the man march away.

A few minutes later Captain Smart received him inside a dusty hut on the edge of the barracks. The August sun shone high and hot, and the hut atmosphere was muggy. Stained teacups and a few battered biscuits lay amidst piles of papers on a table.

Master Darwin! Captain Smart said. Take a seat. Come to enlist, then. Good! We need brainy chaps like you.

But–

Factory skirmish, wasn’t it? Nineteen eleven! I remember it well, and a vicious business it was, what with all those centaurs – and worse whizz-bang. But you and a few others got us all out of trouble, eh? Ol’ Frank told me everything about it. Captain Smart got up and began pacing up and down, and now Erasmus noticed that he suffered with a pronounced limp. Knee got damaged during Factory operations after you flew inside, Captain Smart explained. Almost got me invalided out of the Army, but I fought those back-room generals every step of the way and kept my commission. I may be off the field of honour when Fritz comes knocking on French front doors, but nothing will stop me doing my duty.

Erasmus said nothing as he glanced down at his artificial hand.

You well, dear chap? Captain Smart said, leaning over him. Quick cuppa? A biscuit? Jolly hot today.

Erasmus raised his left arm. Sir, he said. I am disabled. I cannot enlist, can I?

Captain Smart stared, then chuckled. My dear chap! Don’t you see? Makes you better, stronger. Some kind of powerful hand, ain’t it? With that he grabbed Erasmus’ hand and raised it, squinting at it with his right eye shut. Then he let it drop, to continue, I should think you’ll be the envy of all the lads in your platoon. You might even rise to lead a section. You have hora experience, I seem to recall Frank saying, back in the day – and a good deal of it. Oh, yes, every platoon has a signaler and an automater these days. Horas make fine soldiers, though, obviously, a bit slow. You see, we know Fritz has been trying to steal our designs. He winked at Erasmus. But our boys will beat any clockwork Hun, that’s for certain. Sure you won’t have a biscuit, dear chap? You look quite pale and sweaty. ’Tis rather hot today I s’pose.

What exactly is an automater? Erasmus asked.

Special job, just like a platoon flag-wagger. A serviceman who’s a hora expert. You’d make a fine one!

Erasmus shook his head. But surely, my hand...

Again Captain Smart took the artificial hand, so that Erasmus was forced to sit up, else have his left arm yanked out of its socket. Hond make, I see, said Captain Smart, reading the inscription on the wrist. Hond 250 BH. Ha! From Mr Apollyon’s shop I have no doubt. Top quality, and I can see it must’ve cost ol’ Frank a pretty penny. He let the hand drop. "No, I’ve got no qualms about you, Master Darwin. You’re in the pink all right."

Feeling the conversation creep out of control Erasmus sat up, placed his hands out of sight on his lap, and said, I am not nineteen for some while yet–

Oh, no matter! Captain Smart interrupted. "We tend to overlook age for good recruits. Why, there’s dozens of lads hardly out of school already trying to enlist. Of course, we take out the weedy, milksop boys fresh from the schoolyard, but apart from that... We need every man. Every one, you see?"

But... does an automater actually fight? Erasmus asked.

Now Captain Smart frowned, staring at him. Not sure what you mean, dear chap.

Fight – on the battle field.

Of course. He’s a soldier.

Indeed, said Erasmus. He is a soldier.

Captain Smart nodded once. Likely you’ll be in the Queen’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry. Sixth service battalion.

Sir, sir! Erasmus said. I beg that we do not run before we can walk. Wouldn’t any enlister have to take a medical test before becoming a solider?

Yes. But you’ll pass, don’t worry. There came a long, muffled chuckle as Captain Smart sipped his tea. And the joke of it is... I won’t even have to slip the M.O. a shilling to get you through!

Erasmus shifted in his seat, ever more uncomfortable with this talk. But sir... I surely could never pass such a test.

Captain Smart leaned forward, and now a darker expression lay upon his face. "Don’t you tell me my job, Master Darwin. I am a commissioned officer of the British Army."

Erasmus hesitated.

What do you say, lad?

Yes, sir, Erasmus muttered.

Good. Then all that remains for us to do is get the correct papers and take the oath of allegiance. Cushy to a chap like you. He slapped his hands upon the table. Excellent! Then we’re nearly done with this interview, I think?

Erasmus shook his head. Wait, sir, please. Have you heard talk of... conscientious objectors?

Captain Smart grimaced. Unfortunately I have. Lot of Marxist cowards, nothing more. I’d put ’em in front of Fritz’s cannons just to get rid of ’em. Why?

