Sarah and I tottered to the parade. Thomas had to work and Mother said she “had to finish Mr. Donald’s shirts or we won’t eat tonight.” So we scuttered, hand in hand, down the dusty alleys to Central Street. The first to process were high-plumed soldiers dressed in Imperial Red. Then came trumpeters, drummers, and, finally, the Colonel, mounted on a white stallion. He towered over the crowd, glaring at us through beady eyes. All the children cheered. The adults were tense.

Then came painted clowns with bags of handouts. One strode over to Sarah and me. He handed Sarah a bright Flag-of-the-Empire and gave me a red tin soldier. I gazed at the little figurine: I had never had a real toy.

*                      *                      *

“What did you do today?” Mother asked as we ate around the hearth.

“We saw the Colonel!” chirped Sarah. “Look what he gived me!” She waved the flag.

Thomas glanced up from his whittling and spat into the fire. “What’d you take that for?” he growled.

“Thomas, they don’t understand,” said Mother.

Sarah looked blankly at the flag. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s traitorous. And what d’you have, Andrew?”

I held up my tin soldier.

“A redshirt?”

I didn’t know what a redshirt was. But I understood Thomas’ tone.

“Your father’d be ashamed.”

“Thomas!” said Mother. She turned to Sarah and me, “Don’t show those around too much, eh?”

“Why not?” I asked.

Mother stared into the dying embers. “It’s… it’s not a good idea.”

“D’you want everyone thinking we support the Colonel?” said Thomas. “That we’re traitors?”

The little tin soldier shimmered in my hand. “He’s not a traitor, his name’s Soldier Williams.”

Thomas spat again. “He’s a redshirt, full stop. A Thieving, lying, brutalising…. A redshirt!”

I didn’t want Thomas to think I was a traitor, but I also didn’t want to give up my first toy. “He’s a good guy,” I said.

*                      *                      *

I knew Soldier Williams was special. Aside from a few knives, the kettle, and the hob, he was the only metal thing in the house. He saved Sarah’s grass doll from hearth-dragons, foiled the redshirts’ plans, and stood sentry while we slept.

Whenever Thomas saw Soldier Williams, he would rant about the horrible things the redshirts did. How they stole from the villagers, forced themselves on women, drank our beer, ate our food.

“Your father was a proud blue-”

“Thomas! Not another word!” said Mother. “They’re only children!”

“They need to know the truth.”

“They’ll learn in their time.”

“It’s okay, Thomas,” I said, “he’s not a redshirt. He’s in disguise, so he can help the townsfolk secretly.”

Thomas glared into the fire.

*                      *                      *

“I’m joining the blueshirts,” said Thomas one night.

Mother gasped. Sarah and I were seized by the sudden tension. Soldier Williams and the grass doll stopped their game.

“I can’t stand by. I have to do something,” he pressed his blade into the piece of wood he was whittling. It shook in the dimness. Mother began to cry.

“Where will you go?” I asked.

Thomas shrugged. “I can’t say. You might blab.”

“Why do you go?” asked Sarah.

Thomas stared across the embers. “To protect you, Sarah.”

Sarah looked confused.

Mother rose and disappeared into the shadows. When Sarah and I fell asleep, she was still sobbing. Thomas was gone when we woke up.

*                      *                      *

Soldier Williams continued to work for good around the house and paddock. He helped find Mother’s missing basket, gathered eggs, and drew water. Soon his paint was dulled and starting to chip.

“You still playing with that devil’s doll?” Thomas asked on his next visit.

“Leave him be,” said Mother.

That night, when the curtains were drawn Thomas pulled a blue jacket out of his bag.

“See? Just like your Dad’s.”

I asked Mother if she would knit Soldier Williams a blue jacket. Shimmering eyes were her only answer. I did not ask again.

The next time Thomas visited he did very little but sleep. Sarah and I watched over him.

“Was his hair always so… light?”she asked.

I couldn’t remember.

*                      *                      *

There was a long time when we heard nothing from Thomas. Mother made us pray every day and insisted that we be home early, even if there was no dinner.

Soldier Williams’ adventures became more humanitarian. He gave food to the poor, used his military experience to repair things, and even invented medicine for the townsfolk. He almost never bothered about the Colonel anymore: there were too many other things for him to do. Sometimes I would try to replace the bits of paint that chipped off, but for the most part, I didn’t worry about it.

Then one winter night, a shadow limped through the door. Its leg was bandaged and its hair was thin and grey.

“Thomas!” Mother jumped up and threw her arms around the figure. She nearly carried him to the hearth, shooing Sarah and me away.

For three days Thomas lay at the fireside while Mother made him soup and changed his poultices. Those were hungry days for Sarah and me because Mother couldn’t work.

After almost a week Thomas sat up. We ate dinners in silence and went to sleep early: Sarah and I on one side of the fire, Thomas on the other, with mother lying behind him to keep the cold away.

I was careful never to let Thomas see me with Soldier Williams. Anyway, Soldier Williams’ work was always best done quietly, out of sight. His activities now became almost entirely domestic.

*                      *                      *

That winter was very cold. We brought back chunks of ice from the well and boiled frozen birds into thin broth. The only time I wasn’t shivering was when Soldier Williams and I were on some mission.

Spring was late staggering up from the south. Slowly the chill left the earth and the first green blades pushed upward. The days lengthened, and Thomas strayed from the fire. He would walk in the fields, or sit by the door jamb in the thin sunlight.

On one such evening I was adventuring with Soldier Williams in the paddock. As we rounded the corner of the house there sat Thomas, leaning on the door jamb and whittling in the last of the golden air.

I tried to run back to the paddock, but he rasped, “Andrew!”

I turned. “Yes, Thomas? Would you like something?”

He nodded for me to sit beside him. Clutching Soldier Williams tightly, I sat down against the mud wall. Thomas glanced at my white knuckles.

“Let’s see your soldier,” he said, setting down his knife.

I opened my hand. I wanted to explain that even if the Colonel had given him to me, Soldier Williams was kind and generous. That he only wanted to help. That so many poor folk had been saved by his efforts. I unfurled my fingers.

Thomas smiled and took the figurine, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. The paint was entirely rubbed off revealing the tarnished metal beneath.

“Y’know,” he said quietly, “in this light, it’s hard to tell what colour his jacket is.”

He set Soldier Williams back in my palm and lay his arm across my shoulders. Together we watched the sky fade from bright reds and blues into darkness.

– Erik Peters