Erasmus shrugged. I just wondered what the general opinion of them was. There seem to be one or two of them.

Conchie lies for thirty pieces of conchie silver, Captain Smart declared. Not fit for decent chaps to discuss.

But... just hypothetically, Captain Smart... should not a man be allowed to make a decision about the course of his own life?

Captain Smart laughed. My dear chap, where did you read that? Das Kapital? I’m damn sure it wasn’t in the Yorkshire Post.

But – hypothetically...

"What are you blathering on about? No conchie is going to get anywhere near the British Army, it’d be nothing short of a disgrace to let one in. You seriously think those traitors are going to let their Marxist footle influence us?"

Now Erasmus felt a touch of desperation. I do believe, sir, that every man on British soil deserves the right to decide.

"Darwin! Don’t you see, dear chap? We none of us have any choice about this war. The Kaiser has wallowed straight into Belgium and forced our hand. A treaty is a treaty–"

Captain Smart! Erasmus interrupted, leaping out of his chair. "Sir, please, though Belgian neutrality is agreed by treaty, Britain has no formal alliance with France. We do not have to step into this European war."

Captain Smart’s mouth fell open. He raised his right hand to point at Erasmus. "You... you’re a conchie. I see it now! You’re a damn conchie, come to test me!"

Captain Smart, you exaggerate, Erasmus replied. I only wanted to ask–

"A damn conchie traitor! In my hut!"

Not me, sir.

Captain Smart jumped forward, bumping into the table so that cups and plates smashed to the floor amidst a flurry of papers. And one of Darwin’s brood! Dear God! Does he know? He took Erasmus’ jacket collar and shook him. "Does he know, you damn conchie traitor?"

I am not a conchie! Erasmus shouted, fear making his body shake. He wriggled out of Captain Smart’s grip, then staggered backwards. "I said nothing on that matter. My queries were hypothetical, that is all. You sir, you have taken umbrage at me, and for no reason at all."

Gasping for breath, Captain Smart stared at him. For a few moments he said nothing, before he stood upright, straightened his uniform then turned on his heel. He sat down in his chair. Master Darwin, he said, poking amongst his papers and retrieving a pencil. "You are one of old Darwin’s, aren’t you?"

Erasmus felt his emotions fade. Yes, he replied in a subdued voice. Indeed I am, but Frank’s nephew, not his son.

His nephew, you say? Where then is your home if not Peak View House?

In Silver Street, sir.

Captain Smart nodded, jotting notes down on a piece of paper. No matter. I am done here, Master Darwin. I have heard quite enough, I think – and it should be added that you have said quite enough.

But I am not–

Be quiet now! I offered nothing against you, did I? I merely said that we are done here, me and you – at least in terms of speech. Yes... we are all done on those matters which are of importance.

Erasmus did not like the tone of this declaration. If I have offended you, sir, he said, I am truly sorry. I merely asked a question. There was no implication of dishonour.

"Indeed not, dear chap... indeed not. As you say."

What then should I do now?

Do?

Erasmus nodded. I came here for advice. Trying to make the best case he could, he added, I told Frank I was coming here to visit you. I do know that you are socially acquainted with my uncle.

This made Captain Smart sit up. Then Frank’s house is your house? Your own father is dead?

He is most often abroad, sir. At this moment he is in Canada.

Again Captain Smart nodded, jotting down a few notes. Then my advice is for you to return to Peak View House and say nothing of our talk today. Ha ha! It will all be forgotten I expect.

Though Erasmus felt relieved to hear this, he nonetheless remained wary of Captain Smart. Then, with your permission, I shall depart, he said. And again, if I have in any way offended you...

Dear chap! A piffling whimsy. Think nothing of it.

Thank you, Captain Smart. Good day to you.

Erasmus walked out of the hut without further word. The sun beat down on him from gin-clear skies, and he felt dizzy: weak and thirsty. He had the feeling that he had not heard the last of Captain Smart.

~

Bland, warm days passed. As predicted, the press began to whip up a fever of anti-German invective. Erasmus read some of it but soon grew weary of the rhetoric.

Then, four days after his interview with Captain Smart, a large envelope arrived, delivered with the rest of the morning’s first post by a hora. Frank opened the letter. Erasmus, not watching, first recognised its import when he glanced up to see Frank’s face white, his expression aghast.

Frank! he said. What news?

Frank stared at him. But... but...

Erasmus sat up, recognising Frank’s shock. What is it? My father?

"You enlisted?" Frank replied.

Erasmus could make nothing of the words for a few moments.

"But how could you? Frank said. You were set against it all."

Enlist? Erasmus murmured. But I have not.

Frank tossed the letter across the table. It read without ambiguity: regular army for three years’ service or the duration of the war, whichever was the longer. Erasmus had presented himself, passed the medical and taken an oath of allegiance to Queen and country.

But this is a fraud! he said. I have done no such thing!

Frank said, You went to see Captain Smart?

Erasmus grasped then what might have happened. Frank repeated his query. Yes, Uncle, he replied, but nothing was said of enlistment. This is a fraudulent document! He threw it upon the breakfast table. It can have no value. I did not enlist, nor would I ever.

Frank retrieved the letter and re-read it. You have, he said. Oh, Erasmus. Why?

But I did not! I swear to you. Captain Smart...

Captain Smart?

Erasmus nodded. Captain Smart was, perhaps, offended... by something I said...

What? Frank demanded. What exactly?

He imagined me to be a conscientious objector.

Why? Did you declare yourself?

No, Uncle! I swear to you that I did not. It was a regrettable misunderstanding, for which I sincerely apologised. I thought that would be an end to the matter. I merely asked... a question or two.

Tears brightened Frank’s eyes. But you will go away from me. You are a soldier now.

A soldier? No. This is a deceit. It has no merit.

"You are a soldier – it will be so recorded. You have a number and a battalion in a regiment."

Erasmus shivered. Is it... the Queen’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry?

How did you know?

Erasmus fell forward, leaning on the table to hide his head in his arms. Then he said, Captain Smart has tricked me. He has lied to make it appear I enlisted. He sat up, staring at Frank. You must get me out. This is fraud! You know Captain Smart, you know him well... Frank, you must get me out of this!

But Frank shook his head. "This is Army business. No sway there for me. He sat back, and a sob escaped his lips. My boy! You will depart... you will be taken away from me. I... can see it all now."

No! Erasmus cried, hammering his fist against the table. I will refuse to go. I will declare it all fraudulent.

"If you do not do as you are told you will be guilty of desertion. Don’t you know what that means? They would court-martial you. You would be torn to pieces by the locals! What d’you think the decent folk of Sheffield would do to you if they heard?"

"Frank... I beg! This is phantasy. None of what you say will happen. We are rational, decent men, and this is clearly a piece of deceptive artifice. You must utilise your friendship with Captain Smart. I will not be a soldier."

"You are a soldier! This letter is proof. You turn away from the Army, you will become a deserter. They’ll tear you to shreds. Erasmus – I did not lie to you before! Truly there are in Sheffield lads of fourteen desperate to enlist. Country has gone war mad already. If you desert before a shot is fired you’ll be accused of the worst variety of hypocrisy. A coward! And I cannot have my good name besmirched so."

Erasmus stared. But Captain Smart is your friend.

Frank nodded, wiping tears from his cheeks. You recall the incident at Dronfield, he said. Captain Smart and Captain de Havilland treated us as though we were inconsequential busybodies. Yes, indeed he and I are socially connected, but the Army is the Army. Erasmus, God’s truth – I have no sway there. None whatsoever. This is a done deal. Captain Smart has bested you.

Erasmus took the letter. "But I cannot go. It is entirely against my principles. I should refuse to fight."

Refuse?

How can they force me to take up arms?

Now Frank wept without restraint. My dearest boy! he said. "You yet see so little of this. Country is positively boiling with war fever. If you went to foreign fields your servicemen pals would strike down any deserter – any coward. You would be for the firing squad."

Erasmus sat back. In bitter tones he said, Then I must do my duty, as before, and with some relish, you told me to do.

"Erasmus. Enough. To hold a chance comment against me in such circumstances is a ploy of spite. And you are not spiteful."

Erasmus sighed, but said nothing more.

Spoken then in the heat of the moment, Frank continued. I little knew that this, so terrible a thing, would occur. To my own flesh and blood...

Erasmus looked up at him. What will become of me?

Frank glanced down at the artificial hand, lips compressed.

It is no good, Erasmus sighed, divining his uncle’s thought. Captain Smart was perfectly clear that the Hond 250 BH was better than a real hand.

Frank nodded. Passed the medical, he said with a sigh. Passed... and swore the oath.

"Frank, it is not that I do not love my country, nor my Queen. But you know me. I recoil from all forms of inhumanity, especially if they involve violence. This European war is an act of insane vandalism by the Kaiser. Can it not be stopped? Can Asquith not do anything before it is too late?"

Frank shrugged, then sat back in his chair, his body relaxing as if all tension departed. Fear it is already too late, he said.

Erasmus hesitated, then said, Frank...?

Yes?

That letter claims I swore the oath, and you just repeated that lie – oh, quite innocently, I insist. But I did not so swear. I never have.

Don’t get your meaning I’m afraid.

"Does it matter if I do not swear?"

A gleam entered Frank’s eye that Erasmus could neither place nor pin down. Then Frank said, Well, you’re not a God-fearing man any more, that we know. He grunted something under his breath, then added, Don’t think it does matter. You’re a decent young man, I do know that. No... don’t suppose it matters.

I could swear the oath to you.

No! No need. You’ll keep your word when you need to, I’m sure.

Erasmus nodded, but his spirits sank. The denial was a blow to his heart, an admission of the gulf between him and his uncle which had opened up after his return from Africa, and which remained, three years later, as deep and as wide as ever. He sighed. If he had nobody to swear the oath to, what kind of soldier would he be – if in fact he became one?

Dejected, he walked away.

There will be a way out of it, he told himself. My hand will fall off, or my eyesight will be too weak – or Captain Smart’s deceit will be revealed to his superiors. How can this fraud continue?

CHAPTER 2

Erasmus began to feel sick as the train for Pontefract left Sheffield. In a pack on the rack above him he carried a few possessions: in a concealed wallet he had money; in his shirt pocket lay Dodgson’s book and his enlistment letter. In his mind a dozen nightmare visions played out, all of them horrible. He kept telling himself that the deceit would be recognised, but something in Frank’s manner suggested there was not much hope of that. Captain Smart had trussed him up like a Sunday joint.

Most of the train passengers were excited. On the bench opposite him a few young men made horseplay about giving Fritz a proper ding on the nose and suchlike, none of which enthused him. But then the chirpy lad opposite him – who looked no older than himself – leaned forward, tapped him on the knee and said, What’s your problem, eh? Miss your old ma, do you?

Erasmus pulled himself out of reverie. Pardon? he said.

Blimey! the young man continued, elbowing his pal in the ribs. This rooky’s feelin’ sad, he is! He reached out to shake Erasmus’ hand. Cheer up, mate. Name’s Edward Rutherford. What’s yours?

Erasmus did not reply, whereupon Edward jumped across to sit beside him, forcing the other men on the bench to squeeze up.

Tell us, will you? he asked Erasmus.

My name is Erasmus Darwin, and my mama died many years ago.

Edward’s face took on an expression of regret. Oh, sorry to hear that – truly I am. I didn’t know, did I? Ain’t never met you before. He shook Erasmus’ hand again. We’ll look after you, don’t worry! He waved in the direction of a great hulk of a man. Won’t we, Killbob!

The man (who, Erasmus noticed, sported a cauliflower ear and a bent nose) took a deep breath and replied, We will, Eddie.

Get it? Edward asked Erasmus. ’Cos we’re all mates here now. You’re off to Pontefract, I see. I know the face of a lad missin’ his family. I does meself, but you gotta do your duty, ain’t you?

Erasmus frowned. Why do you call your friend Killbob?

Robert Kilminster. The boxer. You surely heard of him?

Erasmus shook his head. No. I follow no sports.

Blimey! Edward chortled. Well, we’ll soon change that. Gotta have a laugh when you’re a serviceman, else the show’ll bore us all to tears. Know what I mean?

Again Erasmus offered no reply.

Hey, you lot! Edward said, addressing the entire carriage. We’ll call this one Mumchance.

Everyone laughed except Erasmus.

Ah, cheer up, Mumchance, said Edward. I’m only raggin’ you. Fancy a smoke, do you?

I do not smoke, thank you.

What? Edward said in mock astonishment. Drink, does you?

Oh yes, Erasmus replied.

Well thank God for that! Else you’d be no friend of mine.

I do not believe we are friends now, Erasmus said, a little confused.

Here, listen, did you leave your sense of humour at home when you enlisted? ’Cos I don’t see it now.

Erasmus glared at Edward. I didn’t... He paused, then looked away. My enlistment was not done in the standard manner.

That a fact? Well, no question that Fritz needs to be taught a lesson. We’ll all go over and do just that, eh? Then back for goose and roast spuds on Christmas Day.

Erasmus eyed Edward. If you eat goose on Christmas Day, I am a Dutchman.

Edward laughed, rolling his eyes as he did. So he has got a sense of humour! I must say, I’m relieved to find that out.

But Erasmus found it impossible to smile. Not all of us, he said, enlisted in the normal way, and not all of us think this war is necessary.

The compartment went quiet, and Erasmus noticed a swarthy faced man in the corner glaring at him. Edward stood up, pulled Erasmus to his feet and marched him out into the carriage corridor.

Now you see here, Mumchance, he said, "you don’t wanna be talkin’ like that in front of my pals. Let me give you a first bit of friendly advice, eh? You might not like the idea right now – probably a good few new soldiers don’t – but we all gotta do our duty. You’ll see that soon enough. We don’t want no mutineers in our platoon. So you keep your mouth shut if you got any worries or the like."

It is not in my nature to keep my mouth shut, Erasmus retorted. "I am not a nobody. I’ve done things. I’ve been to Africa. I..." But then he paused, thinking that mention of the Factory and all that happened there was best avoided.

Africa eh? Edward said, with a whistle. I’m impressed! You clearly got a few stories to tell us, Mumchance. I’ll look forward to those, I will. But you remember what I just said. Dekko that bruiser in the corner, did you? Arthur May that is, and he’s a nasty ragger. If he finds out your spirit’s waverin’ and you’re thinkin’ of cuttin’ it... well, he’ll beat you up, he will.

Erasmus shivered, then replied, In all honesty, I am grateful for your advice. He sighed. I will try to do as you suggest.

Crikey! Edward replied. You’ll be the poshest swaddy in all our platoon, you will.

Erasmus eyed Edward. You are not a local Yorkshireman, are you?

Nah. Me old pop’s a railway man, see. From down south.

Erasmus nodded. And why did you enlist, Edward?

"Why? D’you need to ask? Same reason we all did. To give the Hun a good going over. I’m not nobody either. I know all about what they did in Belgium. I does read the papers, you know."

~

At Pontefract every man who had enlisted was placed in barracks, after a mile-long forced march from the railway station and dozens of barked orders. Erasmus’ heart sank when he saw the accommodation. Used to the soft linen and hora servants of Frank’s house, he stared in dismay at the bunk beds and unwashed canteens of the barracks. Most men were boisterous, already singing and laughing, but a few, like Erasmus, appeared less happy with their circumstances. A good few, he realised, had enlisted because family or friends had pressurised them to. Dragooned – the fate of too many. These men he decided would become his pals. He could still make choices, after all. He did not have to be a good soldier. The Army would soon realise he was unfit for service.

But he would have to be careful. If they thought he was hoping to get the chuck his life would become unbearable. No soldier would allow him to limp through battle; they would be giving their all on the field.

I need to get out as soon as I can, he told himself. "This error must be reversed. Besides... I cannot kill a man with a gun. It is a matter of principle."

For a few days all the new recruits undertook basic training. Erasmus developed a method of shooting his rifle so that he was deemed poor, but not so poor it looked suspicious. He feigned short sightedness, but stopped that ploy when drill officers realised he did not own spectacles. To his surprise his artificial hand was an object of envy, and not one officer, nor even any ordinary servicemen, remarked on how it might diminish his suitability for the Army.

Then one evening he bumped into Captain Smart.

They stood opposite one another at the corner of a barracks hut. They were alone. Captain Smart grimaced, then took the short cane he carried under his arm and with it poked Erasmus in the chest.

So, dear chap, you finally got here? he said. I’ve been wondering how you were getting on.

Erasmus felt his anger rise, but he made no reply.

Captain Smart jabbed him hard in the chest. You answer an officer, Private Darwin! And sharp.

Yes, sir, said Erasmus.

Well? How are you getting on?

Very well, sir.

Captain Smart chortled. Did you think I’d let you go? he said. I know your sort. Well, we’ll make a man of you, Darwin. We’ll soon knock that Marxist footle out of your head, and if you resist... then we’ll have some fun.

Erasmus said nothing.

"You’d better get used to finding a few replies for your superiors, juggins, Captain Smart continued. You carry on cheeking me and I’ll have you locked in solitary. I can make your life pretty uncomfortable while you’re here."

Yes, sir, Erasmus replied. How long will I be here?

’Til they cart you down to Woking. Then Aldershot, most likely. Then France. Ha ha! You’re looking forward to getting stuck in, I expect.

Yes, sir.

Captain Smart nodded, then walked away. Carry on, Private Darwin, he said.

Sir? Erasmus replied.

Captain Smart halted, then turned. What?

Sir... obviously, as you know, I did not swear the oath of allegiance. Does that matter, sir?

Captain Smart’s face turned red. "What did I tell you about cheek, Darwin? I can have your goolies for billiard balls! Got that? And I will! Now you just show yourself to be a man, a proper man, and perhaps I’ll let you alone. But if I hear any conchie talk from you, even a hint... you’ll be court-martialled. You won’t get the chuck from this place, oh no – I’ll see you’re ruined."

Erasmus saluted. Yes, sir. I have not forgotten what you said, sir.

Captain Smart strode back, until he stood a foot away. "See you don’t. You know what a firing squad is?"

Yes, sir.

"Good. You’re not so stupid as you look then. You’re in the British Army now, Darwin, and here everybody follows orders. If the drill sergeant hasn’t taught you that yet I’ll damn well do it myself."

Erasmus walked back to his billet, dismayed and afraid. Edward spotted him, grabbing him by the wrist and making him sit on his bunk. What’s the matter now? he asked. Beautiful evening, ain’t it?

Erasmus shrugged. He felt tears coming to his eyes, but he forced them back. After a few moments’ struggle he replied, I have an enemy here. He shook his head. I will not name him.

An enemy? Edward replied. Never. Anyway, even so, you’ve got pals here, ain’t you?

Erasmus nodded. But I am not used to this life, he murmured.

Edward glanced around, then lowered his voice. Cheer up, Mumchance. I ain’t exactly used to it neither. My old pop’s got a guinea or two stashed away, no doubt. But we’re in this together, see? I’ll stand by you and you stand by me.

You are a decent man, Edward.

Eddie. Yeah, s’pose I am – to my pals. And that’s what it’s all about. I can see you’re unhappy, and I understand. What friends are for, ain’t it?

Erasmus nodded. Indeed, he said.

Again Edward glanced around the barracks. Pinched a slab of cheddar from the canteen, he said. What say we make a bit of toast for us’selves, eh?

~

Weeks passed by. Training finished late, and they were sent by train to Woking. After further training Erasmus’ platoon was sent to Aldershot: forty-eight men in four sections, all part of A Company of their battalion of the Queen’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry. Every man knew his place, from posh loafers to uneducated jossers – top to bottom, in strict order. Erasmus said as little as possible about his background.

Autumn arrived. In the first week of October they received the news that they would be sailing to Boulogne-sur-Mer on the morning tide from Dover. Erasmus felt weak and sick. He had survived training, but despised the rigid hierarchy and the constant nagging of the drill sergeants and officers. And although the mood of excitement remained high, it was tempered now with grim knowledge – talk of German atrocities in France, of whole villages being court-martialled and shot, of summary executions in the street: women murdered in Andenne-Seilles, burning, looting and murder in Louvain, a Jesuit priest executed on the spot after his diary was found and read out, describing the Germans as barbarians.

But there was also talk now of the Western Front – that it appeared to be stabilising. There was talk of trenches, of artillery, of shrapnel.

~

France was cold, even this early into autumn. It seemed to Erasmus that he had left summer back in England, along with his true self.

On carts pulled by horses purchased under duress from local farms, thousands of men travelled east from the French coast. As they journeyed they passed hundreds of sections forced to walk for lack of transport. Others rode bicycles. In the damp countryside Erasmus saw commandeered trains, groups of locals trying to bring in the harvest, and everywhere horses – some with their ribs showing, some big and tough, pulling all sorts of wagons: ever eastward. There were a few fuelled vehicles too.

And there were some horas. One day, approaching Saint-Omer, Erasmus spotted a platoon of them marching along the road. As they passed by he studied them as best he could, but it was impossible to make out details. However he did notice that some at least of the horas did not have a calendar dial at their wrist.

He sat back, pondering that observation. After the end of exponential hora production by the Factory there had been a period of chaos, halted in the end by local intervention. There had been talk of espionage, of deals, of the carving up of Sir Tantalus’ legacy by his eldest son Simon and a number of new (some said foreign) companies. None of this had ever been confirmed, and much was denied. That the Factory and its site was now a mess was however not in doubt, and nor was the fact that a number of new varieties of hora had been tested and manufactured...

As the sun set, Erasmus approached the tent of the platoon commander, Lieutenant Chilvers. Poking his head through the tent flap he said, May I have a word with you, sir?

Lieutenant Chilvers did not look pleased, but he said, Very well, Private. He indicated a folding chair. Have a seat. What’s this all about?

I could not help noticing that platoon of horas today, Erasmus began. "And we